“Excuse me, miss? Are you waiting for someone?”
Meg’s eyes flew open and she immediately regretted having closed them in the first place. Once again, she could hardly see a thing and what she could see was little more than a blur. She rubbed her eyes with her balled up fists and knew that she must look like a little girl, but at the moment didn’t care. She had to see who she was talking to, or almost talking to. Because suddenly she was acutely aware of the fact that she had not spoken to anyone in quite some time. She hadn’t spoken to anyone, in fact, since telling her mother and uncle that she could not possibly marry him. She needed to hear her own voice, to know that she was still there and had not vanished into the underbelly of things when she hadn’t been paying attention. So still squinting and bone tired, she gave the sweetest smile she could manage and opened her mouth, praying that words would come out.
“Yes, I suppose I am, although I’m sorry to say I couldn’t tell you what he looks like.”
“Well what’s his name? Maybe I can help you find him.”
“I don’t want to trouble you,” she replied uncertainly, not in any way accustomed to having conversations with strange men.
“It’s no trouble at all. You look a little stranded, if you want to know the truth. I just wouldn’t feel right leaving you here this way.”
“Well thank you.” She hated the nervous stutter that had crept into her voice but she couldn’t seem to stop it. “In that case I’m looking for a man named Charles. Charles Lively.”
“Oh lord,” he said with a laugh that made her a whole different kind of nervous than she had been before. “Pardon my language, but I was hoping you were going to say that.”
“Were you? Whatever for?”
“Because, I’m Charles Lively. Which I suppose means you’re waiting here for me. And while we’re doing the introductions, we might as well make them complete. This here is Brennen, and I’m sure he’s mighty pleased to meet you, too. I bet he’d tell you sa much if he knew how to talk.”
Meg had hardly even been aware of the man taking her bag and helping her into his wagon. That was when she looked down and saw a large wicker basket and, inside the basket, the plumpest baby boy with the bluest little eyes she had ever seen. Welcome to the Wild West, she thought to herself, hope you’re prepared for the adventure of a lifetime.
Chapter 4
Things had changed in so many substantial ways for Meg Whitley over the last six weeks. They had changed so completely that still, after a little more than forty days of living on a real live cattle ranch that every morning after waking up, Meg spent a few seconds believing that she was in a dream that she hadn’t quite woken up from yet, at least not all of the way. On the one hand she felt like herself but on the other she felt like someone entirely different. It was a disorienting feeling to be sure, but not in a bad way. She thought that this must be what it was to adapt to change, and if you weren’t changing, moving forward, you weren’t doing much of anything with your life at all.
It wasn’t that things weren’t still difficult, because they were. Meg found things that were difficult each and every day. It was just that they were difficult in a completely different way, a way that felt satisfying instead of inspiring fear. Every morning she woke up and rolled towards her window, looked out at this land that seemed to go on forever. Charles had told her that the land they were living on was called Hill Country, and that she was lucky enough to have a view of some of those rocky hills from where she slept. Sometimes she could see the cows, too, and maybe some of the horses, and then she would roll back over and look at her ceiling for a little while before dressing and going out to help the cook make breakfast (although in truth the cook was helping her; she had slowly, patiently been teaching Meg to cook and she was beyond grateful to finally be learning a skill that was really useful). She would help with anything on the land, and she was thrilled to learn something new every day. Sometimes she would retire to her bedroom in the middle of the afternoon to write Polly a letter, telling her of all of the wonderful new things she was discovering every day. Even her simple bedroom, the room that Charles had respectfully given her until the two of them were formally married, was more lovely than any room she had ever been able to call her own, and she was deeply grateful for it every day.
Charles. She was grateful for him as well. The more time she spent around him the more she realized that she had never met someone she could truly call a man. In her mind’s eye she could still see his face shining in the midday sun on that first day as he helped her into the wagon and drove her towards her new life. He didn’t look like any man she had ever met, either. He had sandy blonde hair that was longer than he could’ve gotten away with in the north and a perpetual five o'clock shadow that she found strangely mesmerizing. He had deep blue eyes the color of the swimming-hole a mile walk from her new house with small lines around the corner of his eyes, the only giveaway of his twelve year age difference and the work that kept him always beneath the beating sun. He had a genuine smile full of white teeth that always melted her heart a little bit when it flashed in her direction and an easy, calm disposition that washed over her every day and helped her feel more at ease. In short, she was quickly enamored with him, knew that she would never find another place that she would rather be. She only hoped that he felt the same way about her. She believed that he might, but how was she supposed to know for sure? She had never paid much attention to that sort of thing. She had never had any cause to.
“I’m sorry, miss, but is that little Brennen I hear? I only ask because my hearing ain’t what it used to be and I don’t want to let the little prince wail without coming to his aid.”
“It is! Thank you so much, Margerie. I’m not used to listening for a baby. It’s a bit of a change, I suppose.”
“A bit? Oh lord, I can’t even imagine. When I had my little ones I was scared out of my mind when I knew they were coming. I think you’ve been handling this better than anyone could’ve expected, if my opinion is worth anything.”
