by Amanda Cabot
The guests’ reactions had been amusing. While they’d all evidenced varying degrees of surprise when Sarah and Clay had introduced the newly married couple, the Rousseaus had greeted the news with enthusiasm. Frau Friedrich, on the other hand, had nudged her son and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Why are you waiting? You ought to be married too.” And then there was Gunther, feigning horror.
“What kind of friend are you?” he demanded.
“A prudent one.” Zach grinned at the miller. “You don’t think I’d ruin my chances with a beautiful woman like Priscilla by introducing her to you, do you? No, sirree. I carefully kept her away from all you eager bachelors until she had my ring on her finger.” Even though she knew it was for show, Priscilla couldn’t find a flaw in Zach’s performance. He looked and sounded like a happy bridegroom. She hoped her smile was as convincing. With all that Zach was doing for her, she didn’t want to embarrass him in front of his friends.
“You’re a lucky man.” Gunther gave Zach another slap on the back. “And you, ma’am. As much as it pains me to admit it, you’ve got yourself a good husband. They don’t come much finer than Zach Webster.”
The child who’d been standing quietly at his side tugged on his hand. “You’re a fine man too, Vati.”
Gunther looked down at his daughter, as if surprised to see her. “Why, thank you, little one.” He gave her head an affectionate pat. “You don’t need to stay with your boring old papa. I imagine Thea is looking for you.”
Eva shook her head, then fixed her gaze on Priscilla. Priscilla remembered the child having stared at Sarah the same way during her wedding reception. Eva, it appeared, was at the age of being in awe of brides. “Thea had to take a nap,” Eva announced. “I don’t take naps anymore. I’m a big girl.”
“Yes, you are.” But she was also the only child in the room. Until Thea wakened, she needed something to do. “I think Martina might need some help with the cookies. Would you like to help her?”
Her eyes lighting with enthusiasm, Eva nodded and followed Priscilla to the kitchen.
“What are you doing here?” Sarah’s smile softened her words when she found Priscilla seated at the small table, supervising Eva’s placement of small cakes and cookies on a platter. “You’re the guest of honor.”
Priscilla shrugged. “I’ve met everyone, and right now, I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed.” It wasn’t as if this was the wedding of her dreams. It wasn’t as if this was a real marriage. Oh, it was legal, but it wasn’t the sort of happily-ever-after marriage Sarah and Clay had. And, because it wasn’t, Priscilla wanted no fuss made. “So much has happened so quickly.” Only six weeks ago, she’d been on her way to a wedding, never dreaming that the journey would end with her own marriage.
“And now you’re a bride.” Sarah’s smile faded, as if she were remembering the circumstances of Priscilla’s wedding. “That is overwhelming, isn’t it?”
“Vati doesn’t need a bride.” Though Eva had appeared intent on arranging the cookies, she raised her head and looked directly at Sarah. “I’m a big girl now. Miss Morton . . . er . . . Mrs. Webster said so. I can take care of Vati.”
The expression in Sarah’s eyes said she wasn’t convinced. An hour later, when they were seated for dinner, Priscilla realized that, not only was Sarah unconvinced that Gunther had no need of a wife, but she was doing her best to encourage him to find a new one. That had to be the reason she’d seated Isabelle next to him rather than placing her beside her parents and brother. It appeared to be an arrangement that pleased both Gunther and Isabelle, for they recounted amusing anecdotes, each completing the other’s sentences, laughing when they pronounced a phrase in unison. The fond look on Sarah’s face said she was pleased by her matchmaking efforts. The frowns the older Rousseaus exchanged told another story.
The hours passed quickly, and before Priscilla knew it, the guests were preparing to depart. Zach appeared at her side, silently reminding her that tradition dictated he and Priscilla leave first. “It’s time to go home.”
Though Zach’s words were matter-of-fact, they sent shivers down Priscilla’s spine. Home, at least for the foreseeable future, was the Lazy B’s ranch house, a building she would share with the man who was now her husband. It was true they had ranch hands, and Zach had hired a woman from town to do the laundry, but all those people lived elsewhere. Priscilla and Zach would be alone in the house. It was that prospect and the fact that the man she had promised to love, honor, and obey was practically a stranger that caused her hands to shake.
