Bittersweet Bride

by Denise Hunter

  Fourteen

  Mara fussed and fretted the next day. Hearing the gossip at the mercantile had been beyond humiliating, and she couldn’t help but wonder if everyone in town was glad her life was falling apart.

  After eating her mother’s food on Sunday, she was eager to get back to the Stedman ranch the next day where she could at least produce edible food. Not delicious—it would probably never be that—but she could now make a palatable meal.

  Tension had grown between her and Clay, making every encounter something she both dreaded and anticipated. She’d never meant to fall in love with a rancher, but she knew it was happening. How else could she explain the way her heart fluttered each time he walked through the door and the way her gaze wanted to caress the planes of his face?

  She was no innocent when it came to dealing with men. She could read the longing in Clay’s eyes. What she didn’t know was what held him back. In the past she would have used her feminine wiles to coax him, but now it seemed dishonest and false. But without her former artifice she was lost. What did other women do to draw the men they loved? What tools could they use if not the batting of eyelashes and the flip of a fan?

  After supper that night Clay went out to check on an injured horse. Beth, who had come a long way in acquiring manners, excused herself and went off to play with her doll.

  Mara dried her hands on a towel and slipped out the door. When she rounded the house, she saw that Clay had rigged her carriage. Even though she had learned how to do it, she appreciated his thoughtfulness. Suddenly she realized she’d never thanked him for the kind deed.

  Dusk had descended, and she knew she should be on her way. But when she saw the open barn door, she felt almost as if someone had lassoed her and was pulling her toward it.

  Her heart hammered at the mere thought of him. Her nerves tingled with anticipation. She disliked the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had never been nervous around other men and wished she had the composure she used to have. Only weeks ago she would have known what to say and do. Why, when it mattered so much, had conversation become so difficult? And how could she feel love for a man who frustrated her so?

  She entered the barn and saw Clay kneeling at the front of a chestnut horse. The dressing lay in coils in front of the horse’s hoof. He had lit a lantern for extra light and hung it on a peg. The yellow glow illumined his face, casting shadows in the hollows of his cheeks.

  She watched him for a moment. He murmured softly to the beast. Her heart ached with want. What if he never loved her as she did him? How would she bear it? She remembered how she was before her family had lost so much. She was callous; she knew that now. But it was so much easier then. It hurt to be real. It hurt to be vulnerable. It hurt to risk loving someone.

  Just then, as if sensing a presence, he looked up and saw her in the doorway. Their gazes caught and mingled in a dance of passion.

  Without breaking his gaze he stood slowly.

  She couldn’t remember why she had come. Whatever it was no longer seemed important.

  The horse whinnied, breaking the silence, and Clay turned toward him, stroking his shiny coat with a strong, deft hand.

  “What’s his name?” Mara asked.

  Clay ran a hand through his hair. “Dancer.”

  “Will he be all right?”

  “Should be fine in a couple days.” His voice sounded raspy, and she wondered if his mouth was as dry as hers. “It was good to see you in church yesterday.” He knelt down again and began applying a salve.

  “I enjoyed the picnic especially.”

  His jaw clenched, and the shadows shifted on his cheek. “How’d you like the sermon?”

  Back to that. She sighed. “I didn’t understand parts of it.”

  He looked at her then. “What parts?”

  She walked toward him. “He said everything ends up being good for God’s children, or some such comment. I saw what he meant in the story of Joseph, but I don’t see how God could bring good out of my family’s situation.”

  “Your loss of wealth?”

  She made circles in the dirt floor with the toe of her boot. “It’s not just that. Mother’s bitter and resents the cleaning and cooking she has to do now. She’s hardly speaking to Father, and the strain is palpable.”

  “And you don’t see how God could turn that around?”

  She examined his eyes, their gray depths flickering in the lantern light. “No.”

  He rewrapped the horse’s wound. Silence permeated the building. Wasn’t he going to tell her she was wrong? Wasn’t he supposed to tell her how God could change their circumstances as He had Joseph’s?

