The garden.
A grasshopper hit her in the eye. “Ouch!” she cried, rubbing it. Sarah ran to the dugout and spotted Shadow. “Come on, boy! Get over here!”
The dog ran toward her, but stopped a few feet away. His ears rose and fell as if he knew she meant to lock him up and keep him from his duty as guard dog. He stubbornly sat down.
“Shadow!” Sarah yelled, her patience snapping. “Get in here!” She clapped her hands and opened the dugout door for him. “Hurry up! There’s no time for this!”
After a moment’s deliberation, he ran inside.
“Good boy!” She dashed in behind him, her shoes tapping quickly down the dirt steps. It was dark—where was the knife? Her gaze darted to the table. The stove. There. Her fingers closed around the wood handle, she picked up two empty buckets, and in a flash, she was scurrying back up the stairs, where she paused at the top.
Briggs had tried to convince her to stay inside, and the temptation was all too great, but he needed her help. This was her farm, too.
She strengthened her will and pushed the door open. A mass of winged creatures blew into the house.
“No!” Sarah yelled, forcing herself to dash outside and slam the door behind her. She heard Shadow barking his protest from inside.
Feet drumming over the wriggling, crunchy ground, insects beating against her bonnet and clothing, she clutched the knife and returned to the vegetable garden.
The blankets, she discovered in horror, were almost invisible, covered with locusts. Sarah ripped the blankets from the ground, sending a flurry of creatures into the air. Soon, she had filled two buckets with whatever vegetables were left, leaving the potatoes, which she hoped would be safe underground.
She carried the buckets into the house, then ran outside again to help Briggs in the corn field.
By the time she arrived, he looked exhausted. His face was damp with perspiration, his hat literally being eaten off his head.
“Did you save the vegetables?” he asked, wiping a sleeve across his forehead.
“They’re in the house and all the animals are in the barn.”
“Good. Now tie up the stalks I’ve cut and pile them in the wagon. We can’t haul everything back, but if the stalks are bunched, some will survive.”
Nodding, Sarah gathered what fell behind Briggs. The green stalks were fast disappearing, impossible as it was to keep up with the grasshoppers’ greedy jaws.
Before they had stacked a tenth of the crop, the sun had set.
“It’s dark!” Sarah called out, trying to see through the cloud of insects between them. “What should we do?”
Briggs stopped working and turned to her. He was covered in sweat and grime. “You’re exhausted. Look at you. You should go back, Sarah. Stay inside.”
“No, I can keep working.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then removed his work gloves. “We can’t keep up this pace. We should take a break. Get some food. That’ll give me a chance to empty the wagon, get these crops into the barn.”
Sarah nodded and followed him to the rig, anxious to return to the house and escape the constant menace of the locusts.
* * *
By the time Briggs entered the dugout, Sarah had managed to get her salt pork stew onto the table while killing a few dozen grasshoppers in the process. She wiped a damp cloth over her forehead and tried to pat down her messy hair.
Shadow sat down next to the stove. Briggs removed his hat. He looked solemn.
“How long do you think this will last?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t know.” He sat down at the table and rubbed his eyes.
The house was all too quiet. “Do you think they’ll get the wheat?”
“It looks that way.”
Serving up the stew, Sarah sensed Briggs’s discouragement, his need to sit and eat without talking. He probably didn’t know how to tell her that the profits from the wheat harvest were supposed to be their sustenance for the winter. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it, either.
Troubled, she scooped some water out of the bucket for each of them and gave Briggs a cup. He quickly downed it, his face contorting sourly after he’d swallowed. “Agggh!”
Sarah cringed, examining her own cup of water. “Oh no,” she said. “I scooped them out of the bucket as best I could—the ones that were floating. There must have been some at the bottom.”
He set down his cup.
“I can make coffee. That might mask the flavor a bit.” She prepared a pot, and while it was heating, she sat down to eat.
“The timing couldn’t have been worse,” Briggs said. “If that swarm had just waited another week, the harvester would have arrived and cut all twenty acres in a couple of days.”
Sarah looked across the table, hearing the gloom in her husband’s voice. Even so, he seemed too calm, and it worried her. Maybe he thought this would be the final straw to send her running back to Boston.
Well, not so. Not so….
Closing her eyes, she clasped her hands together. “Thank you, Lord, for giving us the strength to save some of the corn and vegetables. Thank you for keeping Briggs and I safe through all of this. And thank you for this supper. Amen.”
She opened her eyes to see Briggs staring dazedly at her, his mouth slightly open. “Amen,” he said, finally.
“Go ahead, dig in,” Sarah prompted.
They began to eat, both of them famished. Occasionally, a stray locust would spring onto the table, only to meet a sudden death under Briggs’s big, heavy fist.
“I wonder how the Whitikers are managing,” Sarah said. “Do you think they were invaded, too?”
“I hope not. Howard has a bigger crop, more to lose.”
“But they have the children. Frank would be a help, I think.”
“Yes, he likely would be. Molly wouldn’t like it much, though. I hate to think of it.”
Sarah felt her heart throb for the little girl. “I hope she’s all right.”
Briggs finished his first helping. “Is there any more?”
