The cobblestone street made it hard to hurry. Wet from a recent drizzle, the stones were slippery and Viola carefully picked her way across a street to a small shop not too far from where she lived. Inside the shop, the smell of coffee and pastries welcomed her. Behind the counter a short young woman with a riot of curly red hair and freckled complexion waved her over. "What brings you by, Viola? Would you like a cup of tea?"
"Hello, Glenda. No tea for me," Viola told her friend. "I stopped by to see if a room has opened up at the single women's house yet."
Glenda scowled and counted the change for a patron who tapped her foot impatiently. She smiled brightly and wished the woman a good eve. "No sorry. Nothing of yet. I was hoping when the room across the hall became vacant, you could get it. But one of the girls had already asked for a friend of hers." Concern was evident in her gaze. "You should talk to your sister about what happens. Things can't continue like this."
Glenda was right, fear kept her from telling her sister everything. If she believed her husband over her, she'd lose out. They had two children and Viola suspected her sister was pregnant again. There was little doubt eventually she'd end up without a place to live.
"I can't. I wish I could. However I know the only result will be me without a home." Viola gave her friend as bright a smile as she could manage and left.
The house was dark upon her arrival. Hopefully it meant everyone was gone and she could escape to her room and remain there until morning. Viola unlocked the door and stepped through.
In the living room, the light of fire in the hearth made her wonder if someone was home after all. "Who's there?" The masculine voice made her stomach sink.
"It's me. Good night, Frank. I'm going to bed. I'm exhausted." She hurried to her room, entered and closed the door leaning against it. Where was her sister and children? It wasn't like her to go anywhere this late in the day.
The knock made her already tender stomach lurch. "Viola, why don't you come out and keep me company until Sara comes home." His words were followed by a chuckle. The man knew she was avoiding him and he delighted in tormenting her.
"I'm sorry. I'm very tired."
Once again he knocked. "I could come in there I suppose," Frank taunted. "How about that?"
"Please leave me be. I really am exhausted." Viola waited and let out a breath at hearing his footfalls away from the door.
Within seconds, the chaotic sounds of Sara and the children arriving meant Viola could breathe easier and leave her bedroom to use the bathroom. Of course. The reason Frank stopped bothering her was because he'd heard them arriving. Within moments the house was filled with sounds of her nephew's chatter along with Sara and Frank conversing. Viola sunk down onto her bed. A piece of paper caught her attention and she picked it up. Weeks earlier Glenda had given her the section of the newspaper where men out west advertised for wives.
Glenda admitted to considering replying to an ad, then upon Viola's questioning finally fessed to answering a letter. Now she waited for the gentleman's reply.
Amongst the ads, which were worded almost identically, one stood out. A man with land and horses, who lost his wife and child informed he was ready to start again. He wished for a woman of good morals, fair of face, and willing to keep house and help where needed at the ranch.
She couldn't help a giggle at picturing herself cleaning out stables and chopping wood. At twenty-five, she'd never even touched an ax or knew much about horses or cows and such.
"Viola are you awake?" When Sara spoke from behind the door, she slipped the paper under her pillow.
She went to the door, unlocked it, and opened it to find her sister with the youngest on her hip. Sara looked past her to the bedroom, with a longing expression. "Frank said you were tired. It's just that I need to know if you can watch the children tomorrow. I promised my mother-in-law to help her host the quilting guild in the afternoon. It will be much easier without them underfoot."
"Of course," Viola replied taking the baby whose arm stretched to her. "I am helping Mrs. Pratmore in the morning. I can leave at noon. Does it give you enough time?"
"Yes, it would be perfect. Thank you." Sara seemed tired and drawn. Viola wondered if it was the new pregnancy or something else.
"Are you unwell?"
Sara sighed and took her child back. "Just tired is all."
The next afternoon, Viola entertained her nephews outside in the small yard. The toddler ran after a bird while the eldest tossed a ball to her. Soon yawns took over the laughter and she took them inside.
