Her Secret Shame (Black Hills Brides Book 3)

by Christine Sterling

  “Something came up,” he said, turning around towards the back of the room to pick up some paper to occupy his hands. He had pretended to get married last night, which hinders a man from performing his job, he thought to himself. And he needed to get the preacher out to the ranch, so he could make it official.

  “Well, the man didn’t get away without leaving something,” Tom said, as he moved to stand next to John. He handed him a sliver of green material, almost emerald color. “We found this on the new barbed fence we put up. We think he got stuck on the chain on his way out.”

  John held the piece of fabric in his hands, moving it between his fingers. It was soft, almost as if it was from a woman’s dress, which didn’t fit the profile of any cattle rustlers he had ever known. Still, he felt it was going to be a very important piece of the puzzle.

  Misty couldn’t sleep. The big bed was too big for her and all her thoughts for the night were about how much she wished John was there to share it with her. She tossed and turned, until it became too much for her; so, she spent the rest of her night cleaning the room. She had folded heaps of clothing that John seemed to have strewn around without any clear direction and had dusted off the furniture, leaving clouds of dust in her wake.

  And now it was early morning and Misty felt exhausted. Though she couldn’t close her eyes to sleep, no matter how much she had wanted to. She lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing she was back at the hotel. She missed her own bed. If she was there, she would be preparing the breakfast for the day, with Mr. Higgins yelling and hollering at anyone who would listen.

  She thought of Mary. She never had a chance to tell her goodbye. What if she was now traveling to her room, knocking on her door, and wondering why she wasn’t answering? How was she ever going to explain what had happened to her?

  There was a soft knock on the door before it sprang open. Misty, who had been laying on the edge of the bed with her feet planted on the floor, lifted herself up so she could see Beatrice standing in her doorway. “It’s time to get up and get ready for the day!” Beatrice shouted, as she went over to grab Misty. “We have plenty of chores that need to be done,”

  Misty was stunned at Beatrice’s enthusiasm. “Chores?” she had asked.

  Beatrice looked at her, bewildered. “Yes chores. You didn’t think this was like your hotel where you could have room and board with not real work. Out here on the ranch, you must earn your keep,” she said, as she motioned to the door. “The ranch is waiting.”

  Misty felt annoyed with Beatrice. She had never expected to stay and not help; she was irritated that she would think this is what Misty had wanted. She didn’t want anyone’s help, certainly not the Henderson’s. She got up from the bed, going to her clothes before she realized she didn’t really have the attire for ranch life. She turned around, internally dreading asking Beatrice for anything. “If it is alright, do you have any clothes I can wear? It seems I only have a few dresses. They might hinder my work for the day.”

  Beatrice narrowed her eyes and sighed. “I don’t think I would have anything that would fit you,” she said, eyeing Misty from her head to her feet. Although Beatrice was taller than she was, it wasn’t by much, and Misty could see they were about the same size from where she was standing. “I think what you are wearing would do, for now. Maybe my brother will bring you some clothes. I’ll be downstairs for breakfast, if you hurry, you can eat before you go.”

  With that Beatrice left. Misty looked at all her belongings, going through each piece of clothing. She finally decided to wear one of her older dresses with the fraying bottom. She had wanted to hem the bottom skirt, but if she was going to do manual labor, this seemed like the dress she was going to use.

  Once she was done dressing she slipped on her working boots and headed down to the kitchen. Sitting at the table with Beatrice was John and a man she didn’t recognize.

  “Good morning, John,” she said, helping herself to a cup of coffee on the stove. “Beatrice,” she said between sips and nodding to the man at the table.

  “John. Pastor Hoffman, may I serve you more coffee?” Beatrice asked, lifting herself from the chair before dropping back down and resting her arms on the table. “I don’t know what came over me, I feel very faint.”

  John rushed to her side, “Do we need to call the doctor, Beatrice? These episodes are becoming more frequent.”

  Beatrice pushed him away, “I’ll be fine. Some mornings I feel weaker than others. I hate for you to see me like this, brother. Here, let me get you that cup of coffee.”

