The Unexpected Bride (The Brides Book 1)

by Lena Goldfinch

  “Maybe the three of us could all go deer hunting on Sunday, Son.”

  Aha. So that’s what he had brewing in his scheming, interfering mind—God love him. But he was being surprisingly insensitive. Couldn’t he see Rebecca had no interest in shooting? Why, she was practically itching to change the subject, at least away from her.

  “I’m sure Rebecca’s not interested in hunting deer, Pop. It’s not exactly a ‘ladylike’ activity.” Isaac sent a sympathetic glance Rebecca’s way, but she had her gaze fixed on the turkey or the floor, he wasn’t sure which.

  Pop scowled at him something fierce. If he’d been holding the turkey at the time, Isaac had the oddest feeling his father would’ve thrown it at him. What in the world?

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Fool son. Thought I raised you to have more brains than that,” Pop muttered. He grabbed up the pan and slid the dressed turkey into the oven, closing the door with a decided bang—an irritated kind of bang.

  Rebecca shot Pop a look that clearly said, I told you so. Where that came from, Isaac had no idea. Had they been talking about him? Most likely. He watched in confusion as she mumbled an excuse and quickly rushed into her room, closing the door behind her.

  “Would someone please tell me what’s going on?” Isaac’s demand evidently fell on deaf ears, for Pop brushed by him and dropped into the rocker with a resigned sigh.

  “You’re going to have to figure this one out for yourself, Son.” Without giving Isaac a chance to respond, he started talking logging equipment, effectively avoiding Isaac’s question.

  Isaac listened to Pop with one ear. He responded with grunts whenever his father paused, but his attention was focused on Rebecca’s closed door. Why did he have the impression he’d hurt her feelings somehow?

  Women. Couldn’t understand them for the life of him.

  EIGHTEEN

  Late the next morning, a good safe time after Isaac went off to the logging site, Becky wandered bareback through the forest just for the simple pleasure of riding Siren and feeling the cool mist on her face. After the night she’d had last night, she was content to allow the horse to wander wherever she wished. Siren led them into a copse of trees. They seemed denser here, and their trunks seemed narrower. Looking around, Becky felt a hush fall over the mountain. As though every animal had stopped and was listening.

  Siren stopped too. Her ears pricked forward and back a couple of times, and then she nickered.

  Becky listened too. Hearing nothing, she urged Siren on. “Nothing of interest, my darling. Move along.”

  A strange groaning noise filled her ears. It seemed to be coming from above, high up in the trees.

  What in the world was that?

  Becky looked up and side to side, straining to locate the source. The hideous screech seemed to grow and have a life of its own, like some tormented beast.

  It was loud, everywhere, consuming her. Terrifying and strange.

  Filling her ears, confusing her sense of direction.

  Where was it coming from?

  Seeking escape from the deafening noise, Becky wheeled Siren around, first one way then another, and took off down the path they’d come in on. Spurring the horse on as quickly as she dared, Becky clung to the mare’s back. She gripped tightly to the base of Siren’s mane, praying all along that they were heading in the right direction.

  There was a blur of motion, terrifying. Flashes of green streaking past her.

  Branches!

  Branches fell around them, whizzing by on every side, scaring the already frightened mare. Siren whinnied—loud as a scream. She reared.

  “Hold on! Easy, girl!” Becky’s shouts were lost as more branches thundered around them.

  Siren reared again. Becky let out a hoarse cry as she felt herself falling toward the ground. Her shoulder hit first, then her hip. Pain. A blow to her back drove her rifle into her spine. When she tried to roll to her side, she realized she was pinned. Tears coursed down her cheeks, increasing the maddening blindness of panic. Was she about to be crushed by the falling trunk?

  Oh, Lord, please.

  There was nothing more to do but lie still and pray. Becky gasped, or tried to anyway. She couldn’t move, couldn’t fill her lungs the way she wanted to—needed to. Shallow sips of air, not nearly enough. And pain. The pain was blinding. Crushing her. The weight of the branch on her made it difficult to breathe deeply, she realized. And she couldn’t get up—there was no way she could roll such a large limb off by herself.

