Walk by Faith

by Rosanne Bittner

  “I’m not crazy,” Dawson answered. “I simply can’t tolerate any of those people thinking badly of you because of me. The best way to stop the talk and calm things down is to let Michael marry us.”

  Clarissa jerked away. “How romantic.” She folded her arms and walked a few feet away, seething inside, mainly angry with herself because deep inside a little part of her liked the idea. But the practical side of her told her it was ridiculous. She whirled and faced him. “I still hardly know you. After what I’ve been through, do you really expect me to turn around and marry a near stranger?”

  He put his hands on his hips and stood there in his blue calico shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms, a gun belt around his hips, his dark, wavy hair blowing in strands over his handsome face. Why did he have to look so handsome? Clarissa turned away again.

  “Let’s see,” he said. “You already know I was eight when my parents died in a fire I set by accident, and that a crazed preacher raised me and beat me until I was thirteen—and I still have a couple of scars on my back to prove it. You know I ran off and joined the army, fought in the Mexican War, got some schooling in Philadelphia, then back to the army and served in Texas where I married a Mexican woman who died, taking my baby with her. I was transferred farther north, served at Fort Laramie, fought Indians, then got called to the Civil War, fought at Shiloh, where a man I’d befriended willed some money to me before he was killed. I was wounded in the leg in later fighting, was sent to St. Louis to mend, where I also retrieved the money willed to me, then grabbed little Sophie from under the hooves of a team of horses, which is how I met you. You know I decided to leave the army for good and take a bunch of homeless families who’d lost everything in the war up to Montana to start new lives, and you decided to join up with me. What else do you need to know? Where I lived before I ran away? I was born and raised in Springfield, Illinois, which is where the preacher who took me in also lived. I don’t think I’ve left anything out.”

  She finally faced him again. “Those are just facts. They don’t explain the real Dawson Clements. How do I know you won’t turn out to be a drunken wife beater? You were drinking the first night you came to my wagon, if you will remember.”

  “That was for courage. I’m not exactly the most self-confident man who ever walked, you know.”

  Clarissa rolled her eyes. “You’re the most confident man I’ve ever met. You give orders like a—like a drill sergeant! Do you intend to order me around? I’ve learned some hard lessons, Dawson Clements, and one of them is I’ll never let a man walk all over me again—ever!”

  He grinned. “Good. That pride is part of what I love about you.”

  She waved him off. “Stop saying you love me. You don’t know me any better than I know you.”

  “You don’t always need to know every last detail about a person to love them, Clare. What else do you want to know about me?”

  “What about other women?” she asked, facing him again. “It was a long time ago that you served in Texas. What about between then and now? Have there been other women you thought you loved?” She saw instant pain in his eyes and regretted the question.

  He walked closer, sobering. “No. There have been no other women who meant one whit to me.”

  She turned away. “Just the kind who follow the soldiers wherever they go, I suppose. How do I know you aren’t carrying some dreaded disease?”

  “What?”

  She covered her face. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what made me say that.”

  “Maybe it’s because you don’t like the thought of me being with other women.”

  She gasped. “Oh, the gall. I—I don’t know how I feel about you at all! One minute you’re nothing more to me than a guide for this wagon train, and the next minute I—”

  He stepped closer. “You what?”

  She just shook her head.

  He grasped her shoulders. “Clare, I don’t have any disease. And if you want to know so much about me, sure, I’ve succumbed to being human a few times. I never told you I was perfect. I’m far from that. But you do something to me. You’ve made me think about my life and what I want. I know you aren’t even sure you love me, and I know the last thing you’re ready for is to trust a man again. For now I just want Michael to marry us to quiet things down. It will just make the rest of the trip easier, because I intend to spend more time with you and Sophie, so that you can get to know me better. If you’re my wife, people won’t care how much time I spend with you.”

  She turned from him again, her emotions tumbling in a cascade of fear and anger and frustration and confusion. “If we do this…don’t expect any—you know—conjugal rights, I think they call it.”

  There came a moment of silence. “Who wants to be with a woman who doesn’t really want him?” he finally answered.

  She swallowed. “I…didn’t say that. I mean—I just need to know it’s all for the right reasons. I’ll need you to sign a paper that gives me the right to have the marriage annulled at any time, as long as we haven’t truly been man and wife. I—This is just to make things look better, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And you won’t—you won’t think you have…husbandly rights…just because of a piece of paper?”

  “Well, let’s see. We’re out here in the middle of nowhere, with only canvas-covered wagons to sleep in. Do you really think I’d climb in your wagon and force myself on you and have everybody on this wagon train hear the ruckus you’d raise and embarrass me beyond recovery? No, thank you.”

  She covered her face, hiding a smile that for some strange reason turned to tears. In the next moment his arms were around her, and she didn’t mind. He held her close, and she turned to him, taking comfort in his strength.

  “When and if we make this a real marriage, Clare Graham, it will be the right way, in private, and for all the right reasons, just like you want it. Will you trust me that much?”

