Another Dawn

by Sandra Brown

  She couldn't stand the mockery of the wedding gown any longer. She thought she would scream if she didn't get out of it Unwilling to wait for anyone to help her, she struggled with the row of hooks down her back, ripping them free when her frantic fingers couldn't unfasten them quickly enough.

  At last, she flung the dress aside. Her bridal underthings were blood-stained too. She stripped until she was naked, then ruthlessly scrubbed herself from her washbowl. Long before she felt clean, tears were raining down her cheeks. She pulled on a robe and fell across her bed in a torrent of tears.

  How could he have done this to her? The pain of finding out was secondary. Knowing that he had taken another woman was the killing blow. How could he have gone to that trashy girl when he had professed his love for her? It was the crudest, the most demeaning kind of betrayal. While Grady had been proclaiming his passion for her, he had been slaking it on Wanda Burns.

  The thought of them together made her want to vomit.

  She heard the door quietly open and close. She rolled to her side. Lydia moved toward the bed. Without speaking a word she sat down on the edge of it and gathered Banner against her breast.

  They held each other for a long time, rocking slightly, until Banner's tears finally ran out. She burrowed her head down until it was resting in Lydia's lap. Lydia pulled her fingers through the hair that was as dark as Ross's, but which had the same volatile texture as hers. It was a mass of waves and curls that had a mind of their own and more often as not wouldn't yield to brushes or pins.

  "You know that your father and I would have taken any pain on ourselves to spare you this."

  "I know, Mama."

  "And we'll do anything, anything, to help you through it."

  "I know that too." She sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. "Why did he do it? How could he hurt me this way?"

  "He didn't intend to hurt you, Banner. He's a man and—"

  "And that makes what he did all right?"

  "No, but—"

  "I don't expect bridegrooms to be as virgin as their brides. I'm not that naive. But when he's declared his love, asked a woman to marry him, isn't that a binding pledge of faithfulness?"

  "I think so. Most women do. Men? I suppose most don't."

  "Couldn't he have controlled his drives? Wasn't I worth waiting for?"

  "He made no comparisons between you and that girl, Banner. That's obvious."

  "I wanted that part of marriage just as much as he did! I told him so," she exclaimed.

  Many mothers would have fainted to hear their daughters say as much. Lydia didn't flinch. She understood sexual desire and hoped her daughter would enjoy that aspect of life as much as she did. She didn't believe in making it something secretive and shameful.

  "What if I'd gone to another man?" Banner demanded. "How would Grady have felt about that? Would I have been forgiven?"

  Lydia sighed. "No. But that's the way of the world. Men are expected to have their... adventures. Grady got caught. He'll pay for it. But you'll pay too. That's unfair." She stroked Banner's cheek.

  "Am I being petulant and intolerant? Should I forgive him? Did you have to forgive Papa any 'adventures'?" Banner sat up and looked directly into her mother's eyes. "Did Papa have other women after he met you?"

  Lydia remembered the night Ross had helped a madam named LaRue and her covey of prostitutes with their wagon. He had stayed late and came back drunk and stinking of whores' perfume. He had sworn then and later that he had gone to the madam's wagon, but couldn't go through with the act. Lydia believed him. "Ross had many women before me, but after we met, no. I can understand how hurt you are."

  "I guess Grady didn't love me like Papa loves you."

  "But someone will, darling."

  "I don't think so, Mama." This brought on another flood of tears.

  When Lydia finally left her, Banner lay on her bed, gazing sightlessly at the ceiling. She had to face the truth about her emotions. Which did she feel more keenly? Hurt or anger?

  Had her love for Grady disintegrated the moment she realized his betrayal? She was furious with him for dragging not only her name, but that of her family, into disgrace. The people of Larsen wouldn't forget today for a long time. It was human nature to be absorbed by someone else's misfortune. It didn't matter that all the Colemans were blameless. Grady had stigmatized them just as he had himself.