  Tears streaked her face, wetting her cheeks, her hair. She told herself to be strong to conserve her energy, but a sob took her by surprise. How could she stay calm? How could she be strong?

  How could she?

  Isaac had warned her what areas to stay away from, and she had.

  She’d always been so careful to go the other way. Always.

  What had she done wrong?

  She was sure Isaac and his crew were supposed to be in the opposite direction. On the tail of those thoughts came the realization that she was going to die. She’d die here.

  Now.

  In the midst of all these wild thoughts, all racing through her head at once, she was dimly aware of one final resounding thud, followed by an eerie silence.

  But she had heard a sound.

  She’d heard it. She was certain of it.

  Which meant she wasn’t dead. Sobbing and laughing at once, it no longer mattered if Isaac found her in boy’s clothing. It no longer mattered if he found out she was an absolute hoyden. Only, please, let him find her and free her!

  “Isaac!” Her call seemed barely more than a croak. She tried again and again, but the lack of air was making her weak. Sagging against the dirt, she felt her lungs shrinking. It was like they were shriveling up inside her. Useless.

  Her vision turned to gray. She could hear someone cursing loudly, could hear the footfalls of someone running through the fallen brush. A young male voice. Panicked. Not Isaac, but someone.

  “Oh, dear God,” she whispered, “thank you. Thank you for sending someone.”

  “You all right?” the young man asked, breathing hard, hovering just out of her line of sight. “Just hold on. Hold on. I’ll git this off of you.”

  Excruciating pain knifed her back as the branch shifted, but then blessed relief. The weight lifted away from her and she took a breath. Sweet air filled her lungs. She gasped and gasped again, each breath deeper and longer until she was finally able to lift her head a little.

  “Don’t move.” The voice commanded, and she froze, dropping her chin back onto the ground. “Let me check you first.”

  Hands ran quickly up her legs and arms. She felt her rifle being lifted off her back and fingers pressing gingerly against her spine.

  She groaned as pain shot up her back, radiating up to her neck and down one leg.

  “I don’t think anything’s broke, but you’re sure gonna be all bruised up.” The voice sounded a little relieved.

  The young man gently turned her onto her side. She looked into the face of a boy she’d met in the logging camp, that first day she’d gone to worship service with Isaac. She’d met him outside: a fresh-faced, black-haired fellow with a lot of swagger and attitude. She remembered him chewing on a blade of grass. What was his name? It eluded her. Perhaps it didn’t matter. She was too tired now to care.

  She did hear him exclaim, “You’re a girl!” as soon as he saw her face.

  “Urm,” she mumbled back, grimacing in pain. Who cared if she was a girl or a boy? She was alive—thanks be to God—and that was all that mattered.

  The youth lifted her hat off, as if to give her a closer look.

  Jem. That was his name. It came to her in a blink as if he’d said it out loud.

  “Why, you’re Becky,” he said incredulously. “You’re the boss’s wife. Isaac Jessup’s wife. I’m a dead man.” His eyes, which had held relief just moments ago, were now filled with horror. “I’m a dead man,�
�� he repeated.

  “Calm down, Jem,” Becky said. “Isaac’s not going to kill you.”

  “Oh, he’ll kill me all right.” His agitation seemed to double, if such a thing was possible. He sank to his knees. “Why? Why did I have to go and do something like this? I should’ve known.” He swore bitterly. His shoulders shook. He began to pound his fist against the ground, again and again. “Why?”

  “I’m fine. I think,” Becky said, trying to be soothing. The truth was she didn’t know if she was fine or not. For all she knew, she’d broken a rib.

  “Stupid. Good for nothin’,” Jem continued berating himself as if she hadn’t said a word.

  Realizing the boy was crying, Becky ignored the pain in her back and levered herself up. She could move. It hurt like fire up her back, but she could move. That had to be a good sign. She knelt beside him.

