The remainder of the shower passed without incident, but Sara made a point of avoiding Mara. It wasn’t difficult to do since there were so many other women present. When the last of their guests left, Sara heaved a quiet sigh of relief.
❧
Three weeks had passed since the shower. Sara and Hetty were doing the mending, and Blackie was curled up at Sara’s feet. He’d become a splendid companion and served as a buffer between her and Nathan in the evenings.
“Hetty, I’ve been wondering. . .”
Hetty looked up from the sock she was darning.
“I’ve noticed there’s no saloon in Cedar Springs, and I didn’t see one in Wichita either. Don’t people in Kansas drink spirits?”
“Well, many would like to—and some do. But there’s been a law against drinkin’ in Kansas since 1880. It’s called prohibition. There’s many that’s against it, but I’m thinkin’ it’s a fine thing. I’ve seen a man or two drunk, and it’s no pretty sight, that’s for sure.”
“No, it’s not. I wish it were illegal in every state. There were a lot of saloons in Boston and a lot of drinkers, too. It’s a terrible thing—what liquor does to a man.”
“Yes. I think the good Lord expects a man to keep his wits about ’im.” Hetty finished the sock and picked up a shirt to sew. “Speakin’ of men, are you and Nathan gettin’ on any better?”
Sara sighed. “It’s not that we don’t get along. I mean. . . well, you’ve seen the way he is with me. He doesn’t talk to me.”
“Not when me and Gus is here. But I figure that’s because we’re doin’ all the talkin’.”
“Well, when you’re not here, it’s as quiet as a church. I just go about my business and he goes about his. He seems angry with me all the time.”
“That boy does have a temper. But I can’t see why he’d be mad at you. He’s prob’ly just stewin’ about somethin’.”
“Maybe.”
Hetty glanced up at the mantle clock. “We’d best get supper on. It’s nearin’ 5:00.”
When the men came home, they were quiet and moody. Sara didn’t find out why until they were well into the meal.
“Well, are you fellas gonna tell us what’s eatin’ at ya? It’s clear ya got somethin’ on your minds.”
Gus had a mouthful of food, so Nathan answered. “It’s old Mr. Murphy again. His steers keep breaking our fences.”
Gus stepped in. “Then we have to round ’em up and take ’em back to his property. He doesn’t even fix the fence. Wasted half the day.”
Hetty shook her head. “Someone oughta have a talk with that man.” She looked at Sara. “Mr. Murphy’s our neighbor to the south. He’s gettin’ up in years, but he’s got a couple of ranch hands who should be takin’ care of things.”
Nathan drained his cup. “Could someone pass the pitcher?”
It was just to Sara’s right, so she picked it up. Her hand shook, partly from the weight of the full pitcher and partly from nerves. Milk sloshed over the rim and left a puddle on the wood, near Nathan’s plate.
“Sorry. . .” She got up to get a cloth.
“Sit down—it isn’t hurting anything,” he said.
Sara dropped back down in her chair, her face coloring. She didn’t feel much like eating after that. Mostly she stirred her food around on her plate and took an occasional bite.
Finally the meal was over. Hetty stood and carried her dishes to the kitchen. Sara noticed she was walking with a slight limp.
“Hetty, did you hurt your leg?” Sara asked as she entered the kitchen.
“No, I got a knee that acts up now and then, that’s all. I was on my feet most of the day. Shoulda known better.”
“Well, why don’t you just go on home, then? I’ll finish up here.”
“These dishes won’t take but a minute.”
“Precisely. They won’t take me any time at all, so you just scoot on home and rest that knee.”
“Land sakes! You’re gettin’ to be as bossy as me!” Hetty said. “Thanks, though, I think I will call it a day. Gus! You ’bout ready?”
“Yep. Your knee troublin’ ya?” he asked as she hobbled over.
“Yeah. Sara’s finishin’ up in the kitchen, so we can get on home.”
