Bittersweet Bride

by Denise Hunter

  Her eyes opened wide as her gaze met his. Of course. She hadn’t any way of knowing what her decision meant to him. To them. He had never told her what had held him back.

  He winked, and Mara lowered her gaze.

  “What are we waiting on?” Beth asked, her gaze swinging back and forth between her brother and Mara.

  Clay reached out for a slice of pot roast. “Not a thing, Beth—not a thing.”

  ❧

  During the next week Mara asked Clay and Beth many questions. She was already growing in her faith and had learned so much in only seven days. She had tried to explain to her parents what had happened in her life, but they didn’t understand.

  Mara noticed a change in Clay’s behavior too. Though they hadn’t been alone since the night he helped her saddle a horse, she saw something new in his eyes. It was only one week before Clay’s aunt Martha would come home, and Mara dreaded the end of her time here on the Stedman ranch. She would miss spending her days with Beth. But she wouldn’t miss the stubborn cookstove or the privy!

  When Mara stood to clear the table one night, Clay put his napkin on his plate.

  “Mara, may I speak with you?”

  Mara blinked. She started to sit back down, but Clay glanced uneasily at Beth.

  “I mean alone.”

  “Oh.” She tried to read his eyes but couldn’t. “Of course, let me just finish up here—”

  “Beth, why don’t you take care of cleaning up tonight?”

  She made a face. “All right.”

  Clay stood, and Mara followed him to the door. He allowed her to pass through first.

  What was going on? Was he displeased with something she had done? Her meals had improved, or so she thought. She had even figured out how to make decent coffee.

  Clay closed the door and turned toward her. He walked to the rail and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

  Mara could stand it no longer. “What is it, Clay? Have I done something wrong?”

  He turned. “No, it isn’t that at all.”

  “Then what is it?”

  He leaned against the rail and studied her face. “I’m not sure how to say it.”

  Her heart softened at his uncertainty. The sun’s last rays shone on his face, and she longed to reach out and touch it. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

  He smiled, and her legs grew weak. How would she manage without seeing him every day?

  “Remember when we first met?”

  Though his gaze was warm, Mara cringed at the words. She remembered all too well, but she would rather forget.

  “I saw you at the dance and watched you from across the barn.”

  Why was he talking about this? Didn’t he know she had changed?

  “I was determined as a mule you wouldn’t sink your claws into me.”

  He smiled as if the memory was a fond one, but it wasn’t fond for her at all.

  “You reminded me of someone I wanted to forget—someone I was promised to.”

  “You were engaged?” Just the thought cut off her breath.

  “I fell fast and hard for her. Victoria was her name. She was wealthy and comely like you.”

  Why was he telling her this? Didn’t he know it hurt her?

  “Little did I know she was using me to make another man jealous—someone who could support her expensive lifestyle. As soon as she had him, she dropped me cold.”

  Though it hurt to think of him with another, her heart ached at the thought of his pain.

  “I thought you were just like her.” He leaned forward and took her hand.

  Her breath ceased as hope blossomed in her heart.

  “Since you’ve come here, you’ve changed.”

  She nodded. Her hand grew damp in his.

  “It’s as if you had to lose all you had depended on before you could see the woman beneath it all.”

  Yes. That’s exactly what it was.

  “I think God had a part in all that.”

  “Yes, me too.”

  “He used it to draw you closer to Him.”

  “I never thought I’d be grateful for everything that’s happened in the past few months, but I am now.”

  “I’ve come to care deeply for you, you know.”

  Her heart danced, even while her mouth went dry. She searched his eyes, afraid to hope.

  “I wasn’t free to act on my feelings until a week ago.”

  Confusion swirled in her head. She couldn’t seem to put two thoughts together.

  “You’re a believer now. We share a common faith, and that means everything to me.” He pulled her closer.

  She took in his words and understood. He cared for her. He wanted—

  “So many times I wanted to kiss you,” he whispered.

  He touched her face, and she grew dizzy at the joy. He drew closer. He was going to kiss her if she didn’t faint first.

  His lips settled on hers, tentative, testing. Every thought evaporated; every sound hushed. All that existed in that moment were she and Clay. His touch brought sweet ecstasy. This was the way it was meant to be.

  He pulled back, and she felt as if half of her had been torn away. She opened her eyes and nearly passed out at his expression.

  “Will you go to the harvest social with me?” he whispered.

  “Yes.” Her heart sang. She would be leaving in a week, but he wanted to court her.

  As they said good-bye, Mara was in a daze. He hadn’t said the words, but he loved her. She could see it in his eyes. He had held nothing back tonight.

  Mara wasn’t sure how she reached home. When she arrived there, she realized she didn’t remember anything at all. Her mind was still in a daze when she walked through the front door.

  “Mara,” her mother said when she came through the door, “I’d like a word with you, please.”

  “What is it, Mother?” Mara followed her into the parlor where her father sat smoking a cigar.

  “Have a seat,” her mother said.

  Mara sank onto the davenport, but her mother remained standing.

  “I was at the mercantile today and overheard the most distressing news.” She began pacing and mumbling. “The nerve of him—going to church—deceiving us all—”

  “Mother, what’s this about?”