  “What did you do?” It was suddenly clear to her that she didn’t know the whole story.

  “Aw.” He slapped his palm against the dirt.

  “You’re injured!” She touched the back of one of his blood-streaked hands.

  “Naw. It’s just from the saw.” He pulled his hand away from her and looked down at his torn skin with a strangely detached gaze. “Took it into my head that I could fell one of these giants on my own.” Looking miserable, he shook his head and swiped at his eyes with his sleeve. “Stupid.”

  “Stop calling yourself that.”

  “Well, it was stupid. I’d give anything now to start today all over again. Heck, I’d like a chance to start my whole life over again. Sixteen stupid, wasted years living under Pa’s leaky roof.”

  Those last words slipped out unbidden, she knew, for he pressed his lips together into a firm, straight line.

  “Look at me. Cryin’ like a girl.” He sank back on his heels and gave her a sheepish look.

  He really did look like a young boy then, lost and alone. Something about his expression struck a chord with Becky, and she smiled at him in understanding.

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Unwilling to let him off too easily, she added softly, “Just don’t ever do anything like this again.”

  “Oh, there’ll never be another time. In fact, after today—if the boss lets me live—I’m pretty certain I’ll be looking for a new job.”

  He looked so forlorn she placed a hand on his forearm.

  “You don’t know that,” she said.

  “Oh yeah I do.” He met her eyes with fierce certainty blazing in his own. “He pulled me off the felling team first day ’cause a branch fell on me. I can’t stand being on peeling crew,” he told her earnestly. “A man will never get anywhere on peeling crew.”

  “Where is it you want to ‘get’?” she asked carefully.

  He looked at her silently for a long moment before replying, “I want to own my own place. Not some little shanty in the woods either, but a big place, like Mr. Jessup’s got here.” He swept his arm out to indicate the trees surrounding them.

  Most likely he’d never seen their cabin. Becky hid a smile. She gasped as she shifted her weight.

  “I’ve got to git you back home.” Jem looked torn.

  “I can make it back if I can get my horse to come.” She let out a shrill whistle. After a few moments, Siren picked her way through hundreds of fallen limbs toward them. Coming to a stop, she lowered her head and nudged Becky’s shoulder repeatedly with her muzzle.

  “Ow. Stop it, girl. That hurts.” Becky gently pushed the mare’s head away. “It’s good to see you too, but the bumping has to stop.” Becky grinned weakly at Jem. “Do you think you could give me a hand up?”

  He jumped to his feet. “Sure thing. You sure you’re all right?”

  She nodded. “I’ll need a soak in a tub, but I think I’ll survive.”

  “I’m following you back,” he insisted.

  “No, I can make it.” But no amount of protesting would deter him.

  “There’s no saddle on this horse.” His voice held a question. He glanced at Becky, frowning as he took in her strange clothing. With a shrug, he grasped her by the waist and helped her crawl onto Siren’s back. Every little move brought a sharp gasp of pain.

  “How about this whole thing stays our little secret?” Becky asked hopefully as he handed her rifle up.

  A doubtful expression crossed his face. “You won’t tell the boss?”

  “If you don’t tell the boss—I won’t tell the boss.” She arched her brows and waited for his response.

  His grin came fast and wide. “You bet!”

  Easing the rifle over her shoulder, she smiled in relief. She held out her hand. “Shall we shake on it?”

  He took her hand and lifted it, brushing her knuckles briefly with his mouth. “You just saved my life, dear maiden.”

  She laughed at his antics and pulled her hand back.

  Jem returned her hat, then took the reins and walked alongside Siren as she made her way back to the cabin. He helped Becky down, and while she stood leaning against the cabin, he put Siren away in the stable. He returned, following her slow progress into the cabin. His hand hovered near her elbow, not touching her but ready to if she needed it.

  “I’ll git you a bath,” he said.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “It’s no trouble.”

