Brides of Grasshopper Creek

by Faith-Ann Smith

  Julia tried to occupy herself by spending time with John. He was a precocious little child, always eager to learn and to test his imagination and his limits. She found that she very much enjoyed his company, though he reminded her almost painfully of her dear, sickly Marcus. She took to reading to him in the sun room, taking advantage of the early mornings and the extended afternoons, basking in the golden sunlight that filled the room. As per their agreement, Julia would tell Wyatt of the books she wanted and he would ensure they arrived as quickly as possible. It meant that she had a multitude of children’s tales to share with John.

  Some days they would spend the afternoon acting out the storybooks, dueling like pirates or dancing around like princes and princesses. Other days, John would simply sit on Julia’s lap and allow her to read the story out loud to him. He was a quick learner, very smart, and so interested in the world that he would often ask her to read more advanced things, like books on the natural world. She was all too happy to oblige.

  His interest made him a handful on occasion. Some days he would stare out the windows as they were sitting down for reading time, not paying attention at all. She would scold him, but only a little. Julia understood that he was just a boy of eight and that being outside was as important as the things he would read in a book for his development. That was why she allowed him outside to play on days instead of reading, though not every day, and always with supervision.

  One of Julia’s duties on the ranch was making meals. She had discussed it with Mr. Baroque, who had offered to hire her a cook and a maid if she required them, and decided that she wanted to take care of the household on her own. Once a week, a woman from town would come in a help out with things that Julia had fallen behind on, but otherwise, the house was hers.

  This was why little John was outside on his own, playing amidst the horses. She had told him not twenty minutes earlier that she had to make lunch for them and his father; he was to find something entertaining to occupy himself with inside the house until she was done. Being the adventurous little boy he was, he disregarded her wishes and bound out of the house, sneaking past his father in the sitting room, and raced to the wide expansive land that made up the ranch.

  Julia was just finishing up lunch when she heard the cry.

  It sounded like it was John.

  Dropping the dish immediately, she rushed to the front. Wyatt was there as well, having heard the same noise as she had. “Where is John?” she asked him, feeling panic bubbling up within her breast.

  Instead of answering, Wyatt raced outside, Julia hot on his heels. There was another cry, and this time, Julia was positive it was John.

  She spotted him a moment later. He was lying in the dirt, body turned around awkwardly. Holding his leg, he cried and called for help. In the distance, Julia could just see a young colt bucking and tossing his mane.

  “John!” she cried, racing towards him. Wyatt had seen him, too, and they reached the boy at the same time.

  “John, my boy, are you alright?” asked Wyatt, reaching for his son.

  “No!” warned Julia, stopping Wyatt who looked as though he was ready to scoop his son up into his arms. “Look at his leg!”

  Wyatt glanced down at the leg John was clutching at; it was bent at an abnormal angle.

  “I think it’s broken. Moving him may make it worse. We need to set it before we can do anything else.”

  John was crying, calling for his father, and Wyatt looked as though he wanted to disregard all of Julia’s words and take him immediately to the doctor. But he didn’t. Instead, he went around behind his son and lifted him ever so slightly by the shoulders; the boy wailed.

  “Shhh,” Wyatt told him gently, easing his son’s head into his lap. “You’re going to be just fine, son.”

  Wyatt looked up at Julia, as though asking if he was lying to his little boy. Julia gave him a curt nod and said, “That’s right. You’ll be just fine. But I need you to be brave and wait here with your father for just a moment. We need to set your leg before it gets worse, and I need a few things in order to do that.”

  John sniffled, looking as though he was ready to burst into tears once more, but his father was near and it lent him the courage to nod.

  Wyatt’s gaze locked with Julia’s for a moment and she saw the worry there, the tenderness and the love for his son. “Hurry,” was all he said to her.

  Julia wasted no time. She hurried back to the house to grab what she needed: several lengths of clean linen, two long, but thin boards that were sturdy, and a piece of chocolate. There was nothing she could do for the pain, but at least she could boost his sugar levels. Within minutes, Julia had returned, arms full of supplies. John was looking pale, his pain mitigated by his father’s presence, but Julia knew that wouldn’t do much for him.

  “Alright, John, I’m going to need you to be a brave boy,” she told him in her sweetest voice. “I know this hurts terribly, but you’re so strong and we’re going to do our best to make this better, okay?”

  John nodded his head; he didn’t look excited for whatever Julia was about to do.

  Placing her materials to the side, she laid out the solid boards next to John’s leg, making sure that they wouldn’t be too long to use. They were longer than his calf, stretching past his knee, which was good; he wouldn’t be able to bend his leg. She had them ready, knowing that she was going to have to move quickly once she started.

  “What are you going to do?” Wyatt asked. His voice was calm as was his expression, but Julia was starting to learn about Wyatt. Although he could keep his tone and his muscles cool and unaffected, his eyes were indeed the window to his soul. They spoke volumes while the rest of him was all but silent. The result left him with a tell only those who took the time to stare into his eyes would see. People like Julia.

