by Maren Smith
The table fell painfully quiet.
It was Grace who finally cleared her throat and said,
"Serenity wants to be a stage performer. There's a traveling show taking auditions in San Francisco, but Papa won't let her go."
"Maybe if you had the right dreams, I'd be more inclined to let you follow them," the old man said gruffly. He stabbed at his food, his silverware clattering noisily against his platter. 41
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"The right ones?" Serenity dropped hers on the table. "Like Grace's dreams? To marry a doctor who isn't worth the ground she walks on, birth a dozen squalling babies and either die in childbirth or live miserable with an unfaithful, unloving husband for the rest of her life? Are those the dreams that I should have? Or maybe I should have Constance's. Content to live here, pandering to your comfort because no one else will have her, and stuffing her face because she's so unhappy!"
Constance dropped her eyes to her plate while Judd sat, stunned by the vehemence in the dark-haired woman's tone.
"Serenity," Margo chastened.
"Maybe I should have yours," Serenity spat back at her. "A let's pretend home, with a husband you don't really have and will never have because now you're too old!" Margo sat back in her chair as though she'd been slapped; Buster erupted out of his. "You get up to your room!"
"With pleasure!" Serenity yelled back, tears brimming in her eyes. "I couldn't stand another moment at this table!
You're all of you sheep!"
She ran from the room and her footsteps pounded up the stairs. Above them, a door slammed, and Buster cursed dark and low under his breath. "Gall-durned insufferable...!" After a long moment, Margo tried to laugh away the tension. "Ah well, nothing wrong with a little bit of spirit, is there?"
The farmhand excused himself from the table and left the house.
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"It could be worse," Margo said, trying again. "You could have named her Chastity."
Buster gave her a withering stare.
Staring down at his plate, no longer hungry, Judd looked up when he heard a soft sniff. Twin tears rolling down her plump cheeks, Constance helped herself to another bowl of soup and three cakes of cornbread. Without looking at anyone, she ate them.
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43
Saga: Contance's Story
by Maren Smith
CHAPTER THREE
The two year old burned her hand on the stove, and Buster burned the breakfast trying to both grease and bandage her hand while he bounced her on his knee to stop her screaming. Despite his best efforts, four of her pudgy little fingers blistered up so badly that he ended up loading them all into the back of his wagon and driving them out to Doc Nagle's place three miles down the road.
Nothing in life quite compared with driving a straw wagon hitched to two ornery horses, over an uneven and partially washed out road while jostling a sniffling, sobbing baby on your lap and yelling over one shoulder for the other two to sit down and shut up before they fell over the side. And if they busted their heads open on the way down then that was just too cussed bad. He'd bandage up babies who didn't know any better, but he'd be darned if he wasted good money on foolish children who'd already been warned. Two hours and two dozen eggs later, he was back on his way home again, once more arguing with the horses, fighting to get the wagon over that same washed out section of road, and still holding the baby in his lap, though she wasn't screaming any more. Now she was very drowsy from the sip of laudanum that the doctor had given her and sucking on her uninjured thumb while she clutched at Buster with her other arm. The other two were sitting peacefully, half buried in straw and playing clapping games, softly enough at least so that it didn't rankle his nerves.
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They were less than half a mile from his farm when Buster came across Margo in the minister's one horse cart. The short bed in the back was stacked with baskets of clothes and blankets and a box of freshly baked bread, casseroles, beans, cookies and pies. Buster took one look at those and his mouth began to water. He sure did hope one of Margo's famous apple crumbles was in the bed of that wagon somewhere. That right there would make it well worth all the trouble that taking care of three young girls had thus far been. Margo must have heard his horses coming for she turned to look back over one shoulder. Her welcoming smile was like a warm glow of sunshine wrapping around his shoulders, sinking into him until he could feel the heat coursing through him from top to bottom.
"Well hello, Buster," she greeted. "You're up awfully early." Her blue eyes fell to the baby in his lap and her face softened. The corners of her mouth turned up with a gentle smile. "You look so ... fatherly."
That smile of hers stirred feelings inside of her that were as far from fatherly as simple thoughts could take a man. His loins tightened; his mouth ran dry. He wouldn't have minded waking up to that smile every day for the rest of his life. He wouldn't have minded rolling over first thing every morning, enfolding her in his arms, letting his soft kisses rouse her into gentle wakefulness. His breath caught as he envisioned parting those sweet, soft thighs of hers. Margo raised her head, frowning a little, and Buster started, for a moment afraid he might have spoken part of that fantasy aloud.
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"What?" he said gruffly.
"What's that smell?" she said, wrinkling her befreckled nose.
Buster took a deep breath, detecting a very faint and yet oddly familiar scent on the morning breeze. It almost smelled like...
"Oh no!" Buster stood up in the wagon, dropping the reins and catching hold of the baby as he lifted her into the air with him. As if he could see over the trees that separated the wagon from the first distance views of his home.
"What is it?" Margo asked.