  She shrugged, too tired to argue. “Pots are next to the stove, on that shelf. Water barrel’s out back.” She sank onto the rocker and rested her head back, closing her eyes. Soon she heard him clanking around, evidently boiling water in every pot he could find.

  “Where to?” he asked, waking her from a daze.

  Had she fallen asleep?

  She looked up to find him standing to one side of her chair, the heavy galvanized tub dangling from one of his hands.

  “In there.”

  After carrying the tub into her room, Jem filled it with steaming water. He darted glances to the front door, seeming eager to get away, but was obviously reluctant to leave her unattended. If he were surprised what a lowly cabin she and Isaac lived in he didn’t show it.

  “Go on now, Jem,” she prodded him. “I can handle the rest. It wouldn’t do for Isaac to find you here, would it? With me in my bath...”

  He shook his head, looking horrified at the thought. “No, ma’am.”

  Becky grimaced at the title. No one had called her “ma’am” before. For goodness’ sake, she was twenty, not seventy!

  “Becky,” she reminded him gently and led him to the back door.

  He grinned sheepishly. “All right, Becky. Thanks again for keeping this all hush.”

  After saying goodbye to Jem, Becky spent the next hour in the tub, soaking the pain away.

  ***

  Early in the morning a few days later, Isaac left the house before Rebecca was awake. From her odd behavior these last couple of days, he was a little worried about her health. Moving seemed to pain her, but whenever he asked if she was ailing, she looked at him innocently and brushed his concerns aside. He hated leaving without at least saying “good morning,” but she’d slept in again, and he needed to examine the spot he and his father had marked out on the map as their next felling area. Arriving at the new site, he found the trees weren’t quite as massive in this part of the forest, but the area was dense, so they could thin a good portion of wood without leaving a bare spot on the mountain.

  Satisfied they’d chosen well, he was about to turn his bay for home when he noticed an area with a lot of deadfall. He slid off his mount and bent to pick up one of the smaller limbs, frowning over the fresh tear at one end. This was no deadfall. Within moments of searching, he discovered a felled tree, and from the looks of it, recently felled.

  “What in the world?” He scratched the back of his head and made a sweep of the site, looking for clues. Who was cutting down trees on his land?

  One area in particular captured his notice. Bending down, he saw two distinct boot prints in the dried mud, one larger, one fairly small, like a man with
a younger boy. There were hoof prints everywhere. Maybe a horse had been running loose—spooked by an unexpected falling tree, most likely. Spying a large branch propped up at a strange angle against a nearby tree trunk, Isaac crossed over to it and twisted it side to side. A glimmer of golden red caught his eye. Pulling the string with his fingers, he frowned. It was silky and fine, flexible. Didn’t look like any kind of thread he’d ever seen before. Looked more like...hair.

  Hair?

  With a flash of clarity, he remembered his concerns for Rebecca’s health, how the past couple of days she’d moved stiffly and grimaced whenever she rose from her seat or bent over. She’d ignored his concerned questions, but now he suspected the reason.

  This was Rebecca’s hair.

  A falling branch had hit her—he was sure of it. Testing the weight of the branch, he felt a chill of fear. She could have been killed.

  Why she’d been so far from the cabin was a puzzle, but a more pressing question was who had felled the tree and put his wife in danger? And why hadn’t she told him? Didn’t she trust him? She could have come to him for help. He would have taken her down the mountain. She needed to be seen by the doctor.

  She could have been killed.

  Isaac threw the branch aside, willing it far away from him. It fell not a foot away because it was so heavy, not nearly as far as he would’ve liked. He ground his teeth, frustration and anger welling up inside him, hot as a forest fire.

  No one felled a tree on his land without him knowing who, where, and why. No one.

  ***

  The sun poured in through the window and lit Becky’s face. Blinking against the intrusion, she buried her head under the covers. Ugh. She’d missed Isaac again this morning. She hadn’t gotten up to milk the goat. She hadn’t made Isaac’s breakfast. What must he be thinking?

  They were small things, maybe, but they were things she could do. Usually.

  It was just she was so tired all the time lately.