  Hard as she tried, she couldn’t stop the sobs that poured forth without notice. “I try to be so brave and confident, but I’m scared of everything, Dawson. Outlaws, the Indians, the buffalo, the deep waters, the weather, snakes, wolves, what could happen to Sophie, what I’ll do when I reach Montana. And it’s not just you—I’m scared I did something wrong in my marriage, that maybe it’s partly my fault Chad left—only, I can’t understand what it was. What if that happened with you? And what about the army? It was your whole life. How do you know you won’t want to go back? I don’t want that life for Sophie. I want to be settled. I want her to have a real daddy—who’s with her every day.”

  “I guess that’s where the trust comes in, when I tell you I will give you all those things. And Chad Graham, from what you’ve told me, was a poor excuse of a man who was probably scared to death of responsibility. My guess is he’s already thinking of leaving the woman he ran off with. He’ll never be settled and happy with one woman. Some men are like that. I’m not one of them. I know it in my heart, even though up to now I’ve never lived that way.”

  Clarissa pulled away. “This is terrible. I’m so sorry. Here you’re asking me to marry you and telling me you love me, and I’m bawling like a baby and acting like you’ve asked something horrible of me.”

  “You have a right to cry.”

  It struck her then, and she faced him, wiping at her tears. “So do you, Dawson.”

  A strange look came into his eyes. “I did my crying, after my first beating. After that I made a vow to never cry again.” He put on a smile that obviously masked something much deeper. “Now, are you going to marry me?”

  She couldn’t think of one thing about Dawson Clements that any woman wouldn’t be attracted to or want. He was handsome, able, caring, brave…

  “Marriage is the last thing I came out here for. It’s one thing I believed would not happen again for a long, long time, if ever. Yes, I’ll marry you, but only to make it easier for us to spend time together, with the agreement that I can end the marriage
if I so choose, and that you don’t demand any husbandly rights without my consent, and that you understand, Dawson Clements, that it’s quite possible we’ll reach Montana and have to go our separate ways. I don’t want you blaming yourself for that. It wouldn’t be a rejection of you or because you aren’t worthy. It will be because of my own doubts and fears.”

  He stepped closer again, grasping her face and wiping at her tears with his thumbs. “Then I will have to do my best on the rest of this journey to erase those doubts and fears, won’t I?”

  She closed her eyes as he leaned down and lightly kissed her lips. She grasped his sturdy wrists. “I don’t want Sophie calling you Daddy. We have to think of her, too. She doesn’t truly understand what marriage means yet, so nothing has to change where she is concerned. I don’t want her growing any more attached than she already is—just in case.”

  He kissed her eyes. “Agreed. Just in case. And, uh, regarding tonight—no one will believe our story if we don’t go off alone together, if you know what I mean.”

  She stiffened and pulled away. “What are you suggesting?”

  “I’m suggesting you camp with me away from the wagon train. You can sleep in my tent. I’ll sleep outside, which I do most of the time anyway. I seldom put up that tent, but I’ll do it for you.”

  She put a hand to her forehead. “I suppose we don’t have much choice. What about Zeb? Will he know the truth?”

  Dawson grinned. “Zeb has done and seen it all. He won’t care one way or another, although he’s told me that he’s known total strangers to get married on trips like this. A man loses his wife and a woman loses her husband—he needs a woman to help with his children, she needs a man to provide for hers, so they get married because it’s the practical thing to do. Funny thing is, most of those marriages end up successful. And just look how much more we have to go on. This might work out a lot better than you think.”

  She met his gaze, determined to give him a warning and doubtful scowl, but his teasing grin made it impossible. “We shall see, Mr. Clements.”

  “Yes, we shall, Mrs. Clements.” He walked up and put a hand to her waist. “Shall we go see Preacher Harvey?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “I feel like I’m sixteen,” Clarissa told Carolyn a short time later, as her friend pulled Clarissa’s thick hair into one big braid through the crown and down the back. “This whole thing is so silly.”

  “I think it’s wonderful,” Carolyn answered, tying a pink ribbon at the end of the braid. “And I don’t believe you will regret this one bit. Who knows? Maybe before we reach Montana you’ll face the fact that you really do love Dawson Clements, and by the time we get there you won’t be able to legally annul this marriage.”

  “Carolyn Harvey!”

  “He’s more man than you’ll ever come across again, and you know it. And the poor man loves you dearly, so give this marriage time to become truly real and lasting. It’s God’s will, you know.”

  “No, I don’t know that, and I didn’t say I wouldn’t give the marriage a chance.”

  They stood behind Clarissa’s wagon, away from the others, so that no one would see Clarissa until the ceremony began. Clarissa turned around and faced Carolyn. “How do I look?”

  “You know you’re beautiful, no matter what you wear or how your hair is done. Good thing you brought at least one fancier dress along. Pink is perfect with your hair and complexion. And those little white ruffles around the neck and sleeves and down the buttons—why, for all the hard work of traveling this far, a person wouldn’t know it by the look of you. You look like you’ve just stepped out of Sunday church. Dawson will be very pleased.”

  Clarissa scowled. “I don’t care if he’s pleased or not.”

  “It’s a sin to lie, Clarissa.”