  Clay patted the horse’s leg and stood. His eyes shone with something she couldn’t pinpoint. “May I pray for you?”

  She blinked. “Now?”

  He nodded once, his gaze boring into hers.

  “In a barn?”

  He chuckled, his rich laughter teasing a smile out of her.

  “What?”

  He reached out and clasped her hand, drawing her to his side. “God is everywhere, not just in church.”

  “I know that but—” She had never prayed with anyone before. She’d heard Sadie praying aloud before, but Mara couldn’t say she herself had ever uttered a real prayer.

  He pulled her to a bundle of hay, and they sat side by side. He bowed his head, and she followed.

  “Father, I pray that You’d be with Mara’s family. Things don’t look good to them now, as things must not have looked good to Joseph when his brothers sold him into slavery. I know Your Word says ‘all things work together for good’ to those who love You and are called according to Your purpose. It’s hard to see through these confusing days what You might be planning for Mara’s future. Please open her eyes to the good work You’re about to do in her life. It’s in Christ’s name we pray, amen.”

  Did he expect her to pray too? She peeked and saw his head raised, his lips curved in a gentle smile.

  “Amen,” she said.

  He squeezed her hand then let go.

  She stood, and he did too. “You’d best get going.”

  She nodded, feeling as though her head were spinning in a frenzy. The words he’d prayed touched her heart, her soul. Could God really do as Clay had asked? She fervently hoped so.

  He walked her out to the buggy and helped her into the seat.

  “See you tomorrow,” Clay said.

  “Good night.”

  Mara was halfway home before she realized she hadn’t thanked him for hitching up her buggy.

  ❧

  Clay watched Mara disappear down the long drive. He took a deep, shaky breath. Mercy, what that woman did to him, to his heart. She was changing before his eyes, whether she realized it or not.

  He thought of the Mara he had seen at the barn social. It seemed so long ago. Her façade covered a very vulnerable woman; he knew that now. And the shell was peeling away. Maybe Mara couldn’t see the work God was doing in her, but he could. How else could He change Mara but to strip her of all the crutches she had depended upon? How else would she know she was valuable, not because of what she had and to whom she was born, but because Jesus died for her?

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. But until she recognized and accepted what Jesus had done for her, she was beyond his reach. He thought of how she looked moments ago, the glow of the lantern flickering over her face. He smiled when he remembered her shock at his offer to pray in a barn. For all her fickle, feisty ways he knew his heart was on a downward slide to a valley that wasn’t his for the taking.

  ❧

  The next day Mara and Beth made a second trip to the mercantile for the dress material and notions. This one was uneventful, much to Mara’s relief. Once they were back at the house, Beth showed her how to measure herself and make a pattern for the gown. Even with her other work, by late afternoon they had the pieces cut out and ready to baste together.

  Supper was a silent affair. Clay didn’t seem inclined to m
ake conversation; indeed he didn’t even make eye contact. So Mara coached Beth on the rudiments of table manners, quizzing her about the flatware settings as they went.

  Beth took a spoonful of soup and brought it to her lips. “Like this?” She sipped the soup.

  “Sip from the side of the spoon—like so.” Mara demonstrated, and Beth followed. “Very good! I’ll have you ready for any dining event before long. You could have tea with the queen and impress her with your manners.”

  “You’ll have to teach me how to curtsy first,” Beth said, giggling. “Can we go to the creek tomorrow, Miss Lawton?”

  Mara smiled. “How did we get from curtsies to creeks?”

  Beth shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “How far away is it?”

  “About a mile, I think,” she said.

  “More like four or five, Beth,” Clay said. “You’ll need to ride.”

  “Can we?” Beth asked.

  “Well, I don’t know. I’ve never saddled a horse before,” Mara admitted.

  “Clay can show you how, can’t you, Clay?”

  “Well, I suppose I can. . . .”

  “I’d like to learn how,” Mara said. “Then I can ride anytime I need to.”

