by Lyn Cote
Rattled, she didn’t know what to do in the face of his displeasure—whether to speak or keep silent. She couldn’t imagine Noah lifting a hand to her but in the past men had. One—in a drunk rage—had broken her hand.
Fighting the old fear, she nursed Dawn and then put her down for the night in the little hammock in the wagon. Then she stood in the lengthening shadows by the wagon, unable to stop chafing her poor thumb. As she watched her angry husband, she felt her nerves give way to aggravation. Nothing had happened that should make any man upset.
Finally she recalled one of Constance Gabriel’s few words of advice: “Do not let the sun go down upon your wrath.” These words from the Bible must be right. But could she do it? Could she confront this man who’d only been her husband for a period of weeks?
A memory slipped into her thoughts. Constance and Adam Gabriel had been alone in the kitchen, talking in undertones. She’d overheard Constance say, “Adam, this must be decided.”
So wives did confront husbands. Sunny took a deep breath.
“Noah,” she said, “what’s wrong?”
“I don’t want people hanging around,” he muttered darkly.
“Why not?” she insisted, leaning forward to hear him.
He sat silent, his chest heaving and his face a mask of troubled emotions.
“What is wrong, Noah? The men just came to help us.”
“I don’t want their help. I want to be left alone. I don’t want us getting thick with people hereabout. I picked this homesite far from town to steer clear of people. I’ve had enough of people to last me a lifetime. In the future, we will keep to ourselves.”
His words were hammers. “Keep to ourselves?” she gasped. The happy image of Dawn in her white pinafore shifted to a shy, downcast Dawn hanging back from the other children who looked at her, their expressions jeering as tears fell down her cheeks.
“No.” Sunny said, firing up in defense. “No.” She came around to face him. “Why did you marry me if you wanted to be alone?”
Noah rose. They were toe-to-toe. His eyes had opened wide.
“Why don’t you want to be neighborly?” she demanded, shaking.
He took a step backward. “I...I...”
“What if I get sick? Who will you call for help? If I get with child, will you deliver it alone? We have no family here. How can we manage without our neighbors?”
They stared at each other. Sunny shook with outrage at his unreasonable demand.
Noah breathed rapidly, too, as if he’d just finished a race. Finally he shook his head as if coming awake. “I don’t want people here all the time,” he said. “I just want peace and quiet.”
“People have their own work to do.” She clamped her hands together, feeling blood where she’d chafed her thumb. “Once the cabins are built, Charles and Martin will be busy with their own work.”
He let out a rush of air and raked his hands through his hair. “All right. Just remember I don’t want people here all the time.”
She wanted to argue, but sensed much more was going on here than was being said. “I will keep your wish in mind,” she said, scanning his face for clues as to what was happening inside him.
He stood, staring at her for a moment as if seeing her for the first time. “I’m going to clean up at the creek.” He grabbed a towel from the clothesline she’d strung earlier in the day and stomped off.
Sunny slumped against the wagon, calming herself, consciously shedding the fear and anger. He didn’t want people around him. Maybe he didn’t want her around him? Maybe he’d only brought her here to cook and clean. That would explain why he showed no interest in getting closer to her.
The thought made her angry all over again.
Climbing into the wagon, she checked on Dawn who slept peacefully in her little hammock. She’d be safe here. Sunny climbed down, grabbed another towel from the line and headed toward the creek, too. The unusual high temperature and humidity combined with the argument had left her ruffled and heated. Earlier she’d noticed a bend in the creek that was shielded by bushes where she could discreetly cool off.
Noah already splashed in the wide part of the creek, deep with spring runoff. In the long shadows she skirted around, barely glancing toward him. Within the shelter of the bushes, she slipped off her shoes and tiptoed over the pebbles into the cool water. She shivered, but in a good way. Soon ankle-deep, she was bending and splashing water up onto her face and neck, washing away the grime and stickiness.
The cool water soothed her, the sound of its rippling over the rocks calmed her nerves like a balm. She sighed as the last of her indignation drifted away on the current. She waded out onto the mossy bank and dried off.
At the sound of her name she turned and found Noah walking toward her. Night had come; moonlight glimmered around them. She braced herself, waiting for him to reach her. Had he come to start the argument anew?
He paused a foot from her. “I’m sorry, Sunny.” The soft words spoke volumes of anguish.
She gazed at him, uncertain. Their disagreement had been over nothing—or everything—and she sensed that Noah was struggling just like she was. She recalled his words on their wedding night, when he’d asked which was worse, lying with strangers or killing them.
Amid the incessant frogs croaking around them, he whispered, “Sunny, I just need space, peace.”
His voice opened the lock to her heart and freed her. “Noah,” she murmured.
“But I want you to be happy here, too,” he added.
His tenderness touched her, but she didn’t know how to respond. They were still strangers.
In the silent darkness he helped her gather her shawl around her shoulders and then they walked to the wagon. Sunny tried to figure out what had happened this evening, what bedeviled her husband, and how she could bring him peace. She had no answers.
At the wagon she hoped he would follow her inside so she could comfort him. But, as usual, he let her go in and then he wished her good-night from the foot of the cramped wagon bed.
