by Judith Pella
“That’s ridiculous!” she snapped, all her attempts at contrition instantly dissolved. “Why, you and your son make Genghis Khan appear tame! I wouldn’t change for you if … if my life depended on it!”
She pushed back her chair, knocking it over in her haste to jump up. Now she wasn’t fleeing in fearful retreat, but rather escaping because she could no longer trust what she might say or do next if she remained.
Caleb’s ominous rebuttal stopped her at the dining room door.
“Don’t let it come to such extremes, Deborah.”
She spun around, glaring at him. “And just what does that mean?”
“Life and death are relative terms,” he answered. “You are married to my son for life. It is entirely up to you if it will be a living death, or a life of contentment.”
“There are other choices!”
“If you are thinking of running away, be assured you would never get farther than town before you are stopped. And if you try to take any other direction, you would not last a day alone in this country, even on my swiftest horse. Besides, I don’t think you would want to live with the shame for the rest of your life.”
Maybe he was right. She didn’t know. Maybe she ought to give it up, do what they wanted her to do, though she wasn’t even certain she could. Maybe fighting it did only make matters worse. Perhaps Leonard would treat her better if she gave in to him. Yet these thoughts of submission only made her feel as if the prison doors were closing in on her again.
It wasn’t fair! They were asking too much.
Then she had a peculiar thought. How did slaves do it? She had seen many slaves in Virginia, even if her family owned none themselves. They shuffled along so docilely, peacefully, by all appearances; sometimes they even looked content, happy. How did they manage it? Surely it was not possible that they really were happy in such straits, no matter how benevolent their masters might be. It must have taken years and years, even generations, to control those poor creatures. Perhaps given a few years in this house, she, too, could manage it. A creature could be beaten down only so much before breaking. She pictured herself ambling along like a dispirited slave, kowtowing to her husband with an empty grin on her face.
Could that really be what he wanted?
It seemed impossible. Even more impossible was the notion that she could actually behave so. Somehow she must find a way of surviving without losing the essence of who she was. Escape might be out of the question, for the time being, at least. Caleb was right about that. But she could survive, and perhaps even win a battle or two in the process.
9
In the days that followed, Deborah found at least temporary means of survival in the horses and the open prairie. And, oddly enough, Caleb did not confront her about it again. Perhaps even he realized a person could be pushed only so far. Or, perhaps, he was just waiting for the return of Leonard, who had a far more effective means of crushing her impertinence. Whatever the reason, Deborah took full advantage of her new freedom.
For several days Jacob joined her on those delightful, long rides, made even more pleasurable with his presence. It had been so long since she had been able to converse on an intelligent and friendly level with anyone. She did find Jacob to be quite intelligent, for all his lack of formal education, and he was an extremely sensitive man. In personality, he was unlike Deborah’s brother, Graham, yet a relationship began to develop between her and Jacob similar to what she had once had with her brother. It was growing into a true friendship. Suddenly she did not feel so alone, so stranded and desolate.
He talked freely about himself, as if he, too, hungered for such a friend.
“My mother was the daughter of a great patron down in Mexico,” he told her one day. “She was very beautiful and could have chosen from among many caballeros for a husband.”
“Why, Caleb, then?” asked Deborah, hardly able to fathom how a woman could be attracted to such a man.
“Twenty years ago, Caleb was a very handsome man. Sometimes women just assume such a man must have a heart to match.”
Deborah looked away. “Yes,” she finally sighed. “Leonard also seemed like such a gentleman before we married. I suppose I saw some hints of his father’s sternness, but I didn’t think much of it because he was so good-looking. Sometimes he was actually charming.”
“Of course he was,” Jacob replied caustically. “He wanted to snare his genteel southern lady. He wouldn’t do anything to risk you changing your mind. Being so congenial, even for a week, worked quite a hardship on him though, and more than a few of the peons on the ranch felt the lash of his heavy hand during that time.”
“How could I have been so blind?”
“I wish I had warned you, but at the time I did not know you and did not give it thought. It seemed impossible that there should be a repetition of such a thing.”
“I wouldn’t have believed you, anyway,” said Deborah.
“At least you can take comfort, Deborah, that you are not the only woman to be deceived by a handsome man,” he said, full of sympathy.
“There are some good-looking men with hearts to match,” said Deborah. “You are proof of that, Jacob.”
He gave a self-effacing shrug, but she could tell by his eyes he appreciated the compliment. No doubt he received very few.
“I don’t understand one thing, Jacob,” Deborah continued after a brief pause; “both Caleb and Leonard seem none too tolerant of other races. They treat you and Laban almost as badly as they do their servants, which is no better than demeaning and condescending. Their Mexican servants and hands fare even worse. Why would Caleb marry a Mexican woman, considering his intolerance?”
“Very simple. My grandfather offered a large dowry, including several large sections of this very ranch. And back then women were even more scarce in Texas than they are now. By lowering his standards a little, Caleb got much—many pesos and cattle, land, a beautiful wife, and two more peons—my brother and me—to work his land. The shame of two half-breed sons is a small price to pay, eh?”