After waving gaily as their guests bade them farewell, Priscilla kept her eyes focused on the road. Surely that was preferable to looking at the man who sat only a foot away. Zach was a kind man, she told herself. He had made promises. Though she continued to remind herself of that, she could not dismiss the fear that once they were alone, he might not keep them. There was no guarantee.
The fact that he was as silent as she did nothing to still the trembling of Priscilla’s limbs. Perhaps it was simply that he found the situation as awkward as she did. They were married, and yet this would not be a traditional wedding night, any more than the coming months would be a traditional marriage. Did he regret their agreement? Priscilla couldn’t ask, for her mouth was so dry that words were impossible.
When they reached the ranch, she climbed out of the wagon as quickly as she could, then started to mount the front porch steps. Sarah had shown her through the house yesterday, and Priscilla had chosen the room that would be hers. If she could reach her bedroom, she would be safe, for she could slide the bolt. Though no one in Ladreville locked their houses, when she’d told Zach that she still feared the Dunkler brothers, he had volunteered to install bolts on the front and kitchen doors as well as the one to her bedchamber.
There is no reason to fear Zach, Priscilla reminded herself, but her feet refused to listen, and she hurried to get inside before him. Unfortunately, Zach was right behind her. As they approached the door, he stretched out his arm. Priscilla cringed and took a step backward. Surely he didn’t mean to carry her over the threshold! It had been difficult enough to feel his hand when he slid the ring onto her finger, and that had taken only a second. Being held in his arms would be much, much worse. She couldn’t let him do that.
Priscilla took a deep breath as she debated which direction to run. He was beside her now, so close that if she turned, she would touch him. Which way was best? Before she could move, Zach took another step forward and opened the door with a flourish. Color flooded Priscilla’s cheeks as she realized how foolish she had been. Zach had no intention of touching her. He was only being a gentleman.
Standing back to allow her to precede him, he said, “Welcome to your new home, Mrs. Webster.”
Priscilla smiled as she slid the supper plates into the sink. Her first week of marriage had gone well—better than she’d expected, except for the morning sickness. The summer she’d been pregnant, Patience’s letters had been filled with excitement over every aspect of her condition. She’d even managed to make what she referred to as her daily encounters with the chamber pot amusing. Priscilla was not amused. Of course, their situations were vastly different. Patience had been married to a man she loved, and their baby had been the answer to prayers. It was true that Priscilla was married to a good man. Zach was kind, but he was not a man who loved her or whom she loved, and her baby was most definitely not the answer to prayers. Still, she could not complain about life at the Lazy B.
From that first night when he’d ushered her into the house, Zach had made it clear that he would make no demands of her. Although they had agreed there was no need to hire a cook and that Priscilla would prepare meals, once he became aware of her morning sickness, Zach announced that he did not expect her to make breakfast for him. Instead, each morning he brought her weak tea and toast before leaving for the range. Priscilla suspected that not even Clay had been so considerate.
Though she had not expected it, supper t
ime was the best part of the day, for that was when she and Zach were together. Far from fearing his return, Priscilla found herself counting the hours until he’d be home. Once he’d cleaned off the range dust, he would join her in the kitchen and would entertain her with tales of his day, somehow making cattle ranching sound amusing. Both Patience and Clay had had a far different view of ranch life. Neither one had found it amusing or even remotely enjoyable. But, then, Zach seemed to find something positive in almost everything that happened. He even joked when Priscilla burned the biscuits, announcing that he’d heard charcoal was good for the digestion.
It was pleasant to share a table with Zach. Priscilla scrubbed the first plate, then rinsed it. As much as she enjoyed suppers and evenings spent with Zach, she wondered if the appeal wasn’t simply the contrast to her days. They were undeniably lonely. In Boston, there had always been other people around. Here there was no one. The woman who’d been hired for laundry would not come until next week, and though she was only two miles away, Priscilla did not want to visit Sarah. After all, Sarah was still on her honeymoon. It was bad enough that she was teaching. Sarah didn’t need another intrusion on her time with Clay. The problem was, Priscilla hadn’t realized how much she would miss human companionship.