  “It’s okay, I don’t think we need any more coffee. Here, let me help you to your chair,” he said, lifting his sister by the arm and guiding her to the overstuffed chair in the sitting room. Misty and Pastor Hoffman followed behind and entered the room, each flanking a side of the sofa.

  Beatrice made a show of covering herself with a lap blanket and settling into the cushions before turning back to her brother. “Now, what brings you here this morning? I wasn’t expecting you until much later and I’m surprised you brought the pastor with you.”

  “He is here to marry Misty and I.” Misty placed her cup on the bit of lace on the end table and lightly coughed.

  “Marry you?” Beatrice looked confused. “But you said last night you were married.”

  John knelt next to the chair, so he was eye level with his sister. “We weren’t officially married. I needed to protect Misty and it was easier than trying to explain last night,” John said.

  Beatrice’s face turned bright red and she inhaled, clutching the arms of the chair. “You brought your harlot here? Under our parents’ roof and put her in our parents’ bed none-the-less?

  Misty gasped. John looked at her and held his hand up, silencing her for the moment.

  “I will not have you speak to her that way, Bea. She is my wife, or will be in a few minutes, and I want you to treat her just as you treat me. This is no longer our parents’ house, and you need to realize that we can’t stay living in the past.

  Misty walked up and touched John on the shoulder. “Perhaps we should wait,” she suggested. “This appears to be upsetting your sister.”

  “Beatrice is fine. Aren’t you, Bea?” he said, looking at his sister who was sobbing in the chair.

  “I just don’t want anyone to be using you, John. And if you brought her here without marrying her, then she must be looking to trap you.”

  Misty opened her mouth, but John held up his hand again. “That is the furthest thing from the truth. Now, dry your eyes, Bea, and put on your biggest smile and support me through this.”

  “I will try,” she said, wiping her nose on a kerchief. “I just don’t want to be forgotten now that you have someone else.”

  “Never,” John said, standing and taking Misty by the elbow. “Pastor Hoffman, we are ready.”

  “Ready? I’m not ready, John. I didn’t realize you were coming this early and look at what I’m wearing.”

  “You look beautiful, and this is the only time Pastor Hoffman had available, he was headed to the train when I caught him.”

  Misty turned and stood in front of the pastor and John nodded for him to begin. Beatrice sat behind the pastor and Misty could see her nostrils flaring as she looked at them.

  “Dearly beloved,” Pastor Hoffman began.

  Misty listened to the words, but they sounded fuzzy to her ears. Her eyes were on Beatrice who started breathing heavier with each word the pastor spoke.

  She recalled repeating the words that bound her to John from this moment forward. She recalled him slipping a plain gold band on her hand and squeezing as he recited his vows that would make him her husband. But it wasn’t until he gently called her name that she was able to break eye contact with Beatrice and look at him.

  “I’m going to kiss you, Misty,” he said before leaning down to touch his lips to hers. It was so fleeting, Misty barely felt it at all.

  The pastor issued his congratulations as Beatrice sat in silenc
e, fuming. When John turned to her, she quickly put her mask back in place and turned a beaming smile to him.

  “What a lovely ceremony,” she dripped out. “I don’t know when I’ve see something so special. I wish I had cake or something to offer you.”

  “It’s okay, Bea. I have to get back to town. Pastor Hoffman has to catch the train and I have work to do.”

  “So soon?” Beatrice whined. “We haven’t had a chance to visit.”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “I need to get the chores started,” she said, pulling herself up from the chair. Taking a step, she stumbled into John’s arm. “Oh my, I still feel so faint.”

  John lowered her back into the chair and placed the blanket on her lap. “Just rest, Bea.”

  “But I have chores to get done. This ranch doesn’t run itself.”

  “Misty can assist you.”

  “Oh, thank you,” she said, giving her brother a timid smile before turning to Misty. “I’m sure you have had a lot of practice at the hotel.”

  “John. I…,” Misty started.