  Julia remained chipper as she answered Wyatt, trying to keep John calm; she knew he wouldn’t appreciate what was to come next. “I’m going to straighten this out and set it so that he heals right as rain.”

  Wyatt paled ever so slightly and the corners of his eyes tightened, letting Julia know that he understood what she was preparing to do. The fact that he made no protest or movement to stop her told her that he was willing to trust her enough to do this.

  Smiling down at John, Julia told him, “On the count of three.”

  He nodded as his father gripped him tightly, holding him down in preparation for what was to come next. “Okay,” said John.

  But Julia only got to one when she gripped little John’s ankle and jerked his leg outward. The little boy cried out in agony at the pain of it, but surprise had dulled the sensation slightly. He stared at her, wide eyed and disbelieving. “You said three!” he cried out, but his voice wasn’t strong and he was so pale. Before Julia even had the chance to answer him, he fainted in his father’s arms.

  Julia was relieved; it would give her the chance to set the leg without causing him additional pain. She worked in silence and wrapped it up quickly. When she’d tied the wrappings around his leg and the boards, holding it in place, Wyatt finally lifted him up in his arms and together they went back to the house. Neither of them said anything until Wyatt had tucked his son into bed and they were both back downstairs.

  Julia was shaking with nervous energy, feeling the danger of what had just happened and hoped with all her heart that John would be fine. He had to be fine. Needing to do something, Julia returned to the kitchen and began to clean up the mess she’d made when she dropped the lunch she had been preparing earlier. Wyatt had followed her to the kitchen and for a long moment stood in the doorway, silently watching.

  “He’ll be on the mend for at least eight weeks; maybe longer,” Julia began speaking to him, but never looked up from what she was doing. “You should give him the chocolate when he wakes; the sugar will help. He’s a good boy and very strong. I think he’s too determined to let this keep him down for long. It’s good news for the healing, but it means we shall have to keep a close eye on him,
lest he wanders about and further damages that leg. Right now, what he needs is—”

  Wyatt stopped her by taking the broken pieces of the plate from her hand and setting them on the counter. Before she could say anything more, he gathered her up into his arms and held her. Whispering into her hair, he said, “Thank you. You’ve saved my son. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there.”

  Julia’s body warmed at his touch and she blushed. They were married and there was nothing wrong with such innocent touches as these, but she was so unaccustomed to them… and she had all but given up hope of ever experiencing them with Wyatt.

  Biting her lip, she managed to answer, “He’s my son, too, now, isn’t he?”

  Wyatt pulled away from her so that he could look her in the eyes, but his hands remained firmly on her shoulders. Slowly, a smile formed on his lips. It was a quiet, small smile, only noticeable because Julia had spent so much time watching how he frowned with those sweet lips. One of his hands lifted from her shoulder to push aside a strand of hair that had come loose from the high bun she had tied her golden curls into. He tucked it behind her ear, his finger caressing along her cheek at the same time.

  “I never thought it was possible,” he murmured quietly, staring at her as though he was in awe of her very presence. “I had loved my first wife so very much and I thought…” He shook his head. “I thought that it would be betrayal, a slight against her memory to ever feel in my heart again what I had felt for her.” He placed a hand on his chest over where his heart would be. “But, Julia, I have lived with you for only a month, and you have wormed your way inside this old heart. It was your love for a boy who does not share your blood that proved to me that you are too good of a woman to lose.”

  Julia stared at him with wide eyes, her heart thumping loudly in her chest. The things he was saying to her she had believed were impossible. Her own heart had opened to him so quickly, but she had resigned herself to the realization that he would never feel the same. And now she dared to hope.

  “What are you saying, Wyatt?” It was the first time she had spoken his first name aloud, and it settled sweetly on her tongue.

  His eyes sparkled and his smile widened just a little bit. “I am saying that I have taken you already as my wife. Now, I am asking you to be my love.”

  Tears pricked at Julia’s eyes and she could find no words to describe how she felt, so she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. His arms held her back and he promised her that he would take care of her for as long as she would have him.

  It still took eight weeks for John’s leg to heal and he was bedridden for all of them, but Julia entertained him with bright stories and his father brought all sorts of plants for him to squish between the pages of blank books. They grew together, leaning on each other for support, and by the end of it all, they were truly a happy family.

  THE END

  Olivia’s Christmas On The Frontier

  Charity Phillips

  Olivia's Christmas on the Frontier

  Boston, 1856

  Olivia didn't realize she'd been longing for adventure until she happened upon Jackson King's advertisement for a bride out west. She decides to take a chance, and with each passing letter from the charming man from San Francisco, she becomes increasingly certain that life on her own in Boston isn't what the fates have in store for her.