“Yes, I’ll get you some.” Sarah rose to refill her husband’s bowl.
When she sat down again, he rubbed his forehead. “I have bad news. Before I came in, I went to the vegetable garden to get the blankets we’d left there. I’m afraid there wasn’t much left.”
“Much left of the garden?”
“No,” he answered, his voice tired. “There wasn’t much left of the blankets.”
Sarah covered her mouth with her hand and looked toward the bare mattress on the bed.
“The darn things chewed right through them,” Briggs went on. “They were in shreds.”
“That was all we had.”
Shadow perked up, whimpering at her.
“I know,” Briggs said. “You’ll have to cover yourself with some clothing, at least until we can get something else.”
But without the wheat harvest, how could they afford to buy blankets, much less the bare necessities for the winter?
Briggs slid his chair back. “I should go milk Maddie and water the horses.”
“What about the coffee?”
“When I come back,” he answered, donning his hat. “Can you keep it hot for me?”
“Of course.”
Briggs left, taking Shadow with him, and Sarah set to work clearing away the dishes. Milking Maddie was supposed to be Sarah’s job. Truth be told, she couldn’t face stepping outside again. Not just yet.
A short time later, Briggs returned with a bucket of milk in his hand. Shadow followed, tail wagging. Life from inside the house seemed almost normal until Briggs set the bucket down. Sarah looked inside and saw a few insects squirming about in a panic, trying to crawl over each other to save themselves from drowning. “Ugh!” she groaned, as gooseflesh tingled down her back.
Briggs appeared beside her and scooped them out with a cup.
She felt tears coming, tears she’d fought against all day. As she considered it more, she realized they
were the same tears she’d been fighting every day since she’d stepped off the train.
Every time her husband looked at her with that disappointed expression, she’d wanted to weep. But she hadn’t. And she wouldn’t now. Things could be worse, she told herself. Though how much worse, she could not imagine.
Feeling Briggs’s gaze upon her, she looked up. He stared at her, his eyes full of apologies. Apologies for what? For the grasshoppers? For the lost crop? For the coming winter? Or was it for all that had passed between them?
“When I brought you here,” he said, “I didn’t think it would be like this.”
As she digested his words, all her efforts to keep tears away failed her. All she’d wanted for so long was a kind word from her husband, anything to say that he cared for her, even just a little. She’d wanted to see the gentle man she had seen in the courthouse on their wedding day, the man who had cared enough to sit her down and fan a cool breeze into her face.
Here he was, now, stepping closer to wipe away the single tear that fell across her cheek.
“It’s not so bad,” she managed to say, her voice shaky.
He lowered his hand to his side and stepped back. “I have to go out again,” he replied. “I have to try and save whatever’s left. But you should stay here, Sarah. Get some rest.”
She thought of him out there in the darkness alone, cutting corn stalks and fighting off the insects. He would be discouraged and he would lose more hope with every passing hour.
No, she decided. She would not let him down. Not now. She would go out there, exhausted or not, and carry the corn stalks, or whatever was left of them, to safety.
“I’m coming with you.”
“You don’t have to,” he replied. But she saw the look of gratitude in his weary eyes. And she saw, for the first time, that he was not disappointed in her.
His appreciation breathed new life into her worn-out body. Sarah picked up her bonnet, tied it tightly under her chin, and gazed with driving purpose at her husband. “Try and stop me.”
Chapter Twelve
Briggs and Sarah worked until past midnight in the corn field, cutting what was left of the stalks and tying them into secure bundles. Neither of them said it, but they both knew there was little chance much of the crop would survive the rest of the night.
Worn out and thirsty, they returned to the dark little sod house. Briggs never imagined any place on earth could feel more warm and welcoming. While Sarah lit the lantern, he went outside to fill a bucket with water from one of the barrels. He had to scoop the grasshoppers out with his hand, and he knew it would taste bitter, but his mouth was so dry, he could have devoured a gallon of sour milk.
When he entered the house, he and Sarah both stood at the table, filled their cups and gulped down the water.
“Ugh,” she groaned, her delicate features twisting into something unrecognizable. “Do you think the creek water will taste like this, too?”
“Probably.”
“Will it ever taste good again?”
“I reckon, sooner or later.”
A locust fell from the grass ceiling and dropped onto Sarah’s head. Briggs set down his cup and reached out to brush the insect away.
She did not flinch. Most women, he thought, would cry or shriek or do worse, but he supposed Sarah had toughened up considerably, somewhere between the nibbled geranium plant and the ravaged corn field.
He lowered his hand and noticed that her eyes were somber and hooded. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m just tired,” she replied.
He stood close enough to touch her. He could even smell her—not the rosewater this time. It was just her. He shut his eyes, wanting to enjoy it for a few seconds.
“I couldn’t have done this without you,” he said, opening his eyes again.
Her soft hand cupped his cheek.
Without conscious thought, he turned his lips into her warm palm and kissed it. He wanted to cocoon into her warmth and stay there forever. He didn’t want to face the grasshoppers, the field, the certain devastation that would greet him in the morning. To his utter surprise, he only wanted Sarah—to hold her close in his arms. To feel her soft bare flesh next to his own.