"Oh no!" he said again, with slightly more passion. He sat down again, dropping the baby over the back of the seat and into the hay with her sisters. He grabbed up the reins and gave them a sharp snap. For once the cantankerous horses didn't argue and he drove around Margo and back onto the road ahead of her. He barely heard her clicking to her horses to follow him. All of his attention was, instead, concentrated on catching that first sight of his home. It was still standing. There wasn't even smoke pouring from the windows. But the closer he came, the more distinctive that burning smell became, and he ended up driving his horses right up to his front porch before pulling them to a stop.
"Stay here," he barked at the girls, and jumped down to the ground. He took the steps two at a time and flung open his front door hard enough to send it banging into the side of his house. The smoke and aroma hit him like a wall; he had burned the coffee.
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"God damn it!" He grabbed the hat off his head and flung it to the ground before stomping on it. A volcanic fury of frustration billowed out of him like the threads of smoke that were pouring out his front door and he let loose with one of the most vile and long drawn out cuss words that he could think of.
Saying it did make him feel a little better, until he turned around and found himself looking into three sets of wide, unblinking eyes.
"Umm!" said the oldest child, her hands clasped over the baby's ears. "You said a bad word!" Behind her, Margo was just pulling her wagon to a stop beside his own and the look on her face was equally accusing.
"He certainly did."
Buster frowned. He bent down, snatched his hat up off the floor and jammed it back on his head. He glared at all of them, the banes of his existence. "He certainly did!" he growled back. Stomping into his house, he slammed the door behind him.
The coffee had boiled away to a thick, caramelized crust of chunky grounds and blackness in the bottom of his coffee pot. He swore again, f
luently, repeatedly even, the entire time he refilled the pot with water before using his knife to chip away at the burnt mass stuck to the bottom. Only this time he did it softly, under his breath, so Margo and three other tender sets of ears wouldn't be likely to overhear him. "Cussed women."
* * * *
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Constance wore her Sunday best, a pink and white calico gown that she personally thought made her cheeks look ruddy. Unfortunately, when she'd first bought the fabric, it had been the only bolt in sufficient quantity at the store to make a dress large enough to fit her. Wishing she had something in a softer shade of blue, all she could do was powder her cheeks and hope it didn't rain before they reached the church where the dance was to be held. About the time that she was beginning to pin up her hair, Margo knocked at the door of the bedroom Constance shared with her sisters. She bustled inside with a freshly sniped, white rose bud in her hands.
"Oh no no no!" she tsked. "Leave your hair down. Don't you know how pretty you look with all these curls falling over your shoulders and down your back? That man of yours is going to take one look at you and fall all over himself, begging you for a dance!"
Constance didn't say a word. She just abandoned the brush into Margo's capable hands and sat at the dressing table, looking at her reflection in the mirror and trying her best to see whatever points the older woman seemed to think so pretty.
As she brushed and arranged Constance's hair, Margo asked, "Will Mr. Faris be meeting you here or at the church?"
"Church," Constance said softly. "I think."
"Aren't you excited?"
Forcing a smile, Constance managed a semi-convincing nod, although the feeling churning inside her stomach was a good deal closer to dread. "Of course I am." 48
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"Then smile!" Margo chided her. "Good heavens, you look as if you're headed for a funeral! This is going to be your first dance with a beau! A fine, strong, handsome man with his eyes locked only upon you."
At least until he saw Amanda Gray, Constance thought as she stared at her reflection. Then this dance would pretty much be as all the others had been, with Constance standing near a wall, quietly counting the minutes until papa deemed it time to go home.
But there was nothing that said she couldn't enjoy herself until then, she thought as Margo trimmed the thorns from the rose and pinned it into her hair over her right ear.
"There!" Margo said proudly. "Look at how lovely you are." And as Constance sat staring at herself in the mirror, though it may only have been a trick of the setting sunlight, casting its dying rays in through the West-facing window, for a moment she could have sworn she almost did look lovely.
"Are we going to this blasted thing or not?!" Buster bellowed through the house.
Margo squealed. "Oh, this is so exciting!" Pressing her suddenly sweaty palms against her thighs, Constance stood up. Taking the wrap Margo handed her as protection against the chill of the night, she followed the older woman outside.
Serenity had already helped papa hitch the horses to the wagon and Grace had carried out their contributions to the pot luck dinner without falling once. Constance was both surprised and proud of her for that. It helped to offset the 49
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envy she felt as she gazed upon her lovely red-headed sister in a gown that matched the green of her eyes. Serenity was even worse. Although a true tomboy at heart, she was beautiful without even trying. And the violet and white of her gown was a striking contrast against the darkness of her hair and eyes.
"You look nice," she couldn't help but blurt.
"Thanks," Serenity said, though her tone was flat. She'd always hated these functions, and Constance knew it, but she was envious of her just the same. At least Serenity would be asked to dance.
Climbing up into the back of the wagon, Serenity braced her foot against the side and extended a hand down to help her up. "Alley-oop," she said.
Just as Constance was reaching out to take advantage of that aid, Margo let out another happy squeal. "Look! It's Mr. Farris!"