Sunny lay very still, wondering if Noah would have another nightmare tonight, and if he’d ever reveal what the dreams were about. She had a feeling his nightmares and his reluctance to be around people were connected.
And she was determined to find out how. She just needed to be patient. But patience had never been one of her talents. Someday they would have to talk matters out. Maybe when Noah’s nightmares ceased?
Chapter Four
The next morning Sunny had a hard time speaking to Noah. Or looking at him for that matter. She stooped over the flickering flames of the cook fire. A stiff breeze played with the hem of her skirt. To keep safe as she was frying salted pork with one hand, she held her skirt with the other. She didn’t know what was causing the awkwardness she felt with Noah.
In the pan the pork sizzled and snapped like the words she’d spoken to him last night. Was it the fact that she’d spoken up to him for the first time? Or had the awkward feeling come because he’d shown such tenderness to her when he’d escorted her into the wagon? Tenderness from a man was not something she was used to.
Yet today Noah remained silent as usual. And this morning that grated on her more than it did normally. How was she supposed to act when the neighboring men came today to help?
She remembered her resolution to get to the bottom of Noah’s reluctance and she decided to speak up again.
“I expect our neighbors will be coming to help soon,” she murmured.
Noah nodded. “Probably.” He took another sip of the coffee, steaming in the cool morning air.
Sunny glanced down. Lying on her back on a blanket, Dawn waved her arms and legs and cooed. As always, her daughter brought a smile to Sunny’s face.
“She’s having a good time,” Noah commented.
Sudden joy flashed through Sunny, catching her by surprise. This was not the first time he’d taken notice of Dawn and said something positive, but it still caught her off guard. Taking this as a hopeful sign for the future, Sunny managed to nod. She finished the pork and quickly stirred in what was left of last night’s grits. She deftly swirled the pan till the concoction firmed. “Breakfast is ready.”
She lifted the frying pan off the trivet and served up their plates. Searching for more topics to discuss, she said, “I hope we can get some chickens. I will need eggs.”
“We will. It won’t be much longer that we’ll be living like tramps,” Noah said, sounding apologetic. “Before you know it, we’ll be in our cabin.”
“I know we will,” she said quickly. “You’re working so hard. I wish I could help more.”
“You do enough,” he said gruffly. “After the cabin’s up, I’ll make us a nice table and some sturdy benches.”
“You know how to make furniture?” Sunny bit into the crisp pork, trying to ignore the way his dark hair framed his drawn face. She wished she could wipe away the sleepless smudges under his eyes.
“Yes, I had an uncle who was a cabinetmaker. He taught me one summer.”
“You know so much. And I can barely cook.”
“You do fine.”
Her heart fluttered at the praise. She clung to their discussion to keep her feelings concealed. “Mrs. Gabriel taught me what I know. But I wish I’d had time to learn more.”
“You do well,” he said, looking at her, his dark eyes lingering on her face.
Impulsively she touched his arm. “Thanks.”
His invisible shutters closed against her once more. Her action had pushed him deeper into reserve. She concentrated on eating her own breakfast and not showing that she felt his withdrawal, his rejection.
She passed the back of her hand over her forehead, sighing. Be patient, she reminded herself. Maybe he just needs more time.
“Hello, the wagon!” Their neighbor Charles Fitzhugh’s cheerful voice hailed them.
“Good morning!” Sunny called, checking to see how her husband was taking the arrival of the two men. However, when she glanced toward the men, she froze. A petite, dark-haired woman and two little girls accompanied them. Her breath caught in her throat.
Noah rose and with his free hand gripped first Charles’s and then Martin’s hand. “Morning. Just about done with breakfast.”
“Mrs. Whitmore, this is my wife, Caroline, and our daughters, Mary and Laura,” Charles Fitzhugh said.
Sunny bobbed a polite curtsy, her heart sinking. Her hand went to her hair, which she hadn’t dressed yet. Fear of saying something she shouldn’t tightened her throat. What if she said something a decent woman wouldn’t ever say? Would they know instantly what she was? What she’d been?
“Don’t mind me,” Caroline Fitzhugh said. “I just came for a short visit and then I’ll be going home. I knew it was early to be calling but I just felt like I needed a woman chat this morning.”
Sunny nodded. She quickly smoothed back and twisted her hair into a knot at the base of her neck and shoved pins in to keep her bun secure. A woman chat, oh, yes—she’d longed for one, too. But after weeks of loneliness she must guard her overeager tongue, not let anything that might hint at her past slip out.
I can do this. I just need a touch of help, Lord.
Soon Sunny was washing dishes in the spring with Mrs. Fitzhugh down creek from her. Nearby, Caroline’s little girls played in the shallows. Mrs. Fitzhugh held Dawn and dipped her toes into the water to Dawn’s squeals of delight. Sunny’s heart warmed toward this woman, obviously a good mother. But that sharpened the danger that she would let her guard down and give herself away.
Soon the two women were back at the campfire, sitting on a log and watching the children play with some blocks Mrs. Fitzhugh had brought in a cotton sack. Happy to gnaw on one block, Dawn watched the two toddlers pile the rest on the uneven ground. She squealed as she watched the blocks topple.
