Sixty Acres and a Bride

by Regina Jennings

  “Rosa, give me a hug in case I get carried away and forget. I can’t leave on my honeymoon without saying good-bye to my daughter.” Louise crushed Rosa into the chrysanthemum bouquet pinned on her chest. “You’re content, aren’t you?” she whispered in her ear. “You can come with us if you must.”

  “No, ma’am. It’s going to work. I’ll see to it, but hurry home. I’ll visit when you return.”

  Satisfied, she nodded. “I think we did all right for ourselves, after all, Mrs. Garner.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Bradford, we did.” She sounded more confident than she felt.

  Rosa scanned the crowd, a swirling mess of people as some left the dance floor while others scrambled to find a partner for the next set. Why wasn’t she taller? She couldn’t see past those directly in front of her. She weaved her way toward the back of the warehouse, where the dirty dishes were stacked to be cleaned after the party.

  Finally she spotted him. Weston’s dark head appeared above a tall stack of two-by-twelves to her right. He hadn’t wandered far at all. To her horror a hand appeared on the back of his neck—a delicate, manicured hand that laced itself through his hair for a moment before disappearing.

  Rosa’s feet refused to move. There had to be some mistake, but the words she heard spoken in Molly’s husky voice left her no room for denial.

  “Mr. Garner, I cannot allow you to take further liberties. I should have known better than to be lured here by you after the way you ogled me.”

  A chuckle resonated over the sound of the music, and his head dipped again.

  Darkness narrowed Rosa’s vision to only a point of light in a black tunnel but didn’t completely block out the hateful sight. She watched, mesmerized, but there was no mistake. Molly’s hand was again at the back of his neck, holding on for dear life. Were her knees going weak like Rosa’s had?

  She couldn’t stay. Her emotions boiled over, and there was no limit to the damage she could do. She mustn’t make a scene at Louise’s wedding. Stumbling, Rosa made it outside the insufferable warehouse before she gagged and tossed her dinner into the ditch. On her hands and knees in the tall grass, she gasped for breath as the music played on.

  Adrenaline coursed through her primed body. As much as she’d like to rip out Molly’s thick curls, she was ready to run.

  A quick glance told her no one was looking. She headed for the closest building that would shield her and angled toward the creek, keeping away from the road.

  Being right had never hurt so much. She’d come so close to trusting him. Why couldn’t this have happened last week? Last month? Why now, after her hopes had been resurrected?

  But as devastated as she was, she recognized it as providential. Better now than a year from now. He owed her nothing. She’d begged him to leave her alone. She’d done everything she could to steer him toward Molly.

  She knew he wouldn’t settle for a marriage of convenience. He’d tried to protect and be faithful to her, but he couldn’t turn his heart from his true love. Shouldn’t she of all people understand? After a month of resisting Weston, she was ready to throw herself on his mercy in a weak moment. Fool again!

  The idiotic stays slowed her down. She clawed at her waist in desperation, but the only remedy would be to shred her beloved taffeta gown. She was forced to slow her pace.

  Until she got her bearings, a vacant home called to her, offering her sanctuary, a home that had provided her with a roof and a bed when she was a new immigrant. She would go back to where she first began her life in Caldwell County and form her plans.

  Rosa plunged through the growth on the banks of the creek, going down into the heavy shade. The brush gripped her wedding dress, leaving it in shambles. No remedy. She had to cross further up to avoid being spotted from the bridge. Her dress would be destroyed either way.

  Lifting her skirts, she waded through the knee-deep creek. The cool water ran down her ankles, filling her boots, but she didn’t care. Everything was ruined. Her dress. Her marriage. Her life. She sloshed across to a bank that was higher than she’d expected. Digging into the soft soil, she found exposed roots to grasp and pulled herself up, right into his path.

  “Is this the meeting place for errant wives?” Tillerton’s moustache curled up on one side.

  “Get out of my way.” Rosa’s fists clenched. She’d unload on him with both barrels, and have no regrets.

  “So the little Mexican girl thinks she can boss me around, huh? Talking down to me now that you’re such a fine lady? Too bad Mr. Garner isn’t here to back you up.”