Margo, Constance discovered, had a very good eye, for the gentleman that Constance saw coming down the road in a rented two-seated rambler was only recognizable by his buckskin coat and britches and even those had been cleaned. He had obviously gone through the effort to making himself look well done out for the dance. The white ruffled shirt that he wore looked to be one of the fancy ones straight out of the window display of Mrs. Bodine's General Store. She couldn't recall that he'd worn that black bow-tie before, either. Oh yes. He certainly did look fine, and not just because of the clothes. Although that buckskin coat did outline the breadth of his shoulders and the thickness of his arms in a 50
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way that made Constance catch her breath. But in addition to that, gone was his scruffy beard and shaggy hair. He was handsome, breathtaking. He had such a strong, clean shaven jaw. And dimples; one in each cheek when he smiled and a third in the cleft of his chin. He was honestly, strikingly handsome. And he was hers. If only just temporarily. If only just for tonight.
"Constance," he greeted with a smile. She blushed hot all the way down to her toes.
"Who the hell are you?" Serenity asked.
"Mind yer manners!" Buster barked, throwing her a dark look. "That there's the man who's going to marry your sister!" Constance blushed even darker, though Judd grinned.
"Bout time too, I might add," Buster continued gruffly.
"One down, two more to go. Thank God, and not a moment too soon."
"Buster!" Margo smacked him lightly on the arm with the back of one hand.
"What?"
But Constance barely heard the exchange. All of her attention was fixed on Judd as he climbed down out of the wagon and came straight to her.
He had the stars in his eyes. She didn't want to look for fear that they might suck her into them and never let her go. It was amazing how in such a short period of time she seemed to lose all her common sense. And she knew, if she wasn't very, very careful, she was in real danger of losing her heart.
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You know better than this, she told herself fervently. It's not real.
But then he smiled that winsome smile and her pulse soared.
"Young love," Buster grumbled under his breath, breaking the mesmerizing effect that Judd was having on her.
"Damned nauseatin', is what it is. Particularly when we got places to be."
"Get in the wagon," Margo told him, unsympathetically, and Constance began to lose her composure to a laugh. She tried not to look at Judd, afraid that is she met his laughing grey eyes that she would lose it altogether. Judd had no such qualms however. He took her hand, but instead of helping her up into the wagon as she thought he might, instead he caught her chin in the warm palm of his hand and tilted her face up to his. "Don't hide your smile from me. Something as fine as that is well worth the seeing." The meeting of his eyes didn't have the effect she thought it would. Instead of bursting into giddy laughter, her breath caught at the back of her throat and for a second or two she couldn't make herself breathe. His fingers beneath her chin burned into her skin and her knees began to shake when he passed his thumb across her bottom lip.
The entire world seemed to fade away, though Constance was reminded of it a few seconds later when she heard her sisters giggling behind her. And in bored tones, her Papa drawled, "Young man, if you're gonna steal a kiss, may I suggest you get on with it?"
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There was another sharp slapping sound and Buster cursed. "Woman! You keep smackin' my arm—"
"Well how do you expect these girls to ever get married with you harping after them th
e way you are!" Margo snapped back.
"Am I sayin' he can't marry her?" Buster demanded hotly.
"Do I have my gun? No! Am I wavin' it after him? No! And I'll thank you to keep your accusations to yourself!" Margo harumphed, and Constance had to bite her lip to keep the giddy laughter that had resurfaced with their squabbling back behind her teeth.
"Would you like to go to the dance?" Judd asked. Blushing, she nodded. "I think we ought to before he really gets started."
He helped her up into his wagon while Buster grumbled,
"Ain't a one of you too big for a trip to the barn."
"Papa, please," Grace groaned, covering her eyes.
"And that includes you," Buster snapped, and though Constance didn't turn around, there was no mistaking to whom he'd directed that last comment.
Margo only harumphed again.
* * * *
Though they had started out in the lead, after the third time of stopping his wagon and jumping down to pick yet another handful of wild flowers, Buster got fed up with the loverly pauses and went around them.
"Don't make me get my gun and hunt you down, boy!" he bellowed out as he rolled past. Margo thwacked his arm and 53
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the last thing they heard from either of them was Buster's aggravated "Woman!"
After that, Judd didn't stop again, but Constance still arrived at the dance with a lap full of fresh flowers and a radiant smile on her face a full five minutes after the rest of her family.
Buster was waiting for them on the church steps, checking his waistcoat watch and giving Judd a look of warning as he parked his wagon with the others and tied off the reins. He reached up to held Constance down and if his hands lingered at her waist a little longer than was seemly, well ... who how could she blame him. Who knew just how long he'd spent up in the mountains, all by himself. Of course he'd fall in love with the first woman he set eyes on. That would be only natural. Once he got inside, however, into the light where he'd be surrounded by music and much better-looking women than herself, Constance made herself smile at him and take a decent step back out of his arms, then he'd likely switch his attention to another and her life would get back to normal. As they walked into the church, Constance was painfully aware of the number of eyes that flitted over her, only to snap back again a moment later in complete surprise as they took in the sight of Judd holding her arm. Even Amanda looked, and for some reason that just tickled Constance no end. For once, it was the town beauty who was envious of her.
