by Debra Samms
Laura looked at him and noticed how tired he seemed. “Is there anything I can do?”
He looked up and considered her, “You could come out with me and talk to me for a bit, I guess. We could get to know one another a little bit better.”
Laura nodded her head. When he’d said he was going back out to the barn, she’d been scared to admit that staying in the cabin by herself wasn’t at all appealing. She also worried that maybe he didn’t like her or if he was having second thoughts about marrying her. She missed having people to talk to, and she’d already spent the afternoon alone. “I’d like that,” she told him with a smile.
“Good.” Tom finished his meal and drained his coffee cup. “Mind bringing that coffee out when you come?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll clean up the dishes and join you in the barn.” She watched him grab a jacket from the rack by the door and leave. She slowly cleaned up the dishes and pulled a sweater from a drawer in the dresser. It was early May, but there was still snow in the mountains. After the sun went down, the world had grown considerably colder. She would miss the warmth of the fire, but getting to know her husband would make it all worth it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next day, Laura found herself doing all sorts of chores, some of which he had never done before. She had started the morning by collecting the eggs from the hen house that was located next to the barn. At first, she’d been hesitant to reach beneath the roosting hens, but she quickly learned that the more efficient she was, the less likely she was to get pecked.
Next, she entered the barn to find Matilda ready to be milked. Tom had briefly shown her the night before how to do it, but it took her several tries to get the hang of it. How long will it take before these chores become second nature?
Soon Laura relaxed into the rhythmic sound of the milk hitting the metal pail. Even Matilda seemed to calm down and be more cooperative. The longer Laura milked, the more soothing it seemed for both of them. At one point, Laura had even leaned her forehead against the cow and found herself softly singing to her.
She hadn’t seen her husband peeking around the stall, or the smile that had formed on his face when he heard her talking and singing to the cow. Nor had she seen him the dozen other times he’d checked on her throughout the morning.
As enjoyable as the milking was, she had other chores yet to perform. She did the wash and beat the living room rug until all of the dust was out of it. Beating the rug was more difficult because she could only use her right arm. The pain in her left side was harsher, and certain movements brought sharp pain to her side, as if a knife were piercing her chest.
Of course it was not her place to complain, so she did not mention it to Tom. The previous night, he had suggested some chores that she could do the following day. She was determined to do them without telling him how much she hurt. She was determined to just weather the injury until it healed. But the last task on her list for the morning was the one she had put off until the very end.
Tom had asked her what her favorite dish was to cook, and she’d promptly told him chicken and dumplings. It was a dish that she had learned to cook as a young girl in the orphanage and Miss Helen had assured her it was her best dish.
Tom had been excited to try the dish and had given her leave to butcher one of the chickens kept just for that purpose. They were free-ranging chickens, who roamed the ranch during the daylight hours, but returned to their roosts and enclosure each evening with the setting of the sun. Tom had suggested she keep them penned up until she could capture the one lucky enough to be chosen for dinner. He said that it would make it a lot easier than trying to capture one of them frantically running around the yard.
That had sounded like a good idea at the time, and as she approached the coop, she could see the chopping block and ax sitting off to the side. Being brave and proud as she was, she had not revealed that she had never before killed or plucked a chicken. But he expected his wife to be able to handle such a task, and she knew she would somehow manage it.
She carefully slipped into the pen, and immediately the chickens scattered. She thought back to the previous night when it had seemed a much easier task when they talked about her gathering the eggs. But now the thought of killing of them was a dreadful proposition. How can I do this? She questioned if she had the stomach to kill a chicken. Then she was reminded that she would not be able to lift the axe with only one arm. It was too heavy, and she would require the use of both arms to lift it high enough to behead the unlucky chicken. She feared that she would not be able to swing the without screaming in pain.
She decided to tackle the obstacle in two stages. First, the chicken. She took a breath and then slowly walked towards a group of three birds, gathered in a corner of the enclosure. Two of them quickly escaped, but one stayed still and watched her. She reached toward him. As her hand go close to him, pecked it many times. After a brief battle, she had hold of the chicken and managed to secure it under the neck strap.
The captured chicken squawked and flapped its wings in protest. She knew it was important to kill it swiftly. She became aware of her racing heart and a bravado that momentarily presented itself. Somehow she would get it done.
She reached for the axe, grabbing it with both hands. It was heavier than she expected. Feeling the screaming pain in her ribs, she dropped her left arm and pressed the elbow firmly against her side to buffer the pain.
She gritted her teeth, anticipating the surge of pain that was sure to grip her body. She quickly raised the axe high and swiftly brought it down, ending the chicken’s life. Pain surged from her chest, sending her to her knees as she held her side in agony.
She didn’t see Tom as he watched her from the barn. Nor did she see the frown that marred his face when he saw her collapse to the ground convulsing in pain. She gasped for breath, praying for relief from the searing agony as tears ran freely down her face.