She had considered asking Sarah if she could care for Thea during the day, even though Sarah had mentioned how much Thea enjoyed being at school. “It makes her feel like a big girl,” Sarah had said with a fond smile. But, even if Sarah would agree, Priscilla couldn’t consider having Thea here until her morning sickness ended.
“I don’t want you lifting the tub.” She turned, startled by Zach’s voice. Normally he checked the horses after supper, but tonight he’d come back from the barn earlier than normal. “If you heat the water, I’ll pour it.”
Priscilla looked down at the pan filled with soapy water and wondered what he meant. She had all the water she needed to finish the dishes. “Water for what?”
“Our baths.” Zach gave her a piercing look as he added, “Today’s Saturday. I like to get cleaned up before church.”
“Oh!” Priscilla felt the color rise to her face. Though he hadn’t chided her, she felt silly. “I haven’t been keeping track of the days.” Just the hours.
“That’s because you’ve been working too hard. The house looks nice, but are you sure moving all that furniture is wise? You don’t want to hurt the baby.” To Priscilla’s amusement, this time, it was Zach’s face that flushed. Men, he’d undoubtedly been counseled, did not mention anything related to upcoming blessed events. Not that this baby’s arrival would fit into that category. Still, it was kind of him to be concerned, just as it was kind of him to appreciate the effort she had put into the house. When she’d first seen it, though the furnishings were attractive, she’d found the rooms unwelcoming, but she’d soon realized that there were relatively simple ways to make the house more appealing.
“The baby’s all right, isn’t it?” Zach sounded worried.
“I don’t think anything will hurt this child.” She tried to make Zach laugh by feigning indignation. “I’m the one you should feel sorry for, being sick every morning.”
Unfortunately, he did not laugh. If anything, the consternation in his blue eyes increased. “That doesn’t last the whole time, does it?”
“It’s not supposed to. The next thing you know, I’ll be fat.”
“But beautiful.”
It was Priscilla who laughed, remembering the day he’d commented on her pallor. “You learned your lesson well, didn’t you?”
“’Pears that way, doesn’t it?” To her surprise, Zach reached for a towel and started drying the plates. She’d never heard of a man helping in the kitchen. They were women’s domains, and all work associated with them was women’s work, or so she’d been taught. But there was Zach, looking as comfortable as could be with a towel in his hand.
“This is my week to attend the French church,” he said casually when he’d returned the plates to their shelf. “I’d be pleased if you’d accompany me.” His voice was diffident, probably because of her refusal to be married in a church. That had been only a week ago.
Priscilla started to decline, but as memories of this week’s solitude resurfaced, she changed her mind. Though she wasn’t certain God wanted her in his house, at least for those hours she’d have company. Besides, if she was going to live in La-dreville—and she was—she needed to meet the townspeople. It would be easier and safer to do that with Zach at her side. “All right.”
Though the next morning was sunny, the cool temperatures discouraged parishioners from lingering outside the church before the services, and Priscilla felt herself relax. It would be better to converse with the townspeople afterward. First she needed to make peace with God. She looked up at Zach and nodded when he asked whether she was ready to go inside. Even if the parishioners were as friendly as he claimed and as they’d seemed at Sarah and Clay’s wedding, they would not engage in more than brief greetings inside the sanctuary. Or so Priscilla believed.
As she and Zach entered the vestibule, Isabelle Rousseau rushed to their side. “I’m so glad you came!” The petite brunette who was Sarah’s best friend and the object of her current matchmaking campaign gave Zach an arch look. “Now, Mr. Webster,” Isabelle said with feigned severity, “there’s no reason to hide in back. You and Priscilla must sit with my family.”
And so, though she had hoped to attract little attention, Priscilla found herself in the second pew. The French church bore little resemblance to the one the Germans had built. While the other church had no stained glass, this one had two magnificent windows, one depicting the birth of Christ, the other his ascension to heaven. While the German crucifix was rough-hewn wood and had been created by the settlers, the one that hung over the altar here appeared to be carved of centuries-old marble. If the cross was old, though, the minister was not. While Pastor Sempert was in his seventies, Père Tellier could not be more than thirty-five. Pastor Sempert was tall, although a bit stooped with age, and sturdily built. Père Tellier was of short stature and a slight frame.