The youngest settled for a nap, she sat in the parlor with the oldest and read him a book when the front door opened. Viola said a quick prayer it was Sara and not her brother-in-law.
"Hello." Frank stood in the entryway and looked at her. His gaze scanned down from her face to her feet. She ignored him and tucked them under her skirt.
"You make a beautiful picture to come home to, Viola." His lips curved.
"Daddy!" Her nephew rushed to him.
Frank ruffled his son's hair, his gaze never leaving her. Thankfully he walked past to the kitchen, with his son tagging behind.
Viola went to wash her hands. She planned to start dinner so when Sara arrived she wouldn't have to worry about feeding the family. As tired as her sister looked, the last thing she'd feel like tackling was a meal for the family.
She felt his presence before hearing him. His breath on the back of her neck did not stop the hair from standing on end. "I find you hard to resist. Not sure what to do about it." He pressed his lips to the side of her neck.
It was hard to swallow past the constriction in her throat. "I will tell Sara if you do not stop this instant. Move away and let me pass." She didn't dare turn around, within the tight confines of the small powder room, he was much too close.
"We both know she'll never leave me. She'll believe me when I tell her it was you who made a pass at me."
Viola glared at him in the mirror. He was not very tall, just a bit taller than her. With sandy brown hair and dull brown eyes, he was an average looking man. It was hard to fathom what her beautiful sister ever saw in him. "Frank, please. Do not persist in this. I would never do anything to hurt my sister."
His expression changed, his mouth curling. "You think you're too good for me?" She flinched when he grabbed her arm and flung her around. "By living here. You must do what I say."
"No." She pushed at his chest. "Let me go."
He took her by the shoulders and pulled her to him then aimed to kiss her. Viola turned her head, but it did not deter him. He began kissing her throat while pulling her against him. "I will have you."
"Let me go." Viola didn't scream for fear of waking the baby. Her heart pounded echoing into her ears. She gasped for air.
Frank was too strong, his hold on her like a vice, unyielding.
"Frank! Viola! What are you doing!"
When he released her, Viola fell back against the sink. From behind him, she spotted Sara standing in the hallway, her mouth open and eyes wide.
"Sara..." Frank began moving towards her.
Her sister held up her hands. "I want to know what you and my sister were doing."
Viola could not formulate the words to explain to Sara how her husband was a cheat and a lout. No matter what she said, Sara would not believe it. What Frank had said was true. Sara would not leave him.
"I can't live here any longer. Your husband is not a good man."
"How dare you," Sara blocked her path. "He's told me about how you flirt with him when I am not around. I didn't want to believe him, but now I've seen it with my own eyes."
How could it be? Her sister had seen her fighting him off. "You saw me trying to get away from him."
"No," Sara spat. "You were not screaming. If he was attacking you why didn't you cry out for help?"
"I didn't want to wake the baby," Viola finished weakly when her young nephew toddled in.
"I want you out of my house," Sara followed Frank to the
living room leaving Viola standing in the hallway.
Chapter Three
Colter Valley, Montana
The pot along with his dinner landed on the floor with a thud. Joshua leaped back to keep the hot food from splashing on his boots. With a roar of anger, he kicked it and it bounced against the wall of the kitchen, splattering more of the stew everywhere.
He stormed from the room, no longer hungry. For several weeks he'd barely kept a hold on the frustration, which came from working with one arm. Although the pain had lessoned substantially, he still had a hard time sleeping at night, which made the days seem even longer and his mood worse.
Someone knocked on the door and he grumbled. Of all the times for someone to stop by. If it was his sister, she'd have to turn around and leave. He wasn't in the mood for company.
When he didn't answer the door, they knocked again. The door opened and Abigail peeked in, her eyes widening at him. "Why aren't you opening the door?"
"Go home, Abigail. I want to be alone." He went to his bedroom and shut the door.