  After enduring a long voyage by sea in order to reach Jackson just in time for Christmas, she is puzzled as to why he appears a bit withdrawn. Attempting to push doubt out of her mind, Olivia quickly settles in and gets acquainted with Jackson's humorous brothers, their dear wives and beautiful children—although she can't help but wonder about the reason for Jackson's apparent reservations.

  Is Olivia not what he was expecting? Could it be that Mr. King isn't as cut out for marriage as he thought he was? Or is there a deeper reason that he is less than content with Olivia's presence in the Wild West, sending her on a lonely journey back home to Boston for Christmas?

  “I swear, if that woman knits one more pair of mismatched slippers, we're going to have to start storing them in the stove!” Olivia fumed silently, stuffing the latest pair in the home's overflowing chest of drawers. The slippers themselves didn't really bother her so much, it was really the lecture that came with her aunt's completion of every pair that vexed her.

  “You see, Olivia?” her aunt Margaret would say each time, holding up the ridiculous looking pair. “You could be making much better use of your time putting your hands to good work instead of taxing your brain with all of that learning. What in the world is a woman going to do with all that knowledge? Just a waste of time if you ask me,” she'd finish.

  While Olivia couldn't remember ever asking for her aunt's opinion, she'd just smile politely and nod. “Even if all that learning is wasted, at least it isn't overflowing the Hepplewhite,” she'd muse silently.

  She really was grateful to her aunt; it was just that they were such different people. Her parents used to send her to visit each year from the time Olivia was eleven years old, keeping her aunt company after uncle William passed away. During the last of those visits, her parents and younger brother fell terribly ill, taken to a special hospital before Olivia could return home. By the time she got back, not one of them remained. Tuberculosis had claimed each of their lives, leaving Olivia entirely alone at the young age of sixteen. Aunt Margaret had hurried to fetch her and she'd lived in her aunt's home ever since. If it weren't for the ornery, old-fashioned woman, Olivia couldn't imagine what fate would have befallen her.

  Her aunt meant well, always trying to prepare Olivia in the areas that she felt would make her niece a better wife someday. The only thing aunt Margaret spent more time doing than knitting these past five years together was primping and priming Olivia for every outing, instructing her in cooking and housekeeping, and lecturing her on all the things that made up a proper lady. But Olivia didn't have any interest in becoming a good and proper wife. In fact, she had actively resisted the courting of a multitude of young men—and a few old—since she'd come to live in Boston.

  Olivia wanted more out of life than her aunt's limited vision; she wanted to learn everything her mind could absorb, travel to new places, meet people from all over the world—or at least from somewhere outside of New England. She wanted it so much that she could feel restlessness in her veins at any given moment of the day. All she could do was read about the ventures of others in her books and pray for the day she might experience even a modicum of the excitement had by explorers like Lewis and Clark, Sacajawea, Ida Pfeiffer and James Weddell.

  With that hope fresh in her mind, Olivia sat down at the wobbly wooden table in the kitchen, opening the daily paper. She read it nearly cover to cover most days, even when the most exciting news was local events and coffee advertisements. There was only one section of the entire paper she skipped over on a regular basis, but for some unknown reason it drew her attention today. Perhaps it was the lack of intriguing or exciting news combined with a renewed surge of restlessness coursing through her, or maybe she'd taken leave of her senses. She'd never entertained the prospect of marriage before but as she browsed through the advertisements of men out west looking for wives from the east, she didn't immediately dismiss the notion.

  She never had any intention in marrying; the institution seemed to carry only the prospect of squelching her dreams. She'd seen it happen. Young girls so full of excitement and curiosity at the start of adulthood, but once wed, it appeared to strip that from them, leaving them content to tidy a house and chase after youngsters, seldom even venturing beyond the walls of their homes. Instead, Olivia was stuck within the confines of her aunt's home, seldom venturing any further than the local market. She was intrigued by the fact that these men in the newspaper advertisements were offering not only adventure, but a brand new life in a foreign place.

  As she skimmed through the page of advertisements, Olivia felt less hopeful by the moment. It seemed
a wife wasn't the only thing some of these men were after; one required a woman with at least $20,000, another wanted a mild-mannered woman well-versed in keeping house. Some were fifty-year-old men seeking eighteen-year-old brides, and Olivia did her best not to bristle at the thought of being forever tied to a rough, old man with a proclivity for young girls. As she scanned through the page, it was easy to read between the lines; there were plenty of men looking for pretty ladies to wash their laundry and cook their meals.

  “I can stay here with Aunt Margaret and do all that just fine, thank you,” Olivia whispered aloud, coming to the conclusion that she'd been right thus far in skipping over the silly section of the newspaper. Just as she was about to toss the newspaper aside an advertisement right there in the middle of the page caught her attention. She must have overlooked it somehow, or perhaps fate had been saving the best for last.

  “A man of thirty-five in search of an intelligent, adventurous young woman to build a life together in California,” it read.

  “Now that's something you don't read about every day,” she thought.