  “Let’s wait until tomorrow, though. I need to fix up Dancer’s leg tonight.”

  “Aww,” Beth complained.

  “Tomorrow’s soon enough,” Mara said. “If we can do it in the morning, we’ll still be able to go to the creek tomorrow.”

  “Yippee!” Beth exclaimed.

  They continued through the meal, though Clay remained silent. Mara realized she hadn’t ruined any of the food tonight. A flush of accomplishment rose inside her. Maybe she wasn’t ready for the county fair contests, but she could at least serve an edible meal now. On the other hand, her mother’s meals were taking weight off William and her father.

  Beth excused herself and took her plate to the kitchen.

  Clay rose quickly, as if afraid of being alone with her. “ ’Night, Mara,” he said as he stepped through the door.

  “Wait.” Mara’s thoughts froze. She didn’t know what she wanted to say, but she wanted this wall of silence to come down. She wanted him to look at her as he had the other night. Aware that the moment was stretching awkwardly, she asked, “How’s Dancer’s leg?”

  “He’s on the mend. Going to check him now.”

  The urge to go with him was strong. She was about to suggest it when he pulled the door closed. “Good night.”

  The door clicked into place.

  Fifteen

  The next morning Mara served breakfast without much trouble. The hired hands even complimented her on the biscuits and gravy. She knew they weren’t as good as Sadie’s, but the men were starting to appreciate food that was at least edible. She also noticed they didn’t ogle her anymore. Perhaps they had decided they preferred a more domestic woman. But she had seen Clay shoot darts with his eyes at Tanner and B.J. whenever they made insolent remarks. Her heart told her it was because he was jealous, but surely he knew she was interested in him alone.

  Beth was disappointed when Clay didn’t have time to show Mara how to saddle a horse. They wouldn’t be going to the creek today, but he promised he would take time after supper to show her how.

  Mara wondered if he was stalling. Lately he had avoided her and even looking at her. She searched for reasons why. Was he repelled by her lack of womanly skills? Maybe he was only attracted to her beauty. Maybe he was put off because she came from bad stock. But hadn’t he said at the barn raising that she had worth because God had made her and cared enough to die for her?

  Maybe he plain didn’t like her. The thought made her stomach clench painfully. She hadn’t been very likable when he first met her. But she’d changed some, hadn’t she?

  Oh, this changing business was painful! At times she wished she could go back to being sure of herself, to not caring what others thought of her. But it was too late now. Her eyes had been opened, and there was no going back.

  Later that day Mara tried on the gown they had basted, and she was pleased it fit. It looked plain, devoid of adornments, but she would add those later. The beautiful blue fabric was almost as nice as the fabric in the dresses she used to order from France.

  By the time she slipped out of the gown, she needed to start supper. Mara anticipated the time she would spend with Clay tonight. If Beth stayed behind, they would be alone in the barn. Would he kiss her then? She thought she would faint from disappointment if he didn’t. She had turned away many other men. She’d never wanted their kisses, and they had been eager to give them. And now that she’d finally found someone she cared for enough to kiss, he didn’t want to!

  When they gathered around the table and joined hands for prayer, Mara could feel her palm growing damp. His hand felt so big and strong that it nearly swallowed her own.

  Clay was quiet throughout supper, and Mara wondered if he would find an excuse not to teach her how to saddle a horse. When Beth finally asked about it, he did exactly that.

  “I’m not sure about tonight,” he said. “By the time Mara finishes up in here, it’s dusk. I can’t let her ride home in the dark.”

  Mara’s heart sank, not only because she’d looked forward to it all day, but because he apparently didn’t want to spend time with her.

  “I know!” Beth said. “I’ll clean up in here while you help her.”

  “Well, uh, I don’t know—”

  “That’s a splendid idea, Beth,” Mara said. “Then we’ll surely be able to ride to the creek tomorrow.”