It was almost ten minutes later, and the chickens were squawking behind her. She eventually found the strength to stand up and open the gate. The chickens rushed out, and she was left to deal with the night’s dinner.
As the afternoon progressed and she finally had a plucked chicken ready to be cooked, she reflected on how difficult the day had been. She prayed that it would get easier the next time around, consoling herself with thought that time heals all things. Things would be much better when her rib injury healed and she would be more capable of handling the difficult chores of her new life. How she wished the healing would hurry.
CHAPTER EIGHT
That night at dinner, Tom complimented her on the meal. A few moments passed before he looked at her and softly said, “I’m sorry you had to kill the chicken. I can do it from now on if you’re going to cry each time.”
Laura’s heart lurched and she looked downward. She felt her face turn red, embarrassed to know that he’d seen what she thought of as her failure. She wanted to tell him that she hadn’t actually been crying over the chicken, because that made her seem weak. But she also didn’t want him to know that she had injured herself either. That was even worse in her opinion.
“You don’t have to do that. I won’t cry the next time.”
He wasn’t convinced, but he let the conversation go. “So, I thought maybe we should talk about the sleeping arrangements.”
Laura looked at him, but his frank appraisal had her looking down in a hurry. She’d been ignoring that aspect of their marriage, grateful when he’d spent the previous night in the barn.
“I only have one bed. I have every intention of this being a real marriage, but I’m willing to give us some time to get to know one another first. If that’s agreeable with you.”
Laura felt so much relief and she looked up at him and nodded, “That’s agreeable with me.”
“Good. So, we’ll share the bed, but as roommates, not man and wife.”
Laura nodded again, hoping this conversation was over. When he began to tell her about the plans he had for a garden out ba
ck of the cabin, she felt her chest relax and her breathing easier. Relief coursed through her body.
Just then she remembered the seeds she brought with her. He smiled at her when she had shown them to her. A warm glow pulsed through her body, making her feel tingly and happy.
He stayed in the cabin and helped her wash-up the dishes. It made her feel good to have him there with her. She felt an easy companionship, and it felt good. She liked having him with her. Theirs was an easy conversation and filled with many topics and events about country living.
When he told her about some funny things that had happened on the ranch, she couldn’t hold back her laughter anymore. Her laughing caused pain to shoot through her side, causing her to grimace and grasp her side. Liquid gathered in her eyes, and she couldn’t stop the tears from falling.
She turned away from him, still holding her side, and willing the pain to go away as she closed her eyes. When that didn’t work, she swallowed and took a shallow breath. She had managed to keep her injury from him this long. Surely she could do it just a few more days until they had healed.
“Laura, you’re crying again,” he murmured to her softly, having gotten up from his chair. He was now squatting in front of her, a look of concern and tenderness on his face.
“I’m fine. I just laughed too hard.” She cringed at lying, but she still wasn’t ready to reveal her injury.
He searched her eyes and when she ducked her head, he reached out and held her chin in place, searching her eyes for the truth. “That’s not it. What’s wrong? Are you already so unhappy here that all you can do is cry?”
Laura gasped, grabbing her side again as she shook her head, “I’m not unhappy here. I promise. I’ll do better, I just have to work harder and learn how to do everything more easily.”
“Oh Dear Laura, no one said you weren’t already doing a good job. Why are you holding your side?”
Laura let go of her side and pushed herself up, wincing at the pain as she did so, but determined not to appear weak in front of him. “I’m fine. I think I’m just tired. Maybe I’ll go to bed early.”
She put her feet on the floor and used her right arm to push herself to a standing position, “Goodnight.” She walked slowly to the bedroom, holding back her tears until the door was shut. As she got ready for bed, she looked at her ribs in the mirror, and the bit her lip as she saw that the bruising had spread and now covered her entire side.
She got in bed, making sure she hugged the side to give him enough. Closing her eyes, she prayed herself to sleep. God, please help me. I don’t want to disappoint Tom. He is a good man and I want so much to please him. Please let tomorrow be better woman for him.
CHAPTER NINE
Tomorrow wasn’t any better, and neither was the next day. By the fourth day, she was overcome with a distressing feeling that she must have done more than bruise her ribs. Her left side remained black and blue, and now traces of yellow and green appeared. She was still unable to take a deep breath. The only time she found relief when doing her chores was when she held something firmly against her side.
Tom had left early this morning. He told her that he would be back later in the morning for breakfast. He told her that she could sleep longer and have an easier morning. So far, it had been easy to share the bed. He waited until he was sure she was asleep each night before slipping beneath the covers, and had awakened before her each morning, giving her privacy as she washed and dressed for the day.
The sun was out as she rolled from the bed, using her legs to push herself upright. This routine seemed to minimize the pain in her side. She decided to try wrapping a strip of cloth around her ribs. She hoped that the fabric would act as a substitute hand, and give her the pressure that seemed to give the most comfort. She hoped it would allow her to use both arms without causing additional pain.. If she’d had her corsets and stays with her, she would have used them, but Miss Helen had assured her that frontier women didn’t have time for such trappings, and she’d left them all in Baltimore save one that she would wear under her dress on Sundays.
