Sixty Acres and a Bride

by Regina Jennings

  © 2012 by Regina Jennings

  Cover by John Hamilton Design

  Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2011

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-6997-3

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  To Family

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  1 2 3 4

  5 6 7 8

  9 10 11 12

  13 14 15 16

  17 18 19 20

  21 22 23 24

  25 26 27 28

  About the Author

  Back Ad

  Back Cover

  Prologue

  CALDWELL COUNTY, TEXAS

  AUGUST 14, 1878

  AT AN HOUR WHEN every other God-fearing woman of Caldwell County was either elbowing her snoring husband or sleeping undisturbed in her spinster bed, Rosa found herself sneaking toward a barn that was not her own. She was a trespasser whose goal was to get caught—a terrified stalker whose prey held her future in his hands.

  Holding her skirt up and away from the piles of manure, she crept closer with a pounding heart. Surely anyone inside could hear it.

  What was she doing here? Returning to Mexico didn’t seem so bad compared to the shame of what she planned to do. True, if there was anyone who could help her, it was this man. And if there was anyone she’d like to visit with or work beside, it was he. But alas, he didn’t return her regard. He’d purposely avoided her for over a month now. Yet here she was, in the middle of the night, with instructions to go to his bed and ask for money.

  Rosa’s hands shook as she pushed against the barn door. How had it come to this? How had a respectable widow found herself in such a humiliating situation?

  1

  LOCKHART, TEXAS

  THREE MONTHS EARLIER

  ROSA, SIT DOWN. The way you pop up like that scares the grits out of me.”

  Rosa Garner had only met Aunt Mary Garner that morning at the train station, but she could already tell the woman expected obedience. Blushing, she squirmed between the barrels and the crate of chicks to reclaim her seat in the crowded wagon bed.

  “But did you see that house? It’s big enough for a hundred people.” After a month-long journey from Mexico, Rosa could contain her excitement no longer. She craned her neck to see over Aunt Mary and her mother-in-law, Louise Garner, who shared the bench seat.

  Aunt Mary shifted her substantial weight on the bench, causing the wagon to lean. “That ain’t a house, it’s a hotel, and we don’t need you falling out. After all Louise has been through . . .”

  “Don’t scold her, Mary. She’s suffered right alongside me.” Louise smoothed her black mourning gown, keeping her handkerchief crumpled tightly in her fist. “We’re both widows, you know.”

  Rosa pushed against the barrels that threatened to squash her as the wagon rocked along and continued to marvel at the elaborate buildings lining the busy street. What they lacked in color, they made up in size, hulking over her like the mountains of Mexico, her homeland.

  Hard to believe her husband, Mack, had grown up here. Hard to believe he’d never return.

  “Wave, Louise,” Aunt Mary said. “You’re attracting attention.”

  Huddled together in front of a dress shop, two women whispered behind idle hands, but it wasn’t Louise they noted. Rosa pulled the neckline of her blouse higher and sighed. She’d chosen her clothes with care. Her white blouse was whiter than any she’d seen since crossing the Texas border. She’d worked days embroidering the line of poinsettias that adorned the collar and the embellishments on the gathered sleeves, but she doubted it was her embroidery work they objected to.

  The emerald skirt had been saved for today, too—the day they reached Caldwell County and met Louise’s family and friends. Rosa was determined to make a good impression. Louise had coached her for weeks on manners and etiquette, and she couldn’t disappoint her mother-in-law, not when it meant so much to the older lady.

  Louise waved and startled the women into returning the gesture. “So where else do we need to go? I’m anxious to get to the homeplace.”

  Aunt Mary turned into an alley and ticked off their progress on her fingers. “We’ve been to the bank, the mercantile, and the feed store. Last stop—the courthouse.”

  “I’ll be relieved to have that behind us. After all, how much can the taxes be?” Louise held onto the dash rail. The road had washed out between the two buildings, making the going treacherous.

  “You left Caldwell County for a reason,” Aunt Mary said.

  Yet Rosa had trouble reconciling the descriptions she’d heard of a struggling desperate town with the bustling prosperity she saw before her. According to Louise, she and her husband fled Caldwell County with their son, Mack, to protect him from the lawless situation called Reconstruction. Hearing extravagant tales of the silver mines of the Sierra Madres, the Garners leased their farm and went searching for riches. But instead of a fortune, Louise lost her husband and son and gained nada—unless she counted Rosa.

  Before Louise could answer Aunt Mary, the wagon lurched, tilting down at one corner. In a move surprisingly nimble for her girth, Aunt Mary somehow got her feet over the box side and onto the ground before she was tossed out. At the same time, Rosa skidded on her backside down the sharply angled bed, a barrel rolling right behind. It slid onto her skirt, twisting her as she struggled to remain upright. Her feet tangled in her hem, leaving her pinned against the hard side of the wagon bed.

  Her heart was racing, not just from the suddenness of the accident but from the horrible sensation of being trapped, smothered. Too many collapsed roofs, too many cave-ins at the mine had left Rosa with eggshell nerves, but she wouldn’t succumb. Lying on her back, she pushed against the barrel, desperate for room, fighting for breath.