  She was angry. And it overrode her hurt. She didn't want Grady back, not in a million years. She ached more for her parents' suffering than she did for his. He had made his bed, let him lie in it. Never had the adage been truer.

  So maybe she hadn't loved him as she thought she had. Still, if his deceit hadn't caught up with him today and revealed him for the weak character he was, she would have remained blissfully ignorant of that. She would have been his loving wife forever. Of that she was certain. Her anger could be absolved on that basis.

  She lay there for a long while, not even noticing the passing hours until the room grew dark and she realized that the sun had gone down.

  Coming off the bed suddenly, she vowed that she wasn't going to skulk around like she was the guilty party. She would be damned before she let Grady Sheldon and all the gossips in town defeat her.

  She washed her face in cold water to relieve the puffiness around her eyes. Dressing in a simple gingham dress and smoothing back her hair, she descended the staircase. Everyone was gathered in the kitchen for supper. The conversation ceased abruptly when they noticed her standing in the doorway.

  All eyes turned to her deferentially. Even Anabeth's children fell abnormally quiet. What had they expected? For her to retreat to her room for the rest of her life? Become an invalid? Hide behind gray, somber clothes? Develop a tendency to have vapors like a shriveled-up old maid?

  "I'm hungry," she announced. "Is there anything left?"

  They had all become still, captured like a painting on a Christmas card, when they saw her. Now everyone moved at once, shifting places to make room for her at the table, getting her a plate and silverware, passing bowls of food toward her. They were all talking in inordinately loud voices. Their smiles were too broad. Their eyes too bright.

  "You were telling us about those new bulls of yours, Hector," Ross said in a booming voice that set Anabeth's baby to crying.

  "Uh, yes, well, I, uh, I..."

  Poor Mr. Drammond, Banner thought as she lowered her eyes to her plate. He was nervous enough without having to be put on the spot by making normal conversation. She didn't say much, but she refused to keep her eyes glued to her plate either. She wasn't really hungry, but forced herself to eat at least half the portion.

  Someone, Ma probably, had seen to it that the house was relieved of its decorations. Not a trace of the wedding reception could be found save for the fruity punch they were drinking. Lydia had carried the defiled wedding gown from her bedroom. She hoped it had been burned. The baskets of flowers were gone. The yard had been cleared. Lydia had also told her not to worry about returning the gifts, that she would see to that painful chore. Banner supposed she had begun that process, for the gift-wrapped boxes were nowhere to be seen.

  Except for the unusual number of people gathered around the table, it could have been any spring evening. Banner thought she was actually more at ease than the others. Frequently they glanced at her worriedly as though she might begin to tear at her hair at any moment.

  When the children finished eating, Marynell offered to take them for a stroll outside. Lee and Micah left as soon as they were done, muttering something about a poker game in the bunkhouse. Ma began clearing the dishes.

  "You stay where you're at," she ordered sternly as Lydia rose from her chair. "I'll get this done in two shakes."

  Anabeth got up to help her. Hector and Ross were discussing ranching in general.

  Lydia listened, gazing at Ross.

  Jake quietly sipped his coffee, gazing at Lydia.

  Banner thought nothing of that because that was normal.
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  "I think I'll go out on the porch," Banner said, scooting her chair back.

  "Let's all go out there," Lydia said hastily. "It'll be cooler. Jake, Hector, bring your coffee if you're not finished."

  When the kitchen chores were done, Marynell drove Ma to her cabin. Anabeth and Hector went with them to put the cantankerous children to bed. Banner let the desultory conversations flow around her. At last, she stepped off the porch into the yard.

  "Banner?"

  "I'm just going for a walk, Papa," she said over her shoulder, noticing the worry in his voice.

  She went as far as the fence that served as a boundary for one of the pastures. A colt and his dam were playing chase in the lush spring undergrowth.

  "Looks like a frisky one."

  She turned to see Lee and Micah walking toward her. "He should be. Wasn't Spartan his sire?"

  "Yep. He's one of the best. Don't you think, Micah?"

  "Sure enough."