  John led Misty out of the room and onto the porch. The buckboard was still at the door, where John must have left it when he arrived. The pastor sat in the front seat not lending any attention to the young couple.

  “I’m sorry I have to leave you. I have some business to attend to and this will give you and Bea an opportunity to get to know each other better.”

  “I do not think she likes me in the least,” Misty said.

  “I am sure that is not true. Just think, her world has been turned upside down. It may just take some getting used to.” John leaned down and placed another kiss on her lips before stepping off the porch and joining the pastor on the long seat. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Misty waved them off before heading back into the kitchen. She was in dire need of a cup of coffee. Walking into the small room she was surprised to see Beatrice leaning against the door frame.

  “You must be feeling better,” Misty said to her new sister-in-law. “Shall I make us breakfast?”

  Beatrice smirked at her. “I’ve already eaten, and the kitchen is now closed. You heard, John. You are here to help me. We are way behind since you had to interrupt my morning routine. Let’s start, shall we?” she asked, breezing by Misty and heading out the door.

  Misty thought she would just be doing a few chores around the ranch. Cleaning, washing dishes, maybe even do a few outside activities. Beatrice had a lengthy list of tasks and put her to work immediately. First, she had to feed the chickens and collect eggs from the chicken coop. Then there was the moving of hay to the barn.

  The list went on and on, until finally Misty was so exhausted she wanted to fall flat where she stood. At the end of the day, she was barely hanging on to the shovel in her hands. Beatrice had made her dig a small hole in front of the ranch house for no other reason than to punish her. Or, at least, that’s what Misty thought in her mind.

  She couldn’t believe how outwardly mean Beatrice was being to her. Misty was unaware of anything she had done to anger John’s sister other than marry him. She was trying to figure out why she was acting in such a way, when she saw two gentlemen come trotting up the sidewalk. Beatrice turned to Misty, who was trying to carry in the shovel even though her arms hurt from her shoulders to her fingertips. “Misty, I need you to go inside and start preparing dinner.”

  Misty was startled by the request. “But, what am I to make?” she asked, looking at the sky. It was already darkening, and she knew she had probably needed a few hours to cook anything worth eating.

  Beatrice shot a glance at Misty that made her palms sweat. “Do I have to do everything for you?” she exclaimed, throwing her arms up in the air. “Just go inside,” she said, dismissing Misty to the house. Misty looked at the two men warily before she disappeared inside. Something seemed amiss. From what Misty had observed about John’s sister, she was not much of a worker. She had heard some of the girls talking in the halls about how fragile the sister had seemed. She had been poorly for a long time. Today, Misty noticed nothing of the sort; she seemed as fit as any woman she had ever met, even more so than herself. Misty knew she was a few years younger than Beatrice, but that didn’t seem to stop Beatrice from running circles around her.

  When Misty had been inside for a few minutes, she was anxious to see what was going on outside between the men and Beatrice. She knew that she shouldn’t eavesdrop on her; it wasn’t polite to do. But curiosity got to her, so she walked over to the window, using the drapes as cover. She saw Beatrice, standing before the two men. They seemed to be arguing about something. She couldn’t hear much through the glass window and the wooden walls. She tried to read their lips, a skill she had mastered when she was younger and wanted to eavesdrop on her parents.

  She could make out a few words, only they were talking so fast. Whatever the men were saying, it was frantic. Their eyes looked wide with fear. Intrigued, Misty looked around the room, noticing the window farthest from the door was unlatched. She walked over to the window and slowly opened it, letting only a sliver of space between the window and the frame.

  “It’s been getting harder and harder to make our numbers. I think he knows,” said one of the gentlemen.

  Beatrice grumbled. “He knows nothing. If he did, he would have taken care of it already. You worry too much, Henry.”

  “I don’t know, Bea,” Henry continued, “I saw him talking to Gideon Avery a few nights ago.”

  “That means nothing,” answered Beatrice, as she shook her head. “You and Mathis just can’t come up here anymore while I have company.”

  “The girl?” the other gentleman asked, looking beyond Beatrice into the house. Misty quickly sidestepped from the window, afraid they were going to see her. “She’s the feisty maid from the hotel? I thought Clover was supposed to take care of her.”