  “That Clay Stedman, that’s what! He’s an Indian, a savage! Not fit for decent company. He slithered his way into our town, subjected my own daughter to who knows what, and I’ll not have it!”

  Mara’s stomach churned. She had found out; it was bound to happen. But—

  “Has he harmed you in any way, Darling?” She sat beside Mara and took her hand. “Touched you? You must tell me the truth.”

  Anger stirred in the depths of her soul. How could her mother think such things? He would never harm her or anyone else. “Of course not, Mother—don’t be ridiculous.”

  Mrs. Lawton drew back.

  “He’s just a man, like any other, and—”

  “You knew!” Her mother’s eyes widened. “You’ve been going to his house every day for months, and you knew? Haven’t you any thought for what people think? For your own reputation?” She reached for her fan and began fluttering it before her face.

  Mara was ashamed of her mother’s behavior. She acted as if being an Indian was a crime, as if Clay were human garbage. It hurt and angered her deeply. She felt her heart pounding in her ears.

  “People will talk,” her mother said. “Everyone will find out he’s a savage, and your name will be associated with his!”

  “Now, Letitia, no real harm has been—”

  “He’s been alone with our child every day for weeks!”

  Disgust rose from the depths of her heart. “I’m no child, Mother, and Clay is no savage!”

  “Clay! Since when did you come to be on a first-name basis, young lady?”

  Mara knew her mother’s sister had been killed by Indians, but was that legitimate cause for her prejudice? It would be like thinking all white men were murderers if
only one had committed the crime.

  Suddenly she knew what she had to do. Her mother would be appalled, but she wouldn’t hide her feelings.

  “Mother.” She gave her father a beseeching look. “Father, I’m afraid I have more news that might come as a shock.”

  Her mother’s hand fluttered faster. “Oh, my—”

  “Clay and I—what I mean to say is, well, we have feelings for each other.”

  The fan fell to the floor. Her mother’s face went from flushed to pasty white in a matter of moments. She swayed. “Oh dear—!”

  Her father jumped up from his chair and ran to support his wife’s weight. She wavered, and her eyes glazed.

  Mara touched her mother’s arm and made eye contact. “Mother.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Letitia, snap out of it.”

  Her mother blinked and seemed to gather her faculties. “Oh, no! No, it won’t happen. I simply will not allow it!”

  “Mother, you can’t disallow feelings. I needn’t have your permission to care for someone. It’s something that can’t be helped!”

  “Be that as it may, young woman—you will not continue with this relationship! I forbid it!” Her father retrieved the fan, and her mother started fluttering again, this time with sharp, angry jerks. “What has this family come to?” She brought her hand to her chest as if her heart were pained. Her eyes spouted tears. “We’ve lost our money, we’ve lost our standing, and now we’ll be associated with the lowest of the low, the scourge of our nation, absolute savages. Why, you wouldn’t be able to turn your head, Mara, without wondering if the heathen was going to take your scalp!”

  Mara rose with a sharp breath. How dare she categorize Clay that way! “You are wrong, Mother! You know nothing of Clay, you know nothing of his people, and it’s unfair of you to say he’s a savage!”

  Her mother also stood. “Your own aunt is a tragic example of his kind! Why, they burned the house to the ground with her family in it. If that’s not savage, I don’t know what is!”

  “Clay is a gentle, caring man—a Christian!” Her head felt light, and her body trembled.

  “Ha! His people worship Satan! They work voodoo and cast spells and conjure spirits!”

  “You have no idea what—”

  “Ladies—ladies.” Mr. Lawton stepped between his wife and his daughter, holding out his hands. “Shush!”

  His command echoed in the sudden silence of the room. Mara’s mother took the opportunity to assert herself.

  “He may not court you, and that’s final!”

  Mara’s stomach was churning. Her mother could not stop the feelings she felt for Clay. Nor could Mara imagine denying the relationship a chance to develop now that it had finally begun. “Mother, I’m a grown woman. You haven’t the—”

  “You are my daughter, you live under my roof, and you eat my food. I have every right to forbid this relationship, and I do! There will be no arguing that point! And you will stop going to his house every day. Enough damage has been done.”

  How could her mother do it? She had finally found someone to care for—someone who cared about her. Not because of her beauty but in spite of it. And she was committed to continue her work until his aunt returned. She took up the easier of the two demands. “I have to finish my work there. Clay’s aunt returns in a week, and there’s no one to watch Beth or cook or clean.”

  Her mother appeared to be getting control of her temper. She breathed deeply and cast a glance at her husband. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Now, Letitia, it’s only a week. She’s been over there every day for three months—”

  “What will people think?” her mother muttered.

  “If people are going to get their hackles up over this, the damage is already done. What can one more week matter?”

  “Please, Mother.” She was willing to plead and beg. She would do the same for Clay’s right to call.

  Her mother snapped her fan closed, her color now closer to its usual shade. “All right—I’ll allow it. But after that it stops—do you hear me? I don’t want that man to come calling, and if he does, I’ll chase him out of here with a shotgun myself!”

  Mara decided to choose her battles. She could fight this one later. “Yes, Mother.”