“It’s worth everything,” Meg gushed, kissing the older woman on the cheek. Margerie waved her off with one gnarled old hand but Meg could see that she was pleased, and in return that made Meg’s heart sing. This was the kind of relationship she had always longed for with a mother or a grandmother. Who would have thought that she would leave her own mother only to find that closeness she needed all the way across the country? And it was good timing, too, because she wasn’t only preparing to become a wife, she was also getting an accelerated course in how to be the mother to a little one who, six weeks ago, she hadn’t known existed. She squeezed Margerie’s shoulder and then hurried to the nursery, taking a deep breath before opening the door and moving quietly inside.
“Hello sweet baby boy, are you feeling fussy? Are you ready to have someone pay you a little bit of attention?”
She picked the pudgy little bundle of joy up out of his bassinet and held him up in the air in front of her. He stopped crying right away, stuck one fat little hand into his mouth, and looked at her with his wide blue eyes. Those eyes were unnerving, like they could see everything around them for what it really was. But then he moved the little hand and smiled a sweet grin that contained a single tooth and her heart broke open, fell to the floor in a million pieces that she knew could never be put back together again. And that was good. That was how things should be and she knew it now. Her heart would never be the same because it had expanded and every time she looked at this boy who was now to be her stepson it grew a little larger.
“You’re perfect with him.”
Meg turned, pulling Brennen in close to her chest, and smiled shyly at Charles. She hadn’t known that he was there, standing in the doorframe and watching her intently, but now that she saw him she couldn’t believe that she hadn’t felt him there instantaneously. He was covered in dust from a hard day of ranching but the his sweat smelled sweet to her, made her feel flustered and weak in the knees. She lowered her eyes and ki
ssed the top of her new son’s head, hoping the move would somehow hide the blush that she could feel spreading quickly across her face.
“No, not at all. I’ve no real experience with babies. I haven’t spent any time around them.”
“I should have told you. I’d been meaning to tell you that. Should’ve told you already. And I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? But why?”
“Because,” he said, shaking his head and walking slowly towards her, her heart racing faster with each step he took. “I should have let you know what you were getting into before you took that train ride. It wasn’t fair not to. I guess I was just afraid.”
“Afraid? I can’t imagine you being afraid of anything. Afraid of what?”
“Afraid that you wouldn’t want to come. Afraid that if you knew how much you would be taking on you would think it was too much, and, if I’m being honest, I liked you too much for that. I didn’t want to lose someone else.”
Although it made her feel ridiculous, Meg could feel her eyes welling up with tears. There were several reasons for that, and the mix of emotions was making it difficult for her to get control of herself again. Part of it was just hearing that she was wanted, that she was liked by someone. Having been pursued by her uncle for so many years and listening to her mother’s poisonous whispers in her ear about how no other man would ever love her besides the kind who could pay had gotten to her. Some part of her had believed it was true, but hearing how easily Charles admitted his feelings for her went a long way towards undoing that damage. There was that, and then there was also the sorrow she felt for Charles, for the great loss he had suffered. Little Baby Brennen was not his. The baby had belonged to Charles’ brother Wesley and Wesley’s wife Miranda. From everything Meg had heard, they had been the most wonderful kind of parents, had doted on their little boy and planned on giving him everything possible in the world. But there had been a fire and that fire had trapped the loving parents in their home. Thank God for the fact that Charles had taken the baby for the weekend. He had done it to give the new parents some much deserved time to themselves. It hadn’t occurred to him that he could be taking the baby forever. But after Brennan's parents passed away that was exactly what he had done and so when Meg had come to live with him, to marry him, she had walked into an entire new family to call her own. Of course it had been a surprise, but it had been a happy one. An ecstatic one. She wondered if she would ever be able to explain to him how fulfilled she felt by taking on this role. She felt like it was the life she had been born to lead and he had been the one to give it to her, to hand it to her on a silver platter. He had told her when she had first come to live with him that she could have as much time as she needed before they were married, as much time as she needed to be comfortable with the idea. She knew now that she didn’t need any more time at all. She was ready now. She was ready for this life, if he was sure he wanted her, and she wanted it to start as soon as possible.
“Charles?”
“Yes, darling?”
“I’m ready.”
“Ready?”
“Yes, I’m ready. I’m ready for our wedding. If you’re sure I’m what you want, that is.”
“If I’m sure? I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. Are you sure? Are you really?”
“Yes. Yes! It makes me feel like dancing just to think about it.”
“Well then I’ll make the arrangements. You’ve made me very happy, Megan Whitley. Happier than I’ve been in quite some time.”
This was the conversation that was playing in her head as she made her way towards town. Charles had insisted that she take one of the wagons, well, tried to insist, but Meg had felt like walking, and she could be quite stubborn if the circumstances were right. And these circumstances were. She felt like she was floating on air with the knowledge that she might actually get the happy ending she had always dreamed of but never dared to truly hope for, and being cooped up in a wagon didn’t sound like something that would suit her mood. And so, on this matter, she had gotten her way and was allowed to walk along what passed as a dirt path with her head in her clouds.