  “He’s right behind me.”

  Weston wasn’t. He was with Molly. Her throat lurched again. She didn’t care what happened to her now. He would be free, but her sense of justice left no room for a victorious Tillerton.

  “Yeah, that’s why you’re off-road, traipsing through the creek while the rest of your family are at the wedding. He knows exactly where you are, does he? See? I’m having the same problem. My wife’s gone missing, too. . . .” His piercing eyes scrolled their way down her bodice.

  She read his intentions but wasn’t quick enough to avoid him.

  He grabbed her by the arm. “I guess one woman’s just as good as the other.”

  Rosa screamed, twisted, and kicked, but he was ready for her this time. He shoved her backwards off the dark loamy bank, and she toppled, head over heels, to the bottom, hitting every root and stone along the way.

  Before she could get to her feet, Tillerton had her by the hair and was dragging her backward, her heels bouncing along the ground. She heard him enter the water first, and then she was on her back, her skirts floating up around her while he brutally crammed his hand in her face and pushed her under.

  Rosa thrashed and strained but couldn’t get to the surface. Every panic she’d ever experienced culminated in horrific terror, but this time it wasn’t just a small space. She truly was suffocating. Her heart battered her chest, every beat a plea for oxygen. She pushed against his arm with both hands, digging her fingernails into his hairy wrist, but he was relentless. With a sob, she relinquished the air exploding in her lungs, and only then did he lift her to the surface.

  She inhaled immediately, and then sputtered out the creek water that was trickling into her gaping mouth.

  “Stop fighting me. You hear?” He clenched her jaw in a vice grip, his wet lips inches from her face. “You’ll play along or I’ll—”

  She was never one to cower and definitely not today. Rosa screamed in his face and was instantly thrust under the surface again, this time with a mouthful of water. Her chest heaved. She tried not to expel the precious air burning in her lungs. With her feet she swung about trying to locate his knee, his leg, anything to cause him pain, but his grip over her face only tightened.

  The water churned around her as she struggled. A swirling mess of hair and skirts and bubbles, all was moving. Only the hand choking the life out of her was steady.

  With a shove he plunged her to the very bottom. Rosa’s head hit the creek bottom as Tillerton lunged, but his grip no longer hurt her. He lay across her, dead weight. With all the strength she had left, she pushed against him with the current of the crimson water and rolled out from under his body. She exploded to the surface, gagging and coughing, but able to finally make use of the magnificent air that had been denied her.

  Rosa crawled to the bank and collapsed, trying to make sense of her salvation. Only then did she see the battered woman holding the pistol.

  Mrs. Tillerton stood uncertain, as skittish as a rabbit sensing danger, her stained dress torn at the shoulder. Her eyes darted both ways, and seeing no one, she scurried to Rosa and knelt at her side.

  “I didn’t plan to kill him. I was only running away. If I’d wanted him dead I could have done that any day.” With shaking hands the young lady slid her pistol into a tattered garter under her skirt. “You’re breathing, aren’t you? Then I better go.”

  “Wait! Where are you going?” Rosa gasped, her hands clutching fa
st to her rescuer’s arm.

  “I don’t know, but I need to get away from him.”

  Still panting, Rosa turned her head to look at the floating body caught in the brambles. “He’s not going to bother you anymore.”

  Rosa heard her name called across the water. She flopped on her back. “You saved my life. If you stay, we can help.”

  The horses approached quickly. She heard Red say something about the gunshot, and Weston’s voice answered. The girl crouched, her head cocked to gauge their proximity.

  “Please stay,” Rosa begged again. “At least talk to Weston. You’ll need money for your trip.” Violent coughing overtook her.

  “There they are,” Bailey announced, and with a rush the three mounted men surrounded them.

  Weston slid off his horse and immediately knelt next to her. The shock on his face was awful to see. How she wanted to cling to him, to comfort him, but she couldn’t. Not while the picture of Molly’s arms wrapped around his neck still danced before her eyes.

  “Are you hurt? You’re . . . you’re breathing?”