“I’m sorry for you, Jacob. You don’t deserve to be treated so.”
He reined his horse to an abrupt stop and swung around in his saddle to level his dark gaze fully on Deborah as she came up next to him.
“Don’t feel sorry for me, Deborah! It’s the last thing I want from anyone—especially you!”
“It was a foolish, thoughtless thing for me to say. I guess I feel as sorry for you as I do for myself.”
The momentary fire in his eyes softened. “You should get out of here, Deborah, while you can.”
“I could say the same for you.”
“My grandfather is dead and his lands are gone, or maybe I would go to him. Where else would I go? I like the ranch and the land here. It will never be mine, but if I stay perhaps I will get some inheritance. Anywhere else in Texas I would be nothing more than a Mexican peon, a greaser. So why not stay here where at least I have some small hope of getting something? Besides, I could never belong in the East with all those people. I have thought about California … maybe someday. In the meantime, Caleb is my father, the only family I have. It’s not so easy to turn your back on family. And then, too, there is Laban. I wouldn’t want to abandon him like that.”
“He ought to go also.”
“He wouldn’t go.”
“For the same reasons as you?”
“Who can tell? Laban is a puzzle. He doesn’t talk much. You would think we’d be close, being in the same boat and all, but it’s not so. He is as closed and unreachable as a faraway planet.” He paused, then asked, “And what about you, Deborah?”
“Leonard is my husband. I have to keep hoping, too.”
Jacob frowned, and a dark look of remembered pain flickered across his countenance. “You should go,” he said flatly, then spurred his mount into a vigorous trot.
After a week of these rides—the best week Deborah had known since her brother’s death—she began to sense it would be unsuitable for her a
nd Jacob to continue to ride together so frequently. She knew the countryside well enough now and, using this as a convenient excuse, thanked Jacob for his patience with her and released him from further obligation of attending her. He seemed to understand her real motives, and believing them to be wise, did not protest. Yet both experienced an overwhelming emptiness from the severed friendship.
It wasn’t long, however, before Jacob “accidentally” began to happen upon her on the trail. They both knew almost at once that it was more than mere chance that brought them together. They hungered for companionship, especially Deborah who, all her life, had known only warmth and kindness and love from those close to her. She began to look for Jacob while she rode and was disappointed when he did not show up. Soon, they began to plan their meetings, finding secluded places where no one would chance upon them. It was all innocent. They were friends and nothing more, but both knew Caleb and Leonard would never be able to understand such a friendship.
When Leonard returned home a month later, Deborah needed Jacob’s friendship more than ever. Leonard was furious with her for defying him about the stables. As with Caleb, she held her ground and declared she would continue to ride when she pleased. He made her pay for her impudence that night in bed. She was bruised all over from his rough and demeaning treatment, but the marks were not in places that could be noticed by others.
He locked her in her room for two days without food. When he let her out on the third day, she went to the stable and saddled up. He chased after her and fairly dragged her back. When he pushed her once more into her room, something happened inside Deborah. Perhaps it was the beginning of that “breaking” Leonard wanted, but she was too desperate to care. She fell on her knees before him.
“Please, Leonard! Let me ride and work with the horses … I beg you!” She wept like a slavering servant. “I will do anything if you will just do that. Please!”
Leonard may have hoped for such contrition from his wife, but when it came, it was unexpected nonetheless. His initial surprise, however, was quickly replaced with a gleam of triumphant cunning in his hard eyes.
“Anything?” he said softly, as if even then he could not believe his good fortune.
“Yes!” she answered without hesitation. If she must live in misery, at least she’d have her one island of pleasure.
In the next months Deborah played her part well, living up to the letter of her bargain. When guests came to the house she was the demure, meek wife attentive to her husband’s needs and to those of the guests, who were mostly male. When the conversation turned to subjects that interested her and on which she had a valid opinion, she clamped her mouth shut. Once a rather progressive Texan ventured to actually ask her opinion.
“I understand, Mrs. Stoner, that your family was acquainted with General Lee. Will he be able to carry the South to victory?”
Instinctively, she opened her mouth to give an intelligent reply. She knew Lee and knew him to be a great general, but the South needed more than great generals to win against northern economic might. But just before the response slipped out, she glanced at Leonard and saw an expression that almost dared her to give him cause against her.
So, instead of the answer she wanted to give, Deborah giggled inanely. “Oh, fiddle-de-dee!” she tittered. “However should I know such a thing?”
If she had hoped by submission to gain a reprieve from Leonard’s abuse, she was disappointed. She gave him less overt cause, but she soon learned that Leonard enjoyed violence for its own sake. He needed no logical reason; he received pleasure from controlling others, and when he could dominate them physically as well as emotionally, all the better. This was apparent in the abominable manner in which he treated their servants. Luckily they had no slaves, for Deborah shuddered to think what their lot would have been like on the Stoner Ranch.
Her daily escapes to the stables and her rides on the prairie did make it somewhat bearable. Her friendship with Jacob infused sanity into an otherwise demented situation.