From the other side of the door, he could hear Abigail complaining about how ornery he was and lack of manners and such. Of course she was cleaning the mess he'd made and part of him felt bad. On the other hand, he'd not asked her to come. At some point he would have cleaned it up himself.
He lay back in the bed and stared at the ceiling. It was hard to ignore the grumbling in his gut at not having eaten, yet he refused to leave the room until his sister left. A few minutes later, the aroma of meat and spices wafted through the door and he couldn't resist the temptation to see what she had cooked.
When he entered the kitchen, it was clean. Pristine. He'd always admired how efficient Abigail was, always steadfast in keeping her family fed, clothed, and clean. "Sit down. After you eat, I'm getting you a bath set up. You look filthy."
He scratched at his beard. It had become thick and long after the weeks of not shaving. "Thank you for this." He sat down to bacon, eggs, and butter slathered bread. "You didn't have to bring all this."
Hand on her hip, which signified a sassy remark in the making, she glared at him. "What kind of sister would I be then? You're half crippled, a grump when injured, and alone." She tsked and turned away. "Stop being a baby about it. Part of life is hard times."
Although her words rang true, he couldn't stop the pang of anger. "Some things are more than just hard times Abigail."
Her concerned filled eyes met his. "I understand. Yet we must move on. We lost our parents, were blessed by Uncle Martin and Aunt Ruth providing us with a good home. We took a chance and moved here with them. Now look at us. We both live on ranches, the land under our feet is ours. Yes, I know you lost Gretchen and the baby, and I cannot imagine how horribly you hurt, but brother, you are young and strong and have a long life ahead of you. God must have great things in store for you."
She placed a large pot filled with water on the stove and went to a back room. "Is the wooden tub still back here?"
Admittedly, Joshua felt better after his bath. Abigail helped him clean up around his splint and offered to shave him and cut his hair. Too stubborn to accept more of her help, he declined. She took his dirty clothes and left a basket of cornbread on the table along with eggs and a slab of bacon already cut up for him hanging in his small larder.
Joshua walked out to the porch and sat down. Normally in the evenings he would strum his guitar. With his arm in a sling, all he could do was think and watch the sunset.
A whimpering noise got his attention. He descended the stairs and searched around the side of his house. The whimpers would start and stop just when he moved close enough to find out what it was.
Behind a large barrel he used to collect rain in was a small pup. The pitiful thing must have gotten away from its mother. It was a light tan dog, too thin and shaking. Joshua had seen a dog wandering around, but she'd been skittish and never allowed him near. He'd left her bits of food out on occasion, which disappeared by morning. Either she'd eaten them or another critter did, he wasn't sure.
"I hope you're not your momma's thank you gift," he said picking up the dog that immediately began to wag its tail and lick at his beard. "Where'd she go?"
The little pup seemed content to settle into his arms in response.
After a long while of looking for the momma dog without fruition, he took the pup home to feed and keep overnight. Hopefully its mother would come looking for it before long. With the pup in his arm, Joshua went into the kitchen and placed a plate with bits of cornbread and bacon on the floor, which the puppy devoured with gusto.
In the center of the table was a letter. Abigail must have left it and he'd missed it earlier. It was addressed to him with a return address of Williamsburg, Virginia. He held it up and went to the living room, the puppy trotting behind.
After he placed a blanket in front of the hearth and the little dog settled for a nap, Joshua sat down and stared at the envelope. It was addressed to him care of a newspaper in Virginia. It could only mean one thing. "That sister of mine is going to be the death of me."
This was definitely unexpected, although not uncharacteristic, of his sister to stick her little nose into his business. She hated him being alone, voiced it often when he came for dinner and such.
The writing was neat and flowing, whomever the woman was who wrote it had beautiful penmanship.
He fixed a cup of coffee the entire time eyeing the letter, not sure if he dared read the contents.