And yet, for all their differences, both churches exuded the same sense of peace. Simply sitting in the pew made Priscilla realize she had not made a mistake by coming. God had not excluded her because of her anger. Instead, she felt him welcoming her, and she knew that the contentment she’d felt at the Lazy B this week had been his doing. He had brought Zach into her life to make it better. Thank you, Lord.
Priscilla glanced at the man who sat next to her, his eyes fixed on the minister, and wished his life could be different. This week had shown her what a generous, thoughtful man Zach Webster was. Surely he deserved better than a loveless marriage.
When the services ended, Priscilla and Zach were surrounded by a group of parishioners, each felicitating them on their marriage, no one commenting on its hastiness. The men clapped Zach on the back or shook his hand; the women smiled brightly at Priscilla; the children appeared bored. And all the while, Zach stood at her side, accepting congratulations, telling everyone how fortunate he was.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked half an hour later as he guided the wagon into the river.
Priscilla loosened her cloak. With the sun at its zenith, the day had turned warmer than she’d expected. “It wasn’t bad at all. I was surprised at how friendly everyone was.” Though she’d seen curiosity on many faces, it seemed to be the normal curiosity about a new resident, nothing more, and that was a pleasant surprise. Zach had claimed that no one knew what had happened, but surely they must have suspected something was amiss for her to have married so quickly.
Zach’s smile accentuated the cleft in his chin. “I keep telling you that this is a good town. Oh, it has its idiosyncrasies, but overall it’s a fine place to put down roots. You and your child will be safe here.”
Priscilla knew that. It was Zach whose situation concerned her. “I wish you were getting more from this arrangement.” “Don’t worry ab
out me. I’m happy with our agreement.” If only she could believe him.
Zach rode slowly, his eyes scanning the horizon for calves separated from the herd. It happened each winter, the weaker animals being left behind to fend for themselves. Each year Zach searched for them. If they were injured, he’d do what he could to tend the wound. If they were hungry, he’d feed them. If they were simply lost, he’d guide them back. Clay claimed that, short of branding, this was the aspect of ranching he detested the most. Zach felt differently. This was the time when he felt useful. Oh, it was true, as Clay claimed, that cattle were not the most intelligent of God’s creatures, but that was all the more reason why they needed his care.
He settled back in the saddle and raised his eyes to the sky. If this is your plan, Lord, and I think it is, I like it. Not just helping the cattle. His life in general. When he’d come to the Bar C, Zach hadn’t known what the Lord had in mind for him. He thought he’d been sent to help Clay and his father. Never once had he considered the possibility that he would wind up married, but here he was, a husband.
Zach whistled softly. Charcoal seemed to like the sound, and it helped Zach relax. Marriage was not what he’d expected. Of course, he hadn’t spent much time contemplating married life, so it was hardly surprising that he had few preconceived ideas. He certainly hadn’t thought it would feel so right. Part of the reason was having his own house. Zach enjoyed that more than he’d thought possible. He liked the privacy, the quiet, the comfort. But part of the appeal was Priscilla. To say the least, living with her was very different from life in the bunkhouse. He’d traded a dozen rowdy men for one quiet woman. One puzzling woman.
Zach had been taught that women were weak, but she was strong. She possessed not just physical strength, although it certainly took that to accomplish all she’d done around the house. What surprised him was her emotional strength. Though Priscilla had been through harrowing experiences, she never cried, not even when she was in the midst of a nightmare. Zach knew she was plagued with them, for each night he heard her whimper and then light a candle to banish the darkness. But, unlike him who would remain caught in remembered horror for hours, she seemed to recover quickly. Not once did she refer to her troubled dreams. Instead, Priscilla did her best to find something humorous to recount each day. No wonder her family had called her Sunny Cilla. Zach suspected that wrestling with the horsehair settee in the parlor had been far less amusing than the tale Priscilla had told, but he admired her fortitude and her willingness to laugh at herself. Not many women would do that.
