by Ward, Marsha
He stopped short. Maggie. What made him think of Maggie Julander? Memories popped into his mind. Maggie. Tall—almost as tall as Ned himself. Slim, with dark hair falling over her shoulders like a waterfall in deep shadows. Sun-browned arms. That Mississippi lilt to her voice. The yearning way she had looked back toward him when the Mormons left. No, Ned, he told himself. You’re going to marry Jessie.
“Jessie,” he moaned as his mind reviewed the past days when he’d lain abed, mouth and throat burning until she’d brought him the tea. She sang me lullabies. Lullabies! Same as she did Luke! I’m not her man. I’m her big brother!
He chewed on that thought for a moment as he took care of his business. Does she love me? Maybe. Maybe like I’m her protector, yes, her big brother. I’ve looked out for her for years, made sure she didn’t come to any harm ever since we were youngsters. Don’t we suit each other?
A biting question entered his thoughts. Do I love Jessie? ”Of course I do!” he exclaimed to the wooded landscape. “There’s no doubt of that.”
“Ned?”
He stiffened at Jessie’s voice behind him.
“What’s there no doubt of?”
“Jessie,” he said, his brain whirling with the enormity of the idea that came upon him, the vastness of the consequences of what he knew he was going to do. He turned slowly to face her, the girl he thought he’d adored forever. The bottom seemed to drop out of his stomach. “Jessie,” he said again. “We’ve been friends for a long time.”
He watched the expressions changing on her face. Wariness. Doubt. Fear. Knowing he brought her to fear was like a punch to the head. He swallowed hard.
“Jessie. You don’t have to marry me.”
“What?” Her face reflected horror. “Ned, what are you sayin’?”
What would be better? Blaming himself or her? He watched Jessie shaking her head back and forth. Himself. That was the right notion. He squared his shoulders. “I’m releasing you from your promise.”
“No. No no no! You can’t do that! We’re getting wed soon. When we get to Albuquerque.” Her hands balled into fists, almost as if she would strike out at him in another minute.
He gulped. “I don’t love you, Jessie. Not that way.”
“You’re daft! You do love me. You always have.”
“Like a friend, Jessie. Like a good habit.”
“A habit! I’m not a habit. I’m your—I’m almost your wife. You can’t simply shuck me off like a dirty shirt.”
“I’m not shucking you off, Jessie. I’m letting you go. You fancy James Owen over me.”
“James Owen? What’s he got to do with anything? He—I don’t—he don’t care a fig for me!”
Ned shook his head. “You’re hiding behind me, Jessie. Using me to keep Owen at a distance so you won’t get hurt again.” He felt a slow burn of anger rising in his gut. “All a body has to do is look at his eyes to know he worships you.”
“No.” Her voice took on a mournful tone. “He loves that dead wife.”
“He loved you first, dammit!” He stood as tall as he could, considering that his soul was bent over, crouching and curling into a ball at having to admit the truth. “Get it into your head, Jessie. We’re done. James Owen has a better claim on you. He knows it and now I know it.”
“I don’t know any such thing! I won’t let you throw me over.”
He didn’t see the slap coming, and it snapped his head to one side, stinging his face and his dignity.
Anger flared in him. “I should have traded you for the gelding,” he said. At the look on her face, he compressed his lips and regretted his words, but they were in the air. He couldn’t take them back.
“I hate you,” she said, flinging the phrase like another slap.
“Good. You won’t want to marry me.” Ned turned and started toward the camp, his harsh thoughts blinding him to his surroundings. The last thing he knew was a tremendous pain at the back of his head, accompanied by a flash of red behind his eyes.
~~~
James heard the scream, recognized the fear in it, knew it was Jessie’s voice. She’d slipped into the woods, following Ned Heizer. As James jumped up and headed toward the trees he wondered what was happening between them to make her shriek like that. Even Heizer wouldn’t—
He almost stumbled over Ned’s body. That raised the short hairs. Hush, where’s Jessie? Her cries had been cut short as though someone’s hand had clamped over her mouth. He peered into the trees ahead, and started as the old dog rushed past him, growling deep in its throat. He ran forward, keeping it in sight. George and Robert raised a cry behind him as they discovered Ned.
James heard a muffled wail ahead and to his left, and he turned in the direction of the sound. “Jessie,” he hollered. “I’m coming!”
Whoever had taken Jessie moved through the woods at a quick pace, and James wondered if he was in a race with a horseman. Fear gripped his heart with a tight fist, but he dug deep into his strength and ran faster, dodging around trees, hurdling fallen logs, slapping brittle hanging branches away from his face.