  “Rosa! Are you all right?” Louise reached around from the front and helped shove the barrel away from her daughter-in-law.

  Rosa crawled to the side of the wagon and swung her legs over. Using Aunt Mary’s support, she slid out of the wagon box, careful not to land on the wheel lying beneath her.

  “I’m fine.” Hiding her shaking hands, Rosa caught her breath. She hadn’t been trapped. There was the sky. There was air. She looked around, trying to get her bearings, feeling crowded between the tall buildings in this town of Lockhart, Texas. No time to panic. Louise needed her help. If her terror would pass, she could turn her thoughts to the problem before them.

  The empty axle hovered a few inches off the ground. Rosa walked to the back. Just as she suspected. The opposite corner was elevated, wheel spinning errantly midair.

  Aunt Mary huffed. “It’s that sorry pin again. I keep telling George to take it to the blacksmith, but looks like I’ll be doing it myself.”

  “We’ll go with you.” Louise climbed down. “After weeks coming out of the mountains on the back of a burro, then all that time on a train, I would welcome an
opportunity to transport myself for a change. A stroll sounds delightful.”

  “You’re going to leave the wagon here?” Rosa asked. “With all our supplies in it?”

  Louise looked to Aunt Mary for an answer.

  “She’s right. You can’t afford to lose a cent’s worth,” Aunt Mary said.

  Rosa nodded. “I’ll stay behind.”

  Louise tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear. “You’re certain you don’t mind? Then, if it’s fine with you, we’ll return shortly. Remember what I taught you, and don’t speak to any strange men.”

  Aunt Mary rolled her eyes at the advice. Obviously not all gringos were bothered with the niceties that consumed Rosa’s mother-in-law. Or maybe customs had changed during the ten years Louise lived in Mexico.

  Rosa watched the two ladies. Tall Louise and stout Aunt Mary looked nothing alike, but the way they related reminded her of sisters. True, their husbands were only cousins, but kin was kin, and they needed all the help they could get from Uncle George and Aunt Mary. Rosa and Louise couldn’t even get to the homeplace without assistance.

  So the pin had broken? Rosa assessed their predicament. Even with the necessary part, the axle was too close to the ground to get the wheel on. No one could lift the wagon loaded down like it was, but if the weight was shifted . . . She scrambled up the side. They’d come this far. A broken pin wasn’t going to stop her.

  Rosa grasped the burlap sack of beans and lugged it up the incline to the back of the bed.

  “Appears you’ve run into trouble.”

  Rosa looked up to see a bearded man. She’d been properly introduced to only two men since arriving—Nicholas Lovelace, the spoiled son of the lumber mill owner, and Deacon Bradford, the manager at Simpson’s Mercantile. This man was neither, so she ignored him, as she’d been taught.

  “Nothing to be afraid of, miss. I was going to help, that’s all.”

  “Are you bothering this lady?” another man asked, entering the alley. He launched a stream of tobacco juice against the side of the building and extended his hand to the first.

  “Naw, just offering my assistance, but she ain’t too receptive.”

  The bags of flour were slick and tightly filled, making them hard to grasp. Rosa rolled them, one at a time, up the bed and wedged them between the beans.

  “Maybe she don’t speak English.”

  “Probably not. Pretty thing, though. Wish I could get the missus to wear something like that.”

  “What are you boys doing?”

  Three of them now? Rosa blew a strand of ebony hair out of the way and grasped the bars of the chicken crate. Bending and walking backwards, she lugged it to a chorus of frantic chirping, then stood and stretched her back. Why were they gawking at her? She knew what she was doing. Each trip across the bed of the wagon brought it more level.

  By the time the front end of the wagon lifted, money was exchanging hands. No wonder there was such a crowd. She’d stumbled into some sort of wager. Whatever the stakes, the men seemed to be entertained.

  From her platform on the wagon bed, she saw Louise and Aunt Mary crossing the street with the blacksmith. She waved. Rosa thought they’d be surprised with the progress she’d made, but Louise looked stricken.

  Plowing her way through the crowd of men, Aunt Mary was the first to reach the wagon. Her mouth hung agape as she stared at the perfectly situated axle, but Louise wasn’t concerned with the wagon.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Louise gestured to the crowd, which, with shuffling feet and thinly veiled smirks, began to disperse.

  “I leveled the wagon.”

  “With all these men looking on?”

  Rosa dropped from the wagon and studied her slippers. “I didn’t talk to anyone. I didn’t climb or whistle. I didn’t do anything you’ve warned me against.”

  Louise put a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. “Rosa, you created a spectacle—just what I most wished to avoid. The sooner we get you out of town the better. Perhaps we should visit the courthouse at a later date.”

  Rosa bit her lip. She’d followed the rules and still made a mess of things. But Aunt Mary came to her rescue.

  “Stop fretting yourself over niceties, Louise. Your taxes might bring you to ruin, not some innocent blunder. Now, let the blacksmith see to the wheel while we go to the courthouse. Hiding from bad news don’t make it no easier.”