  Beth clapped her hands in excitement. She ate the few bites left on her plate hurriedly and excused herself. Mara had never seen her so eager to clear the table. She took Clay’s plate before he’d eaten his last bite.

  Mara stood with her plate and glass, but Beth hastened in from the kitchen just then and snatched them from her. “I’ll take those!”

  Mara looked at Clay who eyed her warily. “All right, all right.” He stood up and led the way to the barn.

  She followed him, admiring the strong line of his shoulders, the narrowing of his waist, the long legs that covered the ground in big strides. She doubled her pace to keep up with his.

  In the barn he lit a lantern for extra light and walked over to check on Dancer. Mara stood by the stall as he rewrapped the leg and then patted the horse on the neck.

  “Which horses should we take tomorrow?” she asked.

  He looked around the building, and his gaze fixed on a brown horse. “This is Ellie,” he said, walking over to the horse. “She’s gentle enough. We’ll saddle her up, and you can ride her tomorrow.” He opened the stall door and led her out. “Elizabeth rides Poncho, over there.” He pointed to a spotted horse a few stalls down.

  “First thing you need to do is put on a halter.” He took one from a peg in the tack room and demonstrated. “Then you have to tether her to a rail.” He tied a quick knot. “Next you’ll need to groom her.” He brushed the horse with the curry comb. “If any dirt or burrs are under the saddle and girth, she’ll get sores.”

  Mara watched him carefully so she could do it on her own tomorrow.

  After he groomed Ellie, he draped a blanket over the horse’s back and smoothed it flat. “It’s also important not to have any wrinkles or buckling so the horse doesn’t get any sores.” Next he retrieved a saddle from the tack room.

  It was a standard saddle, but she assumed he would know she didn’t ride astride. “Clay, I need a sidesaddle.”

  His brows pulled low over his eyes. “I don’t have one.”

  She sighed. “Are you sure?” She’d seen the tack room before, and it was packed with all kinds of horse gear.

  “This is a working farm, not an equestrian school.”

  Frustration welled up. She didn’t feel it was proper for a woman to ride like a man. “But I’ve never ridden astride.”

  He heaved the saddle onto Ellie’s back. “Well, you’re gonna learn, I guess.” H
is words were flavored with irritation.

  She clenched her teeth. “I’ll bring one from home then.”

  He turned and shot her a look. “That’s fine and dandy, but I don’t have a sidesaddle here for you to practice on.”

  Beth had her heart set on going to the creek tomorrow. If she brought her saddle then, Clay probably wouldn’t have time to teach her until after supper. “Fine,” she said coolly. “I’ll ride astride.”

  She watched his jaw clench as he turned away. She didn’t know why he had to be so snappy with her. Through the remainder of the lesson his instructions were short and abrupt. Her frustration with him mounted. How could a man she loved irritate her so much? He acted as if he’d rather be dragged by a bull than spend a moment alone with her.

  When he finished tightening the saddle straps, he slipped his fingers between the girth and the horse. “You should just be able to fit three fingers in here. If you can’t, it’s too tight.” He adjusted the saddle to check for positioning then began taking it off.

  Mara was surprised at how many steps one had to take simply to saddle a horse. She wasn’t sure she could remember it all. She watched Clay carefully undo his work. When he removed the saddle and started back to the tack room with it, Mara was caught off guard. Wasn’t he going to let her try it by herself?

  “Wait,” she said.

  He turned, his face lined with reluctance.

  “Aren’t you going to let me do it next? While you watch?”

  “Can’t you remember everything?”

  Her chin came up a notch. “There’s a lot more to it than I thought.”

  He mumbled but brought the saddle back and laid it by her feet. Without a word he took off the halter and blanket and shoved them into her hands.

  The horse had already been groomed, so she skipped that step. She glanced at Clay and then dropped the blanket on the saddle and stepped to the front of the horse to put on the halter. When she was finished, she looked at her work with pride. She’d done it right. Next she placed the blanket over the horse’s back, remembering to smooth out any wrinkles.