Jessie screamed again. A man’s harsh voice told her to shut up, but she disobeyed him, giving James a beacon to run toward.
Time had no meaning as he fought his way through the vegetation, his chest heaving, the puckered scar on his side burning in agony. Jessie!
He caught sight of her white apron through the screen of tree trunks. She was just ahead, beyond that copse of oaks. She struggled with a stout man on horseback. Is that the trader? James gulped air, found his second wind, and sped toward them.
The dog was barking, growling. A horse screamed, reared as the dog nipped at its legs. Jessie was falling, crying out as the man landed on top of her.
~~~
Oh God, oh God, oh God, Jessie thought. Not like Hannah! She flailed with her elbows, scrambling from under the man’s heavy body. I won’t let him!
The man grabbed her ankle, dragging her toward him. She bent her other knee and kicked at him. He let go for just a moment, then clutched at her again before she could get free. He stood up and pulled her to his feet, swearing at the fleeing horse. She shrieked, and he put his hand over her mouth once more.
“None of that!”
Jessie shuddered as her captor yanked her along, kicking at the dog that nipped him. She’d been angry before this brute hauled her onto his saddle, angry at Ned for his imprudent, thoughtless words, for jilting her after all this time. Now she felt the anger rise in her again, beating back the fear that had partially paralyzed her brain.
She bit the man’s hand, grinding her teeth into the flesh, tasting the brine of his blood. She gagged, and her teeth lost their grip as the man thrashed his arm in pain.
Despite having to take a second to spit out the trader’s blood, Jessie grabbed at the man, wrapped her arms around his waist, and hung off him, a dead weight, trying to hinder his progress until James could catch up. The man tripped, flailed around, and halted, trying to beat at the dog with a club.
She’d stopped him, she realized, triumph surging through her body. She had the upper hand. She and the dog, she recognized, as it tore at the man’s leg. Because of her efforts at hampering the trader, his stupid club wasn’t having much effect on the dog.
James burst between two saplings and skidded to a halt. Jessie laughed at the astonished look on his face.
He launched himself into the fray, hitting the man over and over with his fists, and getting a glancing blow on his head from the club for his troubles.
The sight of blood streaming down from James’s scalp almost choked her, but it didn’t seem to deter him from playing the hero. He soon overpowered the man, bringing them all down to the ground in a heap.
“Jessie, turn him loose,” James said.
She unwrapped her arms from the man and spit again, shuddering, but she wanted to laugh at James’s commanding tone. She and the dog had got the best of the trader.
“¡Quita!” he told the dog. “Get off th
ere.”
Jessie scrambled away, and the dog sat on its haunches, still growling.
As James lugged the man to his feet, he said, “See if you can find his horse. Bring a rope.”
“You ain’t gonna hang me?” yelped the man.
“What outlandish notion took hold of your senses?” James shouted at the trader. “You can’t kidnap a woman!”
“Your head!” Jessie said, reaching up with a corner of her apron to dab at the blood pouring down James’s cheek. “You’re bleedin’ all over.”
“Never mind my head. Get me a rope.”
“I wasn’t going to hurt her. I only wanted a bit of female companionship,” the man whined.
“You picked the wrong female,” James said, twisting the trader’s hands behind his back. “She’s mine.”
Jessie sucked in her breath, not sure if she was annoyed at James’s statement, or overjoyed.
~~~
After they got the trader to camp, Jessie stood on one side of the fire, patching up James’s scalp wound. Hannah and Heppie huddled together on the other, working over Ned. Jessie noticed that as Heppie twisted to pick up Ma’s remedy basket, a small round lump stuck out from her belly. Heppie? With child? She sighed. How long would it be before her turn came? Ned didn’t want to be her husband. Was James in earnest, or had he merely been flirting with her?
Robert and George stood sentinel over the trader, who slumped on the ground nearby, his hands tied behind his back.
“What do we do with him?” George asked.
“We can’t let him go.” Robert scowled at the ground. “He’s apt to go looking for another young lady to prey on.”
James said, “Let’s take him in to Albuquerque and let the law deal with him. We’re only three days out.”
Ned roused himself, shaking his head a bit. “Santa Fe’s closer.”
“We’ve passed Santa Fe,” James said.
“I’m going that way,” Ned replied in a quiet voice. “I’ll take him with me.”
George walked over. “What do you mean? We’re bound for Albuquerque.”