  2

  ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SIX DOLLARS? How are we supposed to come up with one hundred and sixty-six dollars?” With white knuckles, Louise grasped the brass rail bolted to the countertop in the tax assessor’s office.

  Rosa took her mother-in-law’s arm. She had no idea how much that amounted to in pesos, but it was enough to turn Louise’s skin pale. Enough to make Aunt Mary speechless, something that hadn’t happened since she’d met the woman that morning.

  “We leased out our farm before we left for Mexico. We had no idea the renters had abandoned the property and stopped paying the taxes. It’s not my fault.” Louise twisted her hands around the smooth brass rail. “Unless God works a miracle, there’s no way two widows can make that much money by August fifteenth. That’s three months . . .”

  The buxom girl behind the counter fiddled with the ink-splotched apron that covered her starched shirtwaist. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Garner. The account has been delinquent for four years. It’s a good thing you came back from Mexico when you did—”

  “Don’t you get smart with Louise, Molly Lovelace. I’ll have a talk with your ma,” Aunt Mary huffed.

  “I’m not being smart. I’ll get the ledger, and you can see for yourself.”

  The ladies didn’t protest, so Molly turned on her heel, but not before sending Rosa another peculiar look.

  So this was Nicholas Lovelace’s sister? The dapper young man had given Louise an account of his sister while escorting them on their shopping errands. Evidently Miss Lovelace hadn’t purchased her fine clothing from the dry goods stores they’d visited thus far. They were more extravagant than any Rosa had ever seen.

  “I bet she wouldn’t shift a wagon load in public,” Rosa said.

  “If she could gather a crowd as big as yours, she would.” Aunt Mary hitched her skirt higher over her soft belly.

  “Ladies!” Louise scolded, casting a warning glance at the approaching clerk. Molly brought the oblong book directly to Louise and led her to a bench against the wall. She pointed to a column of numbers stacked as neatly as the leather-bound volumes behind her. “It says right here.”

  Rosa itched to get a look at the figures, but it wouldn’t do to push the elegant Miss Lovelace aside.

  With brow furrowed, Louise bent over the ledger, then straightened and closed the book. “What does it matter? If God wants us to have the money, then no power on Earth can prevent it. We mustn’t despair.”

  Aunt Mary raised an eyebrow. “True, but—”

  “So Mack is really gone?” Molly interrupted.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.” Louise turned to Rosa. “Molly and Mack grew up together. Her mother, Adele, is one of my dearest confidantes.”

  No wonder Molly’s eyes filled with tears at the mention of Rosa’s husband. No wonder she felt free to inspect Rosa so closely.

  “Mack missed you and your brother immensely when we left.” Louise handed her the ledger. “I apologize for causing a scene, Molly. You were only executing your position in this office. We expect any child of Thomas Lovelace to be the best at their profession.”

  Molly leaned forward. “You haven’t become reacquainted with my brother, Nicholas, have you?”

  “He followed them from store to store, talking up a storm,” Aunt Mary snorted.

  Rosa smiled. Nicholas Lovelace might not be industrious, but he was entertaining and informative.

  Louise stuffed her handkerchief into her reticule. “I was glad to see him regardless, just as I am you. We didn’t come back to the best circumstances, but we made it here, and I refuse to believe the situatio
n is as dire as it sounds.”

  Silence. Molly and Aunt Mary’s eyes met. Between the sophisticated career girl and the farm wife, Rosa guessed they agreed on only one topic—Louise and Rosa didn’t stand a chance at raising the money. She prayed they were wrong.

  Molly’s manners recovered first, having been utilized more frequently than Aunt Mary’s. “At least you’re home, Mrs. Garner. Your family is here for you.”

  Louise managed a weak smile. “I do have family, but Mary and George have a house full of young ones.”

  “I offered to let you stay with us,” Aunt Mary said.

  “But you don’t have room. Besides, you’re trying to make ends meet, too. Not easy with seven of you under one roof.”

  Aunt Mary nodded. “You know, I think Weston’s taking a herd on the trail, but he might be able to put you up. He’s still got that big place his pa left him when he died in the war. There is plenty of room for the family at Palmetto.”

  “Weston Garner?” Molly squeaked and hopped off the bench. Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she found words. “Oh no. That wouldn’t do. Not at all.”

  Her blue eyes traveled from the ribbon holding Rosa’s hair behind her neck to the black slippers on her feet, missing nothing in between. “That would be disastrous indeed.” She wrung her hands. “Mr. Garner hasn’t been social for years. I’ve tried to . . . Well, let’s say he’s not fond of company right now. Unapproachable, even. You might get a roof over your head, but I doubt it. He values his solitude.”

  “My nephew would welcome us,” Louise protested. “We were very close. He and Eliza are the closest family we’ve got.”

  Rosa could still hear the voice of Mack’s father, Eli, encouraging him to follow his older cousin’s example. Mack had spoken of Weston as being big and strong, but serious—something Mack could never understand.

  Aunt Mary shook her head. “Now that I think of it, it’s a bad idea. Weston ain’t been himself since his wife’s death. Just as dear as ever, but forget I said anything about going to his house. If worse comes to worst, you’d be better off sharing a room with my girls.”