First thing in the morning, he'd go see his nosy sister and talk to her until getting it through her head he would never marry again. There was no appeal in sharing a home with someone, especially with his current situation. Not only had he vowed not to get married, but also he'd become accustomed to life on his own and it suited him just fine.
Hopefully it wasn't too late to stop the misguided woman in Virginia from coming so far only to have to turn back.
Holding one end down with his teeth, he tore the envelope open with care. A picture fluttered like a leaf to the tabletop landing face up next to his cup. A young woman's solemn face took his attention. She was pretty enough, although it was hard to tell the color of her eyes and hair, both looked to be dark. He studied the lines of her face wondering why an attractive woman would have to travel so far to marry. Unless she was infirmed, it was likely for her to have plenty of suitors there in Williamsburg.
He read the letter with care admiring her neat penmanship and lay it flat on the table. The woman's name was Viola Bunting, twenty-five years of age, who claimed to enjoy sewing, baking, and whatever crochet was. He scratched at his beard and searched his memory for it. Crochet, it sounded like some sort of cooking or such. Not that it mattered of course as he planned to write her right away and set her straight about coming to Montana.
He searched the letter, skimming the next paragraph about her like of gardening and not being afraid of hard work, not able to keep a scoff at her admitting never to have touched an ax or been near a cow. Finally towards the end of the last paragraph she told of her plans to embark to Montana two week's hence.
"Perfect," he said out loud looking to a side cabinet where he kept pen and paper. If he posted the letter the next day in town, it would hopefully reach her in time to stop her from traveling. It would be hard to write with his left hand. However he only had to scribble a couple sentences.
Do not come. I am not going to marry you.
He stopped upon noticing the date of the letter.
She was already headed there. If she left two weeks after posting the letter, the woman would be arriving within a day or two.
"Damn it." He rubbed his left hand down his face. First thing in the morning he’d send Abigail to town to wait for the lady. It would be on her to inform the woman of the misunderstanding. Joshua shook his head, feeling a twinge of guilt for Viola Bunting to be coming such a great distance on her own. A beautiful woman like her shouldn't be traveling alone. It was far too dangerous of a journey. Who
ever this Viola was had about as much sense as his sister for writing back in the first place.
He reached for his cup and it slipped from his hand spilling over the picture and letter. With a grunt of anger, he pushed back from the table and grabbed a cloth to clean up the mess. The noise woke the puppy. It ran to him and yelped then proceeded to crouch down and pee.
"No. no," he scolded the little animal and carried her outside placing her on a patch of grass. "Here."
The puppy ran in a circle wagging its tail. Then she barked and rushed back inside.
Joshua let out a grunt and followed the dog inside. The last thing he needed at the moment was a woman underfoot. It was bad enough having a dog to train. Besides he would never marry and other than occasionally missing the touch of a woman, it was best if he didn't tempt fate by attempting marriage a second time. Obviously if he was meant to be a husband, the Lord would not have taken Gretchen.
When the little dog took the envelope, which had fallen to the floor and began chewing it, he rushed toward it. "No, no, no."
Chapter Four
Williamsburg, Virginia
"I wish we were traveling together," Glenda wiped tears away. "Find a married couple and stay close to them so you're not bothered by men who will get frisky at seeing you alone." Viola's friend tagged close as they maneuvered their way through the people on the train station platform. "And don't smile at strangers. Try not to make any eye contact."
A portman neared and helped her load her larger bag onto the train, she hugged her friend goodbye while looking across the area in hopes of seeing her sister. She'd sent a note letting Sara know of her decision to move to Montana.
Sara had not responded.
The whistle blew, the loud sound made her jump. In her wildest dreams, she'd never thought to travel west, much less alone to marry a man she'd never met and for all she knew could be disagreeable and cruel. A shiver of apprehension made her tremble and Viola considered turning around, going back to Glenda, and begging her friend to help her find a place to live.
Where the River Flows Page 2