They all said their good-byes, and Sara continued clearing the table as Hetty and Gus left.
She removed the empty pitcher from the table and turned to take it into the kitchen. She jumped when she saw Nathan standing right in front of her, and the pitcher fell to the floor, shattering into pieces around her feet.
“Oh, no!” She stooped down to clean the mess and as she picked up a shard of glass, it sliced across her palm, leaving a red slash. She sucked in her breath.
Nathan reached down and pulled her up by the elbows. “Here, leave the mess. You need to take care of your hand.” He led her over to the basin.
“Your pitcher. . .it’s ruined. . .I’m sorry! I’m so clumsy!”
He stood behind her at the basin, cupping her wrist with one hand, pumping water with the other.
“I’m sure we got another pitcher. Open your hand.”
His hand felt rough against hers as cold water gushed over them. She felt his hot breath on her neck and realized how close he was standing. She’d never been so near him—had never been so near any man—and her reaction startled her. Her heart was thumping as if it would explode, and there was a strange warmth kindling in her abdomen. How could she react this way, especially when he frightened her so?
“Won’t need sutures. Gonna have to keep it clean till it closes, though.” He reached over and grabbed a white cloth. After drying her hand, he wrapped the thin towel around her wound. “There’s some bandages in that cabinet.”
“I–I’ll take care of it. Thank you. . .for helping, I mean. I’m really sorry about your pitcher. . .” Her face reddened. She couldn’t put two thoughts together when this man was present! Why did she have to be so awkward?
“I’ll clean up the glass. You’d better get that bandaged.”
Sara bustled over to get the medicine box down. By the time she had finished awkwardly wrapping her injury, with one hand, Nathan was finished. Once again he had turned in without a word—and at 7:00 in the evening.
❧
Nathan paced across the large area rug in his room. Mercy, what that woman did to him! He couldn’t even handle a little medical treatment without going all soft in the knees.
She seemed so fragile and helpless. He had instinctively helped care for her hand, but being so close to her had been a mistake. She’d been so warm, her hands so soft. And what was that scent she wore, anyway? Lilac?
He knew he should have helped her bandage her hand. She’d been struggling to do it one-handed while he was sweeping up the glass. But a man could only take so much.
He sat on his bed and tugged off his boots. This was laughable. Here he was, trapped in his room by a ninety-eight pound woman at 7:00 in the evening.
He’d been turning in early to avoid being alone with her. He hardly paid her any heed at all, and when he did make his presence known, she jumped out of her skin—like she did with the pitcher. What a nervous Nelly she was. Most likely she was wary of him because he was so terse with her. Well, it was better this way. No entanglements to worry about, no problems to fret over, no loss to grieve.
This would have to work out. He didn’t have much choice now; they were married. At least the ranch was his. Mr. VanCleeves had sent him the deed after he’d received news of Nathan’s marriage. Things would settle down. She’d get used to him and relax after a while. It had only been four weeks.
He picked a book up from the bedside table. He might as well pass the time with some good reading.
nine
Sunday morning services were beginning to be the high point of Sara’s week. Not just the sermons, although she did
enjoy those. It was a combination of things: a change of scenery, fresh air during the ride to town, and friendly people to talk with.
On this fourth trip to church, she wasn’t disappointed. Reverend Hill preached a sermon that raised many questions in her mind. He talked about sin.
“We are all imperfect creatures,” he said, “born of sinful men and women. Not one of us is perfect. Only Jesus lived a perfect life on this earth.”
Sara thought he would go into a history lesson about the man named Jesus, like she’d heard in Boston, but he didn’t.
“Even those of us who appear to be good—who are thoughtful and kind—commit sin. Many sins are hidden away where others can’t see them: bitterness, envy, selfishness. Be assured, my friend, God sees it. It’s sin, black and destructive. God is our only hope for salvation. We must choose Him.”
Sara considered his words carefully that week. She felt as if she now held pieces to a puzzle—only, she was missing a few pieces and couldn’t make out the picture.