  She nodded and pulled herself up again, feeling stronger every minute.

  “Weston, you’d better take a look at this,” Bailey said.

  Just behind him, Bailey pulled Tillerton’s body from the red eddy. He dragged it to the bank and flipped it over, revealing a jagged hole through his leather vest.

  Red whistled. “Mrs. Tillerton?”

  She didn’t respond. Their eyes traveled from the gunshot wound to her. Both Tillertons were silent.

  “What happened?” Weston mopped the trickles of water from his wife’s face with his bandanna.

  “That man, that brute, attacked me. He told me to stop fighting him or he would drown me. Then he stopped.” She didn’t go any further, not sure what the girl wanted her to say.

  Weston turned to Mrs. Tillerton. She lifted her face so they could all see her black eye and swollen cheek. Rosa knew Weston well enough to guess he’d want to put another slug in the man just for Mrs. Tillerton’s sake.

  “You’re a brave woman, Mrs. Tillerton. You saved my wife’s life, and that puts me in your debt. I don’t know what went on between you and your husband at home, but Judge Rice won’t blink an eye over this incident. You have enough witnesses to clear you immediately.”

  She made her way to a blackberry bush and retrieved a satchel from under the thorny branches. “Then can I go on home? You’ll send the sheriff by? I don’t want to stay here with him any longer.”

  “Sounds reasonable. Bailey, take her home. Red, why don’t you ride back to the warehouse and get Sheriff Colton.” Wes looked at the dead man again. “Clean shot, by the way.”

  “Yankees know how to shoot, too,” she said.

  “I remember.”

  Bailey turned to help Mrs. Tillerton onto his horse, but she’d straddled it before he could reach her.

  Rosa had another spasm of coughing, not as severe as the last. Without waiting for her consent, Weston pulled her tightly to him. His lips brushed her ear.

  “When I saw you there on the ground, drenched, I thought it’d happened again.” She felt him shudder. “You can’t imagine how awful . . . But you’re still with me, right? You aren’t hurt?”

  Cautiously, she touched the back of her head, but there was no bump, only tenderness from being dragged by her hair. She shook her head, the wet tendrils sticking to her face. He waited for his next question until they both caught their breath.

  “Why did you run away?”

  28

  ROSA STIFFENED. She couldn’t condemn him for doing precisely what she’d expected. She’d even sicced Molly on him.

  “I wanted to be alone, I guess. Wanted to go home.” She searched his face for signs of guilt and found none.

  Weston stood and looked down at her, arms crossed, brow lowered.

  “Well, let’s get you there, Mrs. Garner.”

  She picked at a bald dandelion cap. “My home is just across the creek. That’s where I’ll live until Louise and Deacon return.”

  “It’s empty.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You don’t have any dry clothes.”

  “I. Don’t. Care.”

  “Get on the horse.”

  Rosa started to crawl away, but he was too quick. Lifting her from the ground, he tossed her like a sack of potatoes across the withers of a strange mount, then hopped in the saddle. He kept a heavy hand on her bustle to keep her from squirming off.

  “You can’t do this.”

  “Apparently I can. I’m taking you home to Eliza. After what you’ve been through, you aren’t going to sit alone in a vacant house tonight. She’ll take care of you.”

  Oh. Was that all?

  The saddle horn bit into her already sore ribcage. “Please, Weston. You’re hurting me.”

  He stopped the horse and helped her roll over, right into his arms. “Is this better?”

  She didn’t answer. The rocking of the horse bounced her against him, but she would not melt into his chest. She would not take comfort in his embrace. Him. Her. No blurring between them.

  They crossed his property line. The lights of Palmetto glowed warmly against the blue prairie. Only a few more minutes, and she’d never have to be this close to him again. She’d do what it took to get their marriage annulled. His qualms about his reputation wouldn’t sway her now.

  Weston cleared his throat. “Rosa, we need to talk. I haven’t been honest with you.”

  She bumped against his chest again, and during the brief contact felt his pounding heart. So he’d worked up the nerve? She braced herself for his confession.