She’d found a flour sack full of old clothing on a shelf in the kitchen the day before and selected two worn shirts to tear into long strips. She stood in front of the mirror and slowly wrapped the strips around her ribs, going over her chemise, and applying pressure until it was comfortable.
She was so pleased with the result, that she finally felt that she could approach her chores like a true frontier woman for the first time since her arrival. She finished dressing and got to work on the morning chores. She was just starting to churn the milkfat into butter when she heard Tom come riding back into the yard.
She stepped to the door of the barn and waited for his approach. He was looking at her funny and she questioned him, “What’s wrong?”
“I like your hair.”
Laura reached up and realized that she’d forgotten to put on her bonnet. She’d pulled her hair up high on her head, but she’d been so happy to be able to breath without pain, she’d totally forgotten the bonnet she’d left lying on the bed. She stammered out an apology, “I’m sorry. I’ll go get it right now.”
“Why?” he asked her with a puzzled frown as he dismounted from his horse.
“Well, because a lady should always have her hair covered…”
“Who says?” he asked stepping closer and picking up one of her auburn locks that had escaped her hairpins.
“Well, Miss Helen, and…well everyone.” His nearness caused her pulse to quicken and her stomach to flip.
“I like it down. Is it more comfortable?”
Laura paused and thought for a moment before slowly nodding. “Yes, but that doesn’t matter.”
Tom looked at her and nodded, “Of course it does. I want you to be comfortable around here, around me. If that means not wearing your bonnet, don’t wear it. I assure you that I won’t be offended. If fact, I’d like if it you didn’t cover up your hair. It’s pretty. Just like you.”
CHAPTER TEN
The next day Laura was feeling so much better about her decision to become a mail order bride. Her relationship with Tom was going well, and he’d even kissed her the night before on the cheek.
She was starting to feel more confident about the chores, and the thought of killing another chicken was much less intimidating than the first time. Her ribs were still very sore, but wrapping her ribs had helped immensely.
She entered the chicken coop, this time letting all of the chickens out except one. She cornered it, grabbed it and secured it to the chopping block. Everything seemed to be going smoothly until she went to lift the axe. Again, it was just too heavy to manage with only one hand. She gritted her teeth and lifted it with all of her might, but she didn’t have a good grip on it. The pain instantly surged, causing her to twist unnaturally when she brought it down.
She heard it hit its mark, but the pain in her side was suddenly blinding in its intensity. As she fell to the ground in agony, she heard and felt a distinct cracking sound. She tried to breathe, but shallow pants were all she could manage. She lay there on the ground, watching the dead chicken, praying that God would somehow give her the strength to get up and finish her task.
She didn’t know how long she lay there, but she heard Tom’s voice when he saw her and came rushing across the yard.
“Laura!” He pushed through the gate of the coop and then was squatting down next to her. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“No,” she assured him weakly.
“What’s wrong?” he reached for her shoulders, lifting her before she could protest and searing pain had her vision blurring and going black.
The next thing she knew she was lying in their bed, and Tom was sitting next to her with his eye brows lowered and his jaw tightly clenched. She opened her eyes and swallowed, drawing his attention to her.
“Welcome back.”
“What happened?” she asked, her mouth dry as dirt.
“You passed out when I lifted you from the ground
.”
“Oh!” Laura closed her eyes for a moment, her failure uppermost in her mind.
“I removed your dress so I could see what was ailing you. Your ribs are in pretty bad shape.”
She slowly shook her head, “No, they’re getting better. Really they are. The axe was just too heavy and…” She looked at him and then stopped. He was angry; she could tell. And she felt horrible for having showed him her weakness. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.
Tom stood up and paced the room, “When did you hurt your ribs?”
She lowered her eyes and meekly offered, “When I fell that first day and hit your knee.”
“What?! You’ve been injured this long and didn’t say anything?”
“You wanted a strong woman. I can do the chores, and I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
Tom looked at her and then left the room, softly closing the door behind. She heard him leave the cabin a moment later, when he slammed the door. She felt tears sting her eyes, knowing that she had somehow failed him, but when she tried to sit up, she realized that whatever healing had occurred in her ribs had been undone when she swung the axe.
With sheer determination and gritting her teeth, she got out of bed and got dressed again. There was a chicken to pluck and dinner to do. And she still had wash on the line that needed to come in. They were her chores, and she would do them. She was determined to prove to him that he had not make a poor choice in bringing her here.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Tom stalked to the barn and put his anger to work cleaning the stalls. He couldn’t believe she’d been injured this entire week, and not said anything to him. You wanted a strong woman.
He prayed for strength and calm, and when he felt back in control, he headed back to the house. But she wasn’t in the bedroom where he’d left her. He walked to the kitchen door and saw her diligently plucking the chicken.