“You and Mr. Whitmore been married long?” the neighbor asked, accepting a fresh cup of coffee.
“Not too long,” Sunny hedged vaguely. The sound of the men’s voices and the chopping as they worked on yet another tree suddenly vanished as her heart pounded loudly.
Mrs. Fitzhugh smiled. “I just meant you look almost like newlyweds. It’ll take a few more years to look like you’ve been married forever.”
Sunny didn’t know what to say to this. Was the woman suggesting that she and Noah hadn’t been married long enough to already have a child?
“Where you from?” Mrs. Fitzhugh asked politely.
The woman’s voice remained honest, not accusing or insinuating. Sunny managed to take a breath. “Pennsylvania. My husband came here earlier this year to find us a homestead while I stayed back with my family.” That was true—the Gabriels had told her to consider them her family.
“I’m from eastern Wisconsin. Met Charles there.”
Sunny knew that the woman wasn’t asking her anything out of the way, but each question tightened a belt around her lungs. She looked toward the men and saw Noah send a momentary glance her way, his expression brooding.
“I’m...we’re very grateful for your offer of help.”
Mrs. Fitzhugh waved her hand, dismissing Sunny’s thanks. “It’s too early to plant and Charles isn’t sure he will put in a crop this year. Kansas is calling him.”
“Kansas?” Sunny gazed at the woman with genuine dismay. All the way to Kansas? Sunny thought of all the miles she’d traveled from Idaho to Pennsylvania and then here. “I’m not much of a traveler,” she admitted.
Before Mrs. Fitzhugh could reply, another voice hailed, “Hello, the house!”
“Nancy! Is that you?” Mrs. Fitzhugh called out with obvious pleasure.
Soon another woman sauntered into the clearing—a big blonde woman obviously expecting a child, with a toddler beside her. While Caroline Fitzhugh dressed as neat as could be, this woman appeared disheveled but jolly.
“I was coming over to visit you, Caroline. And then I heard the axes and once in a while, on the breeze, a word that sounded feminine. I hope you don’t mind me stoppin’ in.” She looked to Sunny.
“No. No. You’re very welcome,” Sunny rushed to assure the newcomer though she wasn’t sure she meant it. “Please join us.” She waved the woman to one of the large rocks around the campfire and quickly offered her coffee.
Two women to talk to—a blessing and a trial.
“I’m Nan Osbourne. My man and me live over yonder.” She waved southward. “Glad to see another family come to settle.”
“Mrs. Whitmore and her husband are nearly newlyweds,” Mrs. Fitzhugh said.
“Well, none of us are much more than that.” Mrs. Osbourne gave a broad wink. “You got any family hereabouts, Miz Whitmore?”
“No. No. I have no family...near,” she corrected quickly. She’d just told Caroline that she had stayed with her family. “And Noah’s family is all in Pennsylvania...too.” Picking her words with such care quickened her pulse.
“That’s hard, leaving family,” Mrs. Osbourne said, looking mournful. “I cried and cried to leave my ma.”
“My mother has already passed,” Sunny said, her words prompting a sudden unexpected twinge of grief. Or was it recalling she was all alone in the world? Why would she mourn Mother’s death now, almost seven years after it? Was it because so much was changing? I’m not alone now. I’ve got Dawn and Noah. Gratitude rushed through her. Could this be proof that God was forgiving her? There was so much she didn’t understand about God and sin.
“I got news.” Nan Osbourne grinned. “We got a preacher in town now.”
“Really?” Caroline Fitzhugh brightened with excitement.
Sunny tried to keep her face
from falling. A preacher? In the past more than one had shouted Bible verses at her, calling her a harlot and predicting her damnation. The fires of hell licked around her again. She touched Dawn, her treasure, smoothing back her baby fine hair, and the action calmed her.
“The preacher’s goin’ to preach this Sunday right in town. He says around ten o’clock,” Nan announced.
“That’s wonderful. I’ve been missing church.” Caroline sighed.
Sunny tried to appear happy as her peace caved in.
“I think it’s wonderful that he’s goin’ to preach out in the open like a camp meetin’. Then even them who don’t want to hear the gospel will.”
Sunny posed with a stiff, polite smile on her face. Was the woman talking about the people who’d be just waking upstairs at the saloon? Of course she was. Once more Sunny wished so much that she could help another woman get free of that life.
But I can’t. I’ve got to make this new start work for Dawn.
“You’ll be comin’, won’t you, Miz Whitmore? You and your man?” Nan asked.
Crosscurrents slashed through Sunny. I want to go. I want You to know, God, how thankful I am for this second chance. But would the preacher see right through her? Would Noah want to go? Let her go?
A thought came. Should she mention that Noah had been raised Quaker? He’d almost stopped using “thee.” Did that mean he didn’t want to be considered a Quaker anymore?
Both women were gazing at her expectantly.
Sunny breathed in deeply. “I’ll discuss it with him. I know I want to attend. Do you know what kind of preacher he is?”
“I didn’t ask,” Nan said. “Out here on the frontier, preachers are so rare we can’t be choosy about them. He struck me as a good man.”