Startled by his desire, he forced himself to let go of her hand and take a step back.
He told himself he was only searching for solace because of what was happening outside. Tomorrow, the crop would be gone. Making love to Sarah tonight would not bring it back. It would only plunge him into that black sea of heartache if she decided to leave him—which, after this ordeal, was a very real possibility.
Sarah kept her features composed, but he saw in her eyes that she’d been wounded by his withdrawal. “Are you okay?” she asked.
He nodded, and tried to remember that he had a duty to himself to maintain an emotional distance between them—at least for the time being, until he felt more certain that he could trust her.
“We’ll get by,” she said.
He stared into her dark eyes and saw the enormity of her strength, and despite his intention to remain cautious and guarded, he saw his partner. His companion. A woman who could be his mate through the years, here on this land, for the rest of their lives. Part of him wanted to stop what was growing inside his heart, but another part of him wanted to cherish it and cultivate it.
Finally surrendering to his desires, he stepped forward and gathered her into his arms. Her body melted into his. She was small and warm and oh, so lovely. The day’s trials had emptied him of all energy, but as he held his wife, he felt hope and optimism returning.
“Sarah,” he whispered in her ear. “There won’t be anything left in the morning. The wheat crop will be gone.”
She nodded, pressing her face into his chest, wrapping her arms tight around his shoulders.
Instead of the deafening hiss and crackle of locusts, Briggs heard only the sound of his own breathing, light and slow, and knew he was feeling everything he’d vowed never to feel again—a love he didn’t ever want to lose.
* * *
“We should get some sleep,” Briggs said later, leaning back in his chair as they sat across from each other at the table. “There’s no point staying up all night worrying. We’re going to have a lot to do tomorrow.”
Sarah couldn’t bear to face the idea of tomorrow. But when she turned her exhausted mind toward sleep, she realized uncomfortably that they were both inside the house together, both aware of the single, narrow bed. But she couldn’t possibly ask him to sleep in the barn. Not tonight. She had already told him so when they sat down.
Uncertain as to what to do, she glanced at Briggs and fought the tightening in her chest. They had not shared a bed since their wedding night, and that had turned out to be a disaster. In fact, both times she’d given her body to a man, it had caused nothing but despair.
Wouldn’t it be better to wait until Briggs had forgiven her and gotten over his anger completely? She and Briggs had come so far, she did not want to remind him of their painful beginnings and spoil things again.
She realized uneasily that her hands were trembling. She dropped them to her lap to hide them under the table.
Briggs stood and scratched his head. “I guess I’ll sleep on the floor. The bed’s not really big enough for two.”
Sarah’s shoulders slumped. All her nervous reasoning suddenly seemed silly. Briggs didn’t even want to sleep with her.
She rose from the table and sat on the edge of the bed, wishing she had a blanket to cover herself. She removed the pins from her hair and set them on the rough bedpost while Briggs lay down on the dirt floor beside the table. Within seconds, Shadow curled up beside him and Sarah could not help but envy the body heat they were sharing.
Resigning herself to her empty bed, she reached into her bag for her night dress and made her own blanket, forcing her mind to fall as quickly as possible into a deep sleep.
* * *
The next morning, before dawn, Sarah woke to the sound of Shadow
shaking himself, his ears flapping noisily like a startled pigeon. Briggs had risen and lit the lamp, and was dipping his tin cup into the bucket of water. He gulped it down, and his eyes clamped shut at the sharp taste.
“I’ll make coffee,” Sarah offered.
Still wearing her clothes from yesterday, she threw off her night dress and stood. She tried to ignore Briggs, who watched her while she filled the stove with cow chips. Feeling self-conscious, she struck a match, which whisked and flared on the first try.
“Your hair,” he said, squatting to pat Shadow.
Sarah froze with uncertainty, then realized she was still holding the burning match. She tossed it quickly into the chips, feeling like her cheeks were catching fire as well.
“I’m used to seeing you with it pinned up,” he added.
She turned around. “I’ll be pinning it up in a minute.”
Still stroking Shadow, Briggs glanced up at her. “You look nice.”
A rush of excitement pooled in her belly, and she had to wait for the rapid beat of her pulse to subside before she could form words.
“Thank you. Have you been outside yet?” She turned away from him, wanting to change the subject.
“No, and I can’t see anything out the window. It’s still too dark. Maybe I’ll go milk Maddie while the coffee’s brewing.”
“I can do it. It’ll take a while for the stove to heat up, anyway.”
Briggs pulled on his hat and studied her a moment. “We’ll both go. Take a look around.” He gestured for her to follow. They climbed the steps and reached the door. Briggs lifted the latch, but before he pushed the door open, he turned and looked down at Sarah. “I hope you said another prayer last night.”
“I did,” she answered.
Slowly, he pushed the door open. It was not the sight, but the eerie sound that crushed all hope—a monotonous, deafening buzz that hurt Sarah’s ears.
Briggs quickly stepped back and shut the door again. He said nothing. He stood there, head bowed, clutching the latch.
Sarah touched his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I’d hoped they’d be gone by now.”
Mail Order Prairie Bride: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Book 1) Page 10