  "Did you two come out here to discuss the breed stock? I thought there was a hot poker game going on."

  "Got cleaned out," Micah said, and made a gesture of turning his pockets inside out. The moonlight made his hair look almost as light as Jake's. But not quite.

  Banner put her hands on her hips. "Who was it just the other day who bragged he could beat anybody at cards?"

  Micah cuffed her under the chin. "Don't you ever forget nothing?"

  They were engaging in this familiar banter to try to alleviate the awkwardness. Making light conversation hadn't been easy on anyone since leaving the church.

  "What did you really come out here for?" Banner asked them.

  Lee glanced at Micah, who gave him an encouraging tilt of his head. "Well, we just wanted to, uh, talk to you about what happened in the church."

  She crossed her arms on the top rail of the fence and leaned forward. "What about it?"

  "Well, uh, Banner, Grady might not be the one at fault."

  "What do you mean?"

  Lee swallowed and looked to Micah for needed support. He was absorbed with the pony in the pasture and offered no help at all. "We mean that, uh, a lot of guys, you know, uh, have been with that little tart. She might very well be pointing the finger at the wrong man."

  "Yeah," Micah suddenly chimed in. "It could've been any of fifty guys in town. But Sheldon, well, he'd be a fine catch for her to trap, seeing as he owns that sawmill and all. Ya see?"

  "Just because he's been with her, that doesn't make it his kid. That's what we're trying to say," Lee finished lamely. "Maybe it'll make you feel better knowing that."

  Banner's throat tightened with emotion. "What makes me feel better is knowing that the two of you care about me." She hugged first Lee, then Micah, who hugged her back awkwardly. He wasn't just another cowboy, but he wasn't legally family either.

  He had teased Banner since she was old enough to have her braids tied in knots, but in the last few years he had come to notice the changes in her even if her brother hadn't.

  Micah wasn't immune to them, but he was smart enough to keep his distance. He wasn't about to incur Ma's wrath, much less Ross's, or sacrifice his friendship with Lee by making a pass at Banner.

  She was off limits to cowboys, and that included him. It was an indisputable fact that he had known for a long time. There were lots of girls in the world. Banner might be one of the prettiest, but no woman was worth sacrificing a buddy's friendship for, much less losing your life over.

  "I appreciate what you're trying to do," she said softly. "Grady might not be that baby's father. But he is guilty of being with her. He as much as admitted that. Either way, he's betrayed me."

  "Yeah, I reckon that's so," Micah conceded. He only knew that if he had been engaged to Banner Coleman he would have bad the good sense not to risk losing her no matter how thick the front of his britches got. He had known plenty of fools, but this Sheldon was by far the biggest one he'd ever run across.

  Lee plowed at the ground with the toe of his boot. "I feel sorry for the guy for getting caught doing what all of us... I mean, what so many others do. But at the same time, I'd like to pound his face to mush."

  Banner laid a hand on his arm. "Don't do it, but thanks for the thought."

  Lee lifted his head and smiled at his half-sister. "Say, Banner, they opened up a new dry-goods store in Tyler. It's supposed to be really something. Me and Micah were thinking of riding over there one of these Saturdays as soon as all the mares foal. Would you like to go with us?"

  She knew then the extent of their love. She had always tagged behind them, begging to go along, only to get left in their trail dust. "Thanks, I'd like that," she said, including both of them in her smile.

  They left her, melting into the darkness, their soft conversation audible long after the shadows swallowed them. She ambled back toward the house. Bracing her back against the trunk of the pecan tree, she took in the placid picture before her.

  The frame house showed up whitely against the darkness. Oil lamps from inside made the windows glow golden, warm, and welcoming. Morning glory vines were just starting their summer climb up the six columns, three on each side of the porch. The first shoots of zinnias and larkspurs were greening the flowerbeds. Smoke still curled from the chimney in the kitchen. The setting was deceptive. It didn't look like a tragedy had just befallen the family who lived there.