On Tuesday of that week, she and Hetty were clearing up the breakfast dishes when Sara broached the subject.
“Hetty, what did you think of Reverend Hill’s sermon Sunday?”
Hetty looked up from the pan she was scrubbing and squinted her eyes in thought. “Let’s see. . . Oh, yes—the sinner. As always, I thought he brought a fine message. Why do you ask?”
“I. . .I guess I didn’t follow along very well. I mean. . .I know everyone sins. . .no one’s perfect. But that’s the way we’re made. We couldn’t be perfect even if we tried, right?”
“Umm. That’s true, yes. Just as it says in Romans 3:23, ‘For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.’ But that’s the reason for Christ’s death on the cross. We can’t be perfect, but He was.”
Sara nodded as though she understood. Hetty thought she was a Christian, and she didn’t want to expose herself. The questions would have to wait. Perhaps Reverend Hill would answer them in his sermons.
Hetty removed the sack of flour from the pantry shelf. “I’m glad to have someone to talk to about such things. It makes me think. Fiddlesticks! I was wantin’ to make some of those yeast rolls for supper tonight, but we’re short on flour.”
“Do you have any at your house?”
“Nope. No need to, since I do all my bakin’ here,” Hetty said.
“Well, I’d be happy to walk into town and get some. It’s a lovely morning, and the fresh air would do me good.”
“You’re a dear! I’d go myself, but I got a pile of laundry needin’ done.”
“I’ll just go get my hat,” Sara said.
“Nathan keeps some money in that jar on the mantle. It’s just for this sort of thing.”
After getting a few coins, Sara left the house and paused by the corrals. She’d love to ride into town on one of Nathan’s fine horses, but he hadn’t offered, and she didn’t feel right taking one without his permission. She’d been riding since she was old enough to walk. Her father had trained horses for a wealthy man outside of Boston, and she’d had permission to ride whenever she pleased. And ride she had. After her father died, she and her mama only had two bays, and those horses were soon sold.
Now there was a whole stable full of horses, and she need only ask permission to ride them. If she could only gather the courage to do so!
She set off toward town at a brisk pace, her calico gown swishing with each step. There was a gait to her walk that hinted of her fine mood. The sky was untainted blue, and the sun gave off enough warmth that she had no need of a shawl. Only the twittering of birds disturbed the silence.
She felt free for the first time in years. Free to walk to town anytime she chose, free to make friends, free to be happy. She giggled and added a sashay to her step. It was a good thing there was no one around! They would think she had gone mad!
She began to hum tunes, and all too soon town came into view. The saws were buzzing in their efforts to slice through wood. A wagon clattered by, and a woman Sara recognized from church waved at her from atop the bench. It was so different living in a small town. In Boston she could have walked all day and never crossed paths with a familiar face.
She made her way past the post office to Parnell’s Grocery. She had come here before with Hetty. It was much smaller than the grocery store she’d shopped at in Boston, but it stocked the necessities, and since it was the only store in town, it carried other items besides food: bolts of fabric, knitting supplies, trinkets. Most of the people around here grew their own food and stored it up to last the winter.
The bell over the door jangled when she entered, and Mr. Parnell looked up and gave her a nod. He was measuring sugar for another woman, so Sara browsed the selection of calico fabrics while she waited. There were other women in the store, but none Sara knew.
When Mr. Parnell was free to help her, she stepped up to the counter and requested five pounds of flour. She paid for her purchase and was turning to go when she heard the bell jingle, announcing someone’s arrival.
“You have a pleasant day now, Mrs. McClain,” Mr. Par-nell called.
The silhouetted customer glided toward Sara, becoming more distinct with each step. When she had come close, her features were clear, and Sara saw it was that Mara Lawton. Eyes, in the iciest shade of blue, scanned Sara’s frame with boredom.
Sara squirmed and shifted the bag of flour to the other arm.
“Hello, Sandra.”