  Her mother turned and walked across the room. At the door she stopped and looked back. “One week, Mara, and not one day more.”

  Seventeen

  Mara had been awake well into the night, and this morning she saw and felt the results. Even coffee did little to revive her energy. Seeing Clay had reinforced what she had decided long after the moon had ascended high in the sky. Regardless of what her mother thought, she would continue to see Clay. It was her mother who was wrong. Mara would not allow her mother’s prejudice to ruin things with Clay.

  As she worked on her gown for the harvest social, she took special care, now that Clay would be her escort. The thought put a smile on her face. This year would be so different from other years. She would not seek to dance with as many partners as she could. She was interested in only one partner, and she didn’t care if everyone in the town approved of him or not.

  She held up the section she had just finished. The sleeve now ended in a long, lacy frill of ivory. Not as elegant as her imported gowns, but it would do very nicely.

  Only one week left at the Stedman ranch. She wondered if one day she would return as Clay’s bride. Her face grew warm at the thought. They had not even had their first outing, and already she had him at the altar. But he had kissed her—and, oh my, how his touch made her dizzy. Her heart was pounding even at the thought.

  After she finished the other sleeve, she called Beth in and fixed a simple lunch. The afternoon wore on, and Mara’s thoughts kept returning to her mother’s words the night before. She would have to tell Clay. There was really no way around it. When he eventually called on her, he would doubtless find out how her mother felt. Letitia Lawton would never say to his face what the matter really was. Despite what she had said about chasing Clay off with a gun, she wouldn’t be that direct. Instead she would turn a cold shoulder. She would snub him until he stopped coming around.

  Mara could hardly bear the thought of her own mother hurting the man she loved. She was going to have to tell Clay, but how would she? How would she tell him her parents disapproved of him because he was born to an Indian mother? Hadn’t Mara herself been born to a drunk? How was that any different?

  When supper was served and the three sat around the table, Mara glanced at Beth. She was a pleasant child, sweet and obedient. How could anyone think she was a savage? She looked at Clay with his smiling eyes and gentle hands. He would never hurt anyone the way her mother had hurt her the night before. Tonight she would have to hurt him the same way. It made her heart ache to think of causing him pain, but if she didn’t tell him, he would find out in a much worse way.

  If Clay noticed her silence, he didn’t say anything. After the supper dishes were washed, Clay accompanied her out to the porch. Beth, seeming to sense they wanted to be alone, went to her room with her doll.

  Clay shut the door behind him as Mara leaned against the porch railing. She watched him approach, and a smile played on her lips. He was everything she’d ever wanted in a man and more. Strong, kind, sincere. And stubborn. She couldn’t forget that. Her smile widened.

  “What’re you smiling about?” He smiled in response.

  “Maybe you don’t want to know,” she teased.

  “On the contrary, I’m most curious.”

  Mara raised her chin. She had to in order to look him in the eyes. She arched her brows. “I was thinking, Mr. Stedman, how very stubborn you are.”

  “And you think that’s funny?”

  “Mostly it’s frustrating.”

  He laughed before his expression became serious. The two exchanged a look that left Mara’s legs wobbly.

  “Beth tells me you’re making a dress for the social.”

  “I a
m.”

  “I can’t wait to see you in it.”

  “You don’t even know what it looks like.”

  “It could be a burlap bag, and you’d still look beautiful.”

  She giggled at the thought. My, wouldn’t the town be surprised if she appeared attired that way? Clay chuckled with her.

  “I can’t believe you’ll be gone in less than a week,” Clay said.

  She couldn’t believe it herself. She had grown used to seeing him every day. It was enough to spoil a girl. “Have you heard from your aunt?”

  “A letter came a week ago. She’s still planning to come back on Saturday.”

  “You’ll probably be glad to see the back of me when you taste her fine cooking again.”

  “You have a good point there, Fancy Pants.”

  She swatted his arm, but she knew her eyes conveyed her humor. He made her laugh; he made her feel; he made her complete.

  She looked away, breaking the moment. How was she to tell him about her mother? She could scarcely bear to see the smile disappear from his eyes. Her gaze swung downward to the porch planks she had swept that afternoon. God, show me the way to tell him. I don’t know what to—

  “What is it?” He tilted her chin up until her eyes met his.

  What now? She didn’t want to say it, nor could she form the words on her lips. She was ashamed of her mother and ashamed that she herself had treated others in the same way.

  “What?”

  The touch of his hand made her feel cherished. Her gaze met his. “I—I have something I need to tell you. But I don’t know how to say it.”

  His eyes searched hers. “Just say it plain, Mara. What is it?”

  She turned away. She couldn’t bear to see his face when she said it. “My mother found out you’re half Indian, and she—” The words jammed in her throat. He had undoubtedly faced prejudice before. There was no reason to tell him why her mother felt the way she did, to tell him about her aunt. But she was ashamed that her own mother—

  “She disapproves.”

  His voice was strained, but she still didn’t turn around. “I’m afraid so.”

  Around them the trees rustled in the wind, the only noise that broke their silence. Finally he reached out and turned her toward him. “And you? How do you feel about it?”