  When Ross and Lydia first came to the land, they had lived out of Moses's covered wagon. As soon as possible Ross had built a dog-trot house, having the kitchen and living area separated from the sleeping quarters by an open hallway. It was small and rough, but Lydia hadn't minded. She understood their priority was to establish the business first.

  Banner was born in the dog-trot house and was ten before the new house was built. Even by city standards it was graciously constructed. There were four bedrooms upstairs, though Lee most often slept in the bunkhouse. Downstairs was a front parlor and an informal parlor, a dining room, which was rarely used in preference to the eating area in the large kitchen. At the back of the house adjacent to the screened back porch was Ross's office.

  Tears clouded Banner's eyes as she steeped herself in the tranquillity of her home. She hadn't had any qualms about leaving it to get married because she had thought she was going into a home with even more love, hers and Grady's. Her heart ached with what would never be.

  Ross and Lydia were sitting together on the wicker glider, Jake was standing in the corner of the porch, his shoulder propped against the column. His cheroot was a glowing red dot. Banner could smell its fragrant smoke from where she stood beneath the tree. He looked so alone standing there, apart from the couple on the glider.

  Even as Banner watched, Ross cupped his hand around Lydia's cheek and guided her head to his shoulder. He leaned down and planted a soft kiss at her hairline. She rested her hand on his thigh.

  Twin tears escaped Banner's eyes. That's what she had wanted, longed for, that kind of loving. It was comfortable, peaceful. The touches. The speaking glances that excluded the rest of the world. She had wanted to share that kind of oneness with a man. Her disappointment was so profound she ached from it.

  Despair shackled her. Hopelessness smothered her like a shroud. Hastily she left the protective shadows of the tree, went up the steps of the porch, said a fleering good night, and climbed the stairs to her room.

  She went to the valise in which she had packed part of her trousseau and lifted out the nightgown that had been specially made for her wedding night. It was self-punishment, but it was something she felt compelled to do. The gown was sheer white batiste with a scooped neck and long sleeves banded at the wrists. The neckline was decorated with embroidered yellow roses and a row of narrow lace.

  Simple, elegant, and seductive. When she slipped it over her naked body, her figure was silhouetted within its sheer folds.

  She went to bed alone, wallowing in the loss of what tonight should have been. She lay in her bed, feeling more alien and alone than she ever had in her
life. Everyone had someone tonight. Ma Langston had her living children and her grandchildren gathered under her roof. Ross and Lydia had each other. Lee and Micah were bound by friendship. Even Marynell had her books for companions.

  Only the bride was alone.

  She heard her parents come upstairs and go to their room, closing the door behind them. Banner's heart twisted painfully. It wasn't fair! She had been cheated. Why couldn't Grady have loved her with the kind of love her parents shared? Was he the exception to the rule or were they?

  Her body yearned for what she had mentally prepared it for. She longed for the warmth of another body beside hers. A man's body. A man's arms around her, touching tenderly. A man loving her. Her heart cried out for communion with another.

  Restless, she threw off the light sheet and crossed to the window. The breeze cooled her cheeks, but not the raging inside her. The night was beautiful, bathed with the silvery glow of a half-moon. Stars winked. The clover in the pastures gave off its perfume. All her senses were atuned to the things of nature.

  She saw movement. A red dot arced away from the porch and vanished like a firefly. Jake's cigar. Seconds later he stepped off the porch. His spurs jingled softly as he crossed the yard toward the oldest barn on the ranch where his injured horse was stabled.

  Jake.

  She wasn't the only one who was alone. Jake was. And it occurred to her then that he usually was. Even in the midst of Colemans and Langstons, there was a separateness about Jake. He talked and laughed like everybody else, but he was the loner.

  Banner thought she knew the reason why, and it made her incredibly sad for him.

  She watched him slip into the barn. Moments later the dim glow of a lantern shone through one of the dusty windows.

  This was to have been her wedding night. She had been rejected. She had suffered the harshest insult inflicted on a woman. A bride, standing on the brink of a brilliant future, had been plunged into an abyss of dejection. She had been publicly humiliated.