  Misty blanched. Supposed to take care of me? “My brother, ever the hero, interfered. He even went as far as to marry the little chit. Apparently, if something is to be done, I’m the one that has to do it,” she said.

  Misty heard one of the horses make a noise and footsteps go towards the door. Fearing getting caught, she made herself scarce by making her way to her room. She closed the door, keeping her body against it for fear Beatrice was going to rush through and catch her in the act of listening in. When she knew no one was coming, she sat on the bed nervously holding her hands. Her mind was whirling as to what Beatrice meant that she needed to be taken care of.

  A knock sounded on the door, making Misty jump. “Misty? You need to come down and help me with supper. John will be home soon.” Then she heard footsteps padding down the hallway. She waited a few minutes before she made her way back to the kitchen. She avoided eye contact with Beatrice, as she barked orders. Misty went through the motions of cooking stew for dinner, doing everything Beatrice had asked (even the steps Misty knew were wrong), her body continuing along while her mind was elsewhere. She didn’t want to raise suspicions. As it was, Beatrice must have not heard her at the window. She was probably the type of person who would make sure someone wouldn’t talk.

  A few hours later, the table was set, and Misty and Beatrice silently waited for John to come home. Misty tried to avoid eye contact as best she could, before Beatrice decided to talk. “Why do you have such a sad face?” she asked, in the most condescending tone.

  Misty tried to ignore it. “I am just a bit tired from the arduous work today,” she said, in an even tone.

  Beatrice laughed, cocking her head back in the most obnoxious voice Misty had ever heard. “Hard work? This was nothing. If you can’t handle this, I don’t know how you can handle tomorrow,” she sneered, as Misty looked up from her empty plate. They locked eyes, as Beatrice’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t know what my brother sees in you. You can’t even last a day. You may have thought my brother would be a meal ticket, but you are definitely mistaken.”

  Anger surged through Misty
. White hot anger from the heels of her feet to the roots of her hair. She surmised that this woman obviously had an agenda she needed to fulfill, and Misty was a huge inconvenience to her plans. What she didn’t know was that Misty was a fighter and she was not someone who was going to be walked all over. She was polite and had been polite to her host, as she had been a guest in her house. But in less than a day, she had been insulted in more ways than one and her patience was finally gone. She picked up the fork next to her, gripping it tightly with her fingers. “Beatrice, I..” she started to say, before she heard the door open.

  As if Misty had been dismissed, Beatrice sprang from the table to greet her brother. When John came in the room, she felt both relief and extinguished anger. She noticed the subtle differences in Beatrice’s posture, as she hung on the arm of John, chatting. She was holding herself a little slouched, not at all like the girl that was sitting before Misty not five minutes before. “Beatrice, what have you cooked today?” John asked, as he looked at his sister. “It smells so good.”

  “Beef stew. I knew you would enjoy it,” she said, turning to Misty seated at the table. “Misty, if you would be so kind as to serve dinner, I would be grateful. Seeing as I am the one who did all the work,” she said with a careful giggle that Misty took as calculated in every way. As she got up from the table, John noticed her for the first time.

  When their eyes met, it felt like electricity. Time seemed to stand still, as Misty was transported back to that day in the hotel when she thought she was about to give herself to another man. She touched her lips unconsciously, feeling the soft skin. John took notice, narrowing in on her fingers at her lips. “Misty, you don’t have to,” he said, as he came back to himself, taking a step toward Misty. “I can take care of it.”

  “Nonsense. You deserve to have a seat, as the day has probably been long for you,” Beatrice said, as she walked John over to his usual seat. Feeling every bit like a servant again, she walked over to the kitchen, preparing three plates for them to eat. When she entered the room again, setting down the plates in front of them, Beatrice and John had moved on to other discussions. Misty was starving. She dug into her dinner with relish and didn’t think too much of the conversation around her. A few words such as “cattle rancher” and “rustling” caught her attention, but she was more interested in feeding her growling belly.