Ned got to his feet. “Y’all are bound for Albuquerque. I’m headed the other way.”
Jessie felt James go still under her hands. As she listened to the hubbub of voices raised in denial, a sick feeling formed a knot in her stomach. He knows Ned’s leaving me.
She turned her head, willing Ned not to continue, not to shame her, but he looked her way and pressed on. She held her breath.
“Miss Jessie and me ain’t right for each other. I was wrong to hound her into giving me her pledge.” He spoke to her. “I beg you to forgive me.” He paused for a moment, waiting.
Ned’s gracious words brought her no dishonor, no embarrassment or disgrace. She recognized his gift of freedom, and managed a nod and a thankful smile as the knot in her stomach untied.
Ned returned the smile, one side of his mouth tilting higher than the other. He faced the others again. “There is a little gal in the Mormon bunch I reckon is right for me. I aim to catch up to them and see if she feels the same.”
George spoke up. “Are you sure, Ned?”
“Sure as I’ll ever be.”
“Well, brother,” George said softly, “let’s get you some provisions together so you can leave in the morning.”
Jessie looked down at James and noticed that her fingers were covered in his blood.
He caught the direction of her gaze and picked up one of her hands. “I thought blood made you sick,” he said.
Jessie ducked her head. “Not yours, it appears.”
James got to his feet and pulled her away from the camp into the trees.
As Jessie went with him, she realized that his manner was much different from that of the young man who had paid her court in that faraway town in the Shenandoah Valley. His soul had grown. When the horse bucked James off, he had struggled to stay conscious long enough to convince her of how vast love could be. “I have mighty tender feelings for the two of you,” he had said of her and Amparo, and she knew it was true.
There would always be Amparo, but she had left Jessie a gift. Because of her, James’s heart was larger, deeper, big enough to hold Amparo and Jessie too.
James stopped and turned to face Jessie, his eyes glowing with intense feeling.
“Marry me,” he whispered. “Soon as we get to town.”
Joy flooded over her, wrapping her in warm swirls of emotion. She was free to say yes. She nodded, slowly at first, then quickly, bobbing her head until she felt giddy. “I reckon you’re the only one who wants me.”
James reached over, stilled her face, and wiped a smudge off her cheek. “More than life, Jessie Bingham.” He began to sing, so softly that no ears but hers could hear, “‘And for love of Jessie Bingham, I’d lay me doon and dee.’”
“That would be a great trial to me,” she whispered, wiping James’s blood off her hands with her apron. “But you came after me. You proved you’re willin’.”
Jessie looked around. Lightning crackled in the clouds to the west. Everyone in camp was gathered around Ned, arguing, discussing … ignoring the two of them.
She looked at James. He smiled at her, taking her breath away, filling her soul with wonder and elation.
He took her face in his hands and said, “I’m willin’ to live for you, and with you, forever and always.”
“Oh, James,” she said, clinging to him. She closed her eyes. Sometime soon she would tell him that she knew how much Amparo had blessed her life. She sent you back to me a much better man. My James, she thought, feeling the warmth of his affection surrounding her heart.
He gathered her into the circle of his arms. Then he kissed her: long, and hard, and joyfully, and drove away the troubles of their trail of storms.
THE END
Books by Marsha Ward
Gone for a Soldier (The Owen Family Saga: Book 0)
The Man from Shenandoah (The Owen Family Saga: Book 1)
Ride to Raton (The Owen Family Saga: Book 2)
Trail of Storms (The Owen Family Saga: Book 3)
Spinster’s Folly (The Owen Family Saga: Book 4)
Coming Soon
The Zion Trail
About the Author
Marsha Ward is an award-winning writer and editor who has published over 900 pieces of work, including Western novels, novellas, and short stories, numerous newspaper articles, and sections in books on writing. She is a member of Western Writers of America, Women Writing the West, Indie Author Hub, and American Night Writers Association. Born a while ago in the sleepy little town of Phoenix, Arizona, Marsha grew up with chickens, citrus trees, and lots of room to roam. She began telling stories at a very early age, regaling neighborhood chums with her tales over homemade sugar cookies and milk. Visiting her cousins on their ranch and listening to her father's stories of homesteading in Old Mexico and in the Tucson area reinforced Marsha's love of the 19th Century Western era.
After many years in the big city, Marsha now makes her home in a tiny hamlet under Central Arizona's magnificent Mogollon Rim. When she is not writing, she loves to travel, give talks, meet readers, and sign books.
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