“Sara,” she corrected automatically.
Mara went on as though uninterrupted. “Have you finished reading the book I gave you? Was Nate surprised I came to your shower?” she sneered.
Nate? “N–no. I mean, I guess not,” Sara replied, confused.
Mara tipped her chin and raised a finely arched brow. “Well. I figured he may have thought it would be rather awkward for you. Under the circumstances.”
“The circumstances?” Sara’s brow furrowed.
“Oh. I don’t suppose he’s told you. We’re quite close, you see. In fact, if my father had permitted it, I would have been the new Mrs. McClain.”
Sara’s face blanched, and she began to fidget with the ruffle on her dress.
The corner of Mara’s pink mouth turned up in a smirk. “I was utterly shocked when he told me he was ordering a bride!”
Her voice had raised a notch, and Sara glanced furtively around to see if anyone had heard. There were some people in the store, several standing close enough to have heard. Heat rose to her cheeks.
Mara continued. “I mean, what kind of woman would market herself in such a way? Run off and marry a man she’d never set eyes on.” She clicked her tongue and lowered her voice. “Of course, I could understand Nathan’s predicament. A man his age wants to settle down and have children. It’s unfortunate he couldn’t have his first choice in a woman. Have no fear, though, we’ll be discreet. . .”
The blood drained from Sara’s face, and her lips worked silently for a moment until the words found their way out.
“I. . .I have to go. . .” She hastened through the door, the bell tinkling in laughter behind her.
The town swept by in a blur, and bile rose to her throat. She clutched her stomach with her free hand.
She was hateful, that woman! As ugly on the inside as she was pretty on the outside! How could Nathan like such a wretched woman, much less. . .
Oh! The horror of it! No wonder he resented her so! He couldn’t have the woman he wanted, so he’d married her! Did everyone know? She’d never been so humiliated in all her life! Now she knew why Mara had seemed so unfriendly at the bridal shower. Sara had married the man she wanted for herself!
She was grateful for the long walk back and forced herself to slow her steps. It was going to take some time to sort through her thoughts.
Nathan had married her because he couldn’t have Mara. That knowledge shouldn’t tr
ouble her much. After all, she had married him to escape Pete. It did bother her, though. She was second choice, and he clearly resented her for it. In a way, they had each used the other. It was a sorry start for a marriage, but she could learn to live with it. If it weren’t for that other.
Could it be true? Was he carrying on a. . .a liaison (she had never even uttered such a word) with that. . .that woman? It must be so. Why would she lie about such a thing?
It was a betrayal of the worst kind. Theirs may be an unconventional marriage, but she had the right to expect his faithfulness. . .didn’t she? It’s no wonder he didn’t seek companionship with her. He’d already found it elsewhere!
Plainly, Hetty didn’t know of this. She’d never condone such immorality. Was the rest of the town unaware also? It was humiliating enough to know it herself!
She was so inexperienced in such things that she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t dare confront Nathan about it—didn’t even feel she had the right. It wasn’t a true marriage. Oh, it was a real marriage in the eyes of the law, but she and Nathan knew better.
Confronting Mara was out of the question. Her haughty manner made Sara feel ugly and insignificant. Anyway, talking to Mara was not likely to do any good: She clearly had no qualms about her conduct. She’d even had the boldness to personally announce her wickedness to Sara! She’d never met such a brash woman. More than anything, she wished never to see Mara again, but that was unlikely, given the size of Cedar Springs.
It was a futile situation. She couldn’t confront Nathan or Mara. She had no choice but to wait it out. Perhaps the embers would grow cold, given time. In the meantime, she could only hope that Nathan would have the consideration to exercise discretion.
She had rounded the bend that put the house in view. Blackie bounded out to greet her. In the four weeks she’d been there, the dog had filled out nicely.
Hetty was running clothes through the wringer when Sara and Blackie returned. “That’s a long way to carry a bag of flour, ain’t it?
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