  “Last week, you asked if I loved you, and I didn’t tell you the truth. Maybe I didn’t know the truth, but I do now, and I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”

  What? Not what she was expecting. “I have to stop you before you lose all credibility. You’re demeaning yourself. Please don’t.”

  He loosened his grip on her, but no, he wasn’t finished.

  “I am going to say it. I love you, and it isn’t demeaning. It’s right and . . . and sacred. I had so many opportunities to tell you, so many times that I left you to wonder. I’m sorry. Even today, I didn’t reach for your hand when I should’ve. But if you’ll give me another chance—”

  “Stop, please.” She leaned as far away as she could. “Yes, I’m guilty of intruding into your life, but I’ve tried to make amends. I’ve tried to leave, but you’ve kept me bound. Well, not anymore. I’m free now, and I’m going. Please let me take memories of an honest man with me.”

  He stung. Like he’d swallowed fire ants, he hurt and he couldn’t reach the injury, but it kept burning and burning.

  How had he been so wrong? Weston could’ve sworn he’d seen signs of thawing, but he’d misjudged. He’d gone and done the very thing he’d sworn he wouldn’t—he asked her to reconsider. No wonder she was so mad.

  They entered the dining room and caught Jake and Eliza just starting in on their bowls of soup.

  Eliza’s spoon clattered into her bowl. “Rosa, you’re soaked. What happened? Where did you run off to?”

  Rosa’s shoulders drooped. “I’m really tired. I’d rather not—”

  “Tillerton attacked her.” Plain talk or nothing. He wouldn’t allow any more ambiguity.

  “What are we waiting for?” Jake threw his napkin down and jumped up, ready to ride.

  “Steady, Jake. He won’t threaten anyone again.”

  Eliza scrambled around the table and took Rosa into her arms. “Oh, you poor thing. Let’s get you to the kitchen. Jake, get the tub, and I’ll have Octavia fetch her robe and towel. We have to get her warmed up. Soup. Soup would be good.”

  “I’m really not cold,” Rosa protested, but no one heeded her.

  Weston headed out of the dining room and into the parlor. Rosa didn’t want him around. She’d made that clear. He leaned against the mantel and listened to the ticking of the clock.

  Wha
t now? He’d been biding his time, thinking that she’d be there when he got the courage. Had he waited too long, or was she never his to begin with? Didn’t matter. He was at the end of the trail. First thing Monday morning, he’d ride into Lockhart and see the judge. Who knew what legal wrangling it’d take to annul his marriage, but he owed it to her. She’d never wanted him in the first place.

  The gold band on his finger had just begun to feel natural. He rubbed it with his thumb. Soon his finger would be naked again. Unclaimed. Unbound. And he would be free to—what? Wear dirty boots in the house? Go on the trail? Marry?

  He shook his head. Rosa was his wife. Although he hadn’t planned to propose, he’d never regretted marrying her. Even now. Maybe that ring was right where it belonged.

  A little later Weston heard the women’s voices from the stairway. He was the man of the house. Protector. Rosa still lived under his roof, and he was honor-bound to see that she lacked nothing. He took the stairs two at a time and knocked on the open door.

  “Come on in.” Eliza fumbled through Rosa’s vanity and called back to her. “I can’t find your comb. Where is it?”

  “I have a brush,” Rosa said. “Please go to bed. You’re getting overwrought.”

  “Well, why shouldn’t I? I almost lost my sister today.”

  When he stepped into the room, Rosa halted her reply midbreath. She pulled the belt of her robe tight and studied the floor.

  “Weston,” Eliza huffed. “I’m going to have to run downstairs and get a comb. Rosa’s hair is ratted frightfully. Will you stay with her?”

  Rosa’s eyes bulged. “No need. I’ll comb it tomorrow. I don’t mind being alone. . . .”

  But Eliza had vanished.

  Weston turned to avoid staring, but her reflection caught him in the mirror. Her wet locks were spread over shoulders, which still retained a staunch vigil against any approach he might make. He didn’t want to add to her distress, so he remained near the doorway. She could hear him from there.

  “Don’t know why God saw fit to let you go through all that today, but I apologize if I contributed to your trials.”