The new foal also brought an unexpected joy to her life. She took the colt under her wing, naming him “Prairie” because his sandy coat reminded her of the surrounding land in the midst of a blazing summer. Jacob laughed, but never derisively, at how she pampered the horse. He said it was about time someone on Stoner’s land got a little pampering. And, as she had hoped, the stable hands even came to respect her equestrian knowledge. She won over the head groom entirely when she cured a mare of kicking the side of her stall just before feeding time.
“Get a child’s ball, no larger than the size of my fist, and tie it with a short, soft cord to her fetlock joint,” Deborah suggested. “She’ll get the message soon enough when that ball hits her joint every time she kicks.”
It worked, and it wasn’t long before the man came to her for other advice. The stable became her haven, the one place where she not only had respect but some measure of control as well. After hours of playacting with her husband, it was a release to come to a place where she could be herself and remember how it used to be. Ironically, she had come to Texas to escape the painful memories of the happy life the war had destroyed. Now, in desperation, she grasped almost frantically at those memories. She needed to remember that happiness was possible in this grim world.
10
One summer morning, after Deborah had been in Texas a little over a year, she took Prairie out to one of the pastures for some exercise. He was still a colt, only a year old, and had several more years of growth to go, but already he showed signs of becoming a fine animal. Because he had been handled from birth, he was good-natured and fearless of humans. His quickness in training marked him as quite intelligent as well. Deborah recalled a verse from the Bible her father was fond of: “Hast thou given the horse strength? Hast thou clothed his neck with thunder?” To Josiah Martin, such beauty was one of the most profound testimonies to the love and grace of God. And Deborah, on that clear, clean summer day as she watched her colt prance over the grass with such elegance, could almost believe again in her father’s God.
But the shadow of her present life, never far from her even on a pleasant day like that one, proved too strong for more than a glimmer of light to penetrate her private fortifications. Deborah could not help but contrast the verse from Job with something from Shakespeare more apt to her present situation.
“A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!”
Well, what if she had sacrificed her very self for a horse? Even God, if He cared at all, could not deny her this one pleasure. Prairie was well worth the sacrifice.
Her attention was momentarily diverted from the frolicking colt when she saw a rider approach. It was Jacob. She wasn’t surprised, since a place where they often met was nearby. She smiled and waved an enthusiastic welcome.
“Ah, the ‘little prince’ is looking good!” he said when he saw the colt.
“He is grand, isn’t he?” She grinned like a proud parent.
“Thanks to you, Deborah.”
“Only if love makes a fine horse.”
“You’d be surprised how much good a little love does.”
She turned suddenly solemn. “No, Jacob, I wouldn’t be surprised at all.”
They both grew pensive for several moments. Clearly they were not speaking only of horses.
When Jacob broke the heavy lull, his voice was more intense than usual. “Let’s go down to the creek, Deborah. I want to talk.”
The colt followed along as Deborah and Jacob steered their mounts to the creek gully about a quarter of a mile away. Even that early in the summer the water in the creek was low and muddy, but there was a healthy clump of cottonwoods along the edge and the ridge of the stream bed somewhat concealed the horses when they were tied to the branches of the trees. Deborah and Jacob dismounted, secured their horses and Prairie, and sat under the thin shade of the trees.
“Deborah, I have been thinking about many things, lately,” Jacob began without preamble.
“So, that’s why I h
aven’t seen you all week,” Deborah replied lightly, trying to offset his intensity.
“I am going to leave the ranch.”
The unexpectedness of his statement and its sheer bluntness made Deborah’s stomach lurch as if her world had once more been yanked out from under her. She had often thought that for his own good he should go, yet now that they had become so close, she did not think she could survive without him. She simply could not respond to his words without all her own selfish motives confusing the issue.
“Deborah,” he went on, “I want you to come with me. It would be the perfect solution to everything.”
“Jacob—”
He broke in quickly, afraid of her refusal. “I am in love with you, Deborah! I cannot bear for you to be with my brother another minute.”
She closed her eyes to force back the tears that suddenly rose in them. But the tears squeezed through anyway. It was inevitable; she and Jacob needed each other too much for it to have remained as simple friendship for long. It did not surprise her to realize her tears were mostly of mourning and loss, for now they would end up with nothing.
Jacob reached up his hand and gently brushed away the tears from her cheeks. When had Leonard ever touched her like that? Before Deborah knew what was happening, she was in Jacob’s arms. He did not grab her or pull her as Leonard would; instead, they just seemed to flow together in an embrace of mutual hunger and passion. And Jacob’s was the touch of a man who cared for her, not as an object, but as a person of value. When their lips met, it was with tenderness, and she felt a kind of reverence emanate from Jacob’s being. She did not want it to end. She wanted always to feel his strong, gentle arms around her, and his tender lips against hers.
But she knew it must end.
Not only was it wrong, against all the moral fiber that had been built into her since childhood, but she knew that if Leonard ever found out, he might well kill them both. She had never wanted to admit it, but she knew that deep within herself she was terrified of her husband. She already knew in part what he was capable of, and no doubt he had many more heinous ways of making not only her life miserable, but Jacob’s as well. Were a few moments of pleasure worth destroying two lives for?