She had made it into the outskirts of town before things started to feel strange. Later she would wonder how much sooner she would have noticed that something was wrong had she not been so distracted with her own happiness. What if she had been paying proper attention to where she was going, what she was doing? What if she had taken the precautions Charles had gone over with her before she had left the ranch? There were probably a thousand ‘what if?’ questions that she would never be able to answer, and in the end it probably didn’t really matter. Because she had been wandering without paying any attention to what she was doing, by the time she realized that something was wrong, it was too late. She was passing a tavern when the feeling really struck her, and only moments later she felt a thick, meaty hand wrap its unwanted fingers around her upper arm and squeeze. Later, she wished she could say that she had thought quickly on her feet, but what she had actually done was freeze. She felt a pounding in her head, like a little man beating it with a mallet, and was overwhelmed by a certain smell. It was a smell she knew, the scent of stale scotch and tobacco. But it couldn’t be. She knew that smell from something that was not a part of her life anymore. There was a voice inside of her that just kept insisting that, over and over again, until the hand on her arm whirled her around and saw that the voice inside of her was wrong.
“Well look at what I’ve found, pretty little Meg, alone in the west. What are you doing here, pretty little Meg? Have you gone and gotten yourself lost?”
“Uncle-- Uncle Jack. What? I don’t understand. What are you doing here? How on earth did you find me?”
Meg’s mind was reeling. She had finally allowed herself to believe that those dark days of the life she had led under her mother’s thumb were over, and here he was, Uncle Jack, come to haunt her like any self-respecting poltergeist would. His ugly, mean face leered down at her as he began to steer her towards one of the less reputable saloons. Meg could feel a blind panic beginning to beat against the inside of her chest. He was much too strong for her to fight off but the last thing she wanted was to enter than filthy building. She had heard rumblings about the saloon in question amongst some of the younger, rougher men who worked on Charles’ ranch and none of them were particularly good. It wasn’t just that the clientele consisted of some of the rougher, more derelict members of the fine town. The tavern also served as a boarding house, one for wayward travelers and prostitutes alike. It was not a place she wanted to be, least of all with Jack Whitley. She was afraid that if she went through those garishly painted front doors she might never make it back to the ranch where her future awaited.
“Wait, Uncle Jack, I don’t want to. Please, couldn’t we just talk out here?”
“You better get used to just calling me Jack without the uncle in front of it. It would be a little strange if you were to call your husband uncle, now wouldn’t it?”
He did not look at her while he spoke and did not slow down at all. She began to pull against his arm, but it wasn’t any use. She was no match for him. Despite her grit and determination, he was pulling her along with depressing ease. He was just too big, too un-afraid of hurting her to get what he wanted, and in no time flat she was sitting on a filthy bar stool next to a man she loathed. She wanted to keep hope alive in her heart, but she was growing increasingly despondent from one moment to the next. She didn’t understand why this was happening. She could not fathom what had happened to allow her uncle to find her so many miles away from home.
“Here, drink this. It will make you feel better. You’re looking mighty pale, I don’t mind telling you. I don’t like it. I don’t care for that look. It isn’t pretty. It’s not what I want from my wife.”
He was pushing a glass of some kind of dark, disgusting liquid towards her with an odor so foul it made her mouth fill with saliva the way it did right before she was going to get sick. She thought it was whiskey, b
ut she couldn’t be sure. She wasn’t a drinker and if there was a worse time to start, she couldn’t think of one. She needed to keep her wits about her. If there was any chance of her getting out of this instead of being dragged back to her uncle’s massive, dreary house, keeping her wits about her was imperative.
“No, thank you. I-I don’t think I would like it. I don’t like the smell.”
“Drink it,” he commanded with a voice that reminded her that he was not accustomed to being refused. She was afraid of what he might do if she refused again and so she pulled the glass closer to her, taking the smallest sip she could possibly manage. It felt like fire going down her throat and she wondered to herself why in the world anyone would put a thing like this in his or her body on purpose? But Jack was beginning to talk again and she knew that she needed to hear what he was saying. Maybe if she could keep him talking she could figure out a way to get herself out of this mess.
“I bet you’re wondering how I found you, aren’t you? That’s what I would be wondering, if I were you.”
“Yes,” she said quietly, wishing that she didn’t care so much. “I am.”
“It was your mother. She really can come in handy, and when I least expect it, too.”
“But how?”
“It was your letters. Oh, come now, why the look of surprise? You weren’t half so clever as you thought you were. Or perhaps you just left in too big of a hurry to do a clean sweep of your dismal little room. But you left one of your letters there and after you vanished your mother found it. She turned that little hovel upside down looking for some kind of evidence of where you were. She can be very helpful when properly motivated.”
Romance: Western Mail Order Bride Bethany's Love -Clean Christian Historical Romance (Western Mail Order Bride Short Shorties Series) Page 164