  Clarissa smiled, taking Carolyn’s hands. “You look very nice yourself today, with that blue ribbon in your hair and that pretty blue dress.”

  The taller, much more robust woman blushed and smiled. “Well, now, you know it takes a lot to make this plain gal pretty, but I clean up pretty good, I’d say.”

  Both women laughed, and Sophie came running around to them, carrying a handful of wildflowers. “Look, Mommy! Dawson helped pick them! He said you should cawwy them.”

  “We’re ready, Carolyn!” Michael called from the other side of the wagon.

  Clarissa felt her heart rush faster. She took the flowers from Sophie, who wore a yellow ruffled dress for the occasion. “You look so pretty, Sophie.”

  The girl smiled and skipped off. “Huwwy, Mommy!”

  Clarissa glanced at Carolyn again. “Are you sure this is right?”

  “You know it is. This is all God’s doing, as far as I’m concerned. Now, come on. I’ve never been a matron of honor before!”

  The two women walked around the other side of the wagon, where the rest of the wagon party stood waiting, headed by Michael, who held his Bible open, Otto Hensel, who’d agreed to be the best man—and Dawson, who watched Clarissa lovingly as she stepped closer.

  One thing Clarissa did not doubt—she was marrying one of the most handsome men she could ever have found, but she’d learned handsomeness meant nothing when it came to loyalty and true love. And there Dawson stood, wearing a white shirt and black string tie and black jacket, his boots cleaned up as best as he could get them, his face clean-shaven, his thick, dark hair clean and slicked back. Nothing but love and sincerity showed in his dark eyes, as well as a look there that only a woman could appreciate. It made her feel beautiful, and she almost felt sorry for him that this marriage would not be consummated…certainly not right away. They had a lot to learn about each other—and if all the learning meant they would discover this was not right after all, she wanted no regrets, no physical ties.

  Dawson reached out, and she placed her hand in his big ones as he folded both of them around her hand reassuringly. Clarissa handed the flowers to Carolyn, and Michael began reading from the Bible.

  “‘Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not love, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not love, I am nothing.

  “‘Love suffereth long, and is kind; love envieth not; love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things; believeth all things; hopeth all things; endureth all things.

  “‘Charity never faileth; but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. And now abideth faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.’”

  Michael proceeded to have Clarissa and Dawson speak their vows, and for all her doubts, Clarissa could not help feeling sincere. Deep inside she knew this was right after all. If only she could rid herself of the nagging hurts and fears that would not leave her. For his part, Dawson’s look could not possibly display more sincerity.

  For Clarissa, everything proceeded as though in a strange dream. She was speaking marriage vows, something she didn’t believe she’d do again for a long, long time, if ever. It seemed like no time at all before she heard the words, “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

  The little group of travelers cheered and clapped, as did little Sophie. Michael was beaming, and when Clarissa looked up at Dawson, so was he.

  “You may kiss the bride,” Michael announced.

  Grinning a smile that would attract any woman, Dawson leaned down, and Clarissa allowed the kiss, a warm, soft, deep kiss of promise and reassurance that calmed her. “I love you, Mrs. Clements,” he said softly in her ear.

  She wanted desperately to reply with the same sincerity, but not yet…not yet. They turned to greet everyone, shaking hands, accepting a few gifts, mostly homemaki
ng items other women were willing to give up. However, the merrymaking couldn’t last long. Dawson did not want to give up travel time, and within an hour they were changed back into their everyday wear and were again on their way.

  At the end of a long morning Dawson shared lunch with Clarissa and Sophie, giving Clarissa a hug and a kiss before they were under way yet again. Throughout the long afternoon Clarissa couldn’t help worrying about how the night would go, if Dawson would keep his promise. Early evening brought a long-needed rest to the strangest day Clarissa could remember. Dawson joined them for supper, telling Clarissa he would go set up his tent on a nearby hill and wait for her. Giving her a quick kiss, he left, and Clarissa nervously helped Carolyn scrub dishes and put them back into a wooden box attached to the side of Carolyn’s wagon.

  “Have a nice night,” Carolyn told her with a wink.

  “Oh, Carolyn, stop it. Nothing is going to happen. And please don’t tease about it. I honestly don’t want to be pushed or questioned.”

  Carolyn smiled. “I understand, and I’m sorry. It’s just that Michael feels this is so right for you, and that God wants this, too.” She gave Clarissa a quick hug. “But for now you do have to convince everyone else on this train that this is for real, so pack a flannel gown and be on your way, Mrs. Clements.”

  Clarissa smiled and shook her head. Nervously she packed a few supplies, gave Sophie a quick kiss and headed toward Dawson’s campsite.

  He was waiting by a lit fire, drinking coffee. “Well, there you are, Mrs. Clements. How do you feel about this day?”

  She set down her bag. “Very confused.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t blame you. Want some coffee?”

  “No. If you don’t mind, I’ll go inside the tent and go to sleep.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever you want. I set up my bedroll behind the tent. That way no one will know I’m not in the tent. And I’ll be right close by in case of danger, or—uh—in case you call out to me.”