Short-Straw Bride

by Karen Witemeyer

  Every male eye in the room locked onto the honey-haired virago. Travis had no idea how many seconds ticked by before he realized that Crockett’s hand had fallen away. He quickly dropped the long straw, scraped his boot over it, and sent it skittering back toward the wall as he shook the short one down into his cupped palm.

  When he looked back up, her anger pierced him. However, it was the hurt hiding behind the sparks in her eyes that made his heart ache. “Meredith, I—”

  “Four grown men put their heads together,” she said, cutting him off as she reached to the wall for support, “and this is the solution you come up with? Drawing straws?”

  “Jim wanted to arm wrestle—oomph.” Neill’s explanation died as Jim’s elbow connected with the kid’s stomach.

  Meredith speared the two of them with a quick glare, then dropped her hand to her side and stalked toward Travis. Crockett sidled out of range.

  “So this is how you see to things, is it? How diplomatic of you to leave my future in the hands of chance. I’m surprised you didn’t throw an extra straw in the mix for Roy Mitchell. Might as well give him a shot, too. But then he’d have my land, which would increase his determination to get his hands on yours in order to complete his enterprise, and you couldn’t allow that. After all, the land always comes first with you. Isn’t that right, Travis? The land and your brothers.”

  Somehow Travis managed not to flinch under the barrage of sarcasm. He held her gaze until she finally dropped her eyes from his face to someplace lower. Her hand closed over his. A shiver of pleasure mixed with dread snaked up his arm. She drew his fist up between them and gently extracted the short straw from his grasp.

  “The land and your brothers,” she repeated softly. “Of course you drew the short straw. How else could you spare your brothers from the burden of being shackled to me?”

  “It’s not like that, Meri.” Travis reached for her hand, but she pulled it away the instant his fingers grazed her knuckles.

  “I expected better from you, Travis.” Her words hacked into him like an ax in a tree trunk, and he swayed a bit from the impact. The trust he’d grown accustomed to seeing in her eyes had dimmed to disappointment.

  “I expected better from all of you.” She stepped back, creating an invisible chasm between her and the men who had let her down. “Did it never occur to you that I might actually want some say in my future? Or did you assume I would meekly accept whatever the four of you decided and thank you for lifting the heavy burden of thinking for myself off my weak female shoulders?”

  Silence smothered the room.

  Travis swallowed the excuses he’d been feeding himself—the fact that she’d been asleep, that she was under his protection, that she’d seemed to welcome his assistance when he’d promised to see to things for her.

  He knew what it felt like to have fate decide your future. If he had stayed home and watched over his brothers like his father had told him to that day fourteen years ago, he never would have been caught in a thunderstorm. And if his father hadn’t gone searching for him, he never would have been thrown from his horse when the lightning stuck. And if his father hadn’t been thrown, he never would have incurred the wounds that led to his death.

  Travis fidgeted as old guilt erupted to mingle with new.

  Joseph Archer had extracted an oath from his son that day. An oath borne of desperation and a desire to protect the sons he was leaving behind. An oath that placed a heavy burden on the thin shoulders of a fifteen-year-old boy. But that boy took it on without complaint. Travis’s dreams and plans no longer mattered. He had to atone for the damage his disobedience had caused. Guarding Archer land and the Archer family became his sole duty—his road to redemption.

  Meredith’s situation, however, had no root in disobedience. It was kindness alone that set her on this path. Unlike him, she didn’t deserve to have her future wrested from her hands.

  “You’re right, Meredith.” Travis shifted his weight and forced himself to meet her gaze. “We should have waited and discussed the matter with you.”

  “Yes. You should have.”

  “Would you like to discuss things now?” He held out his palms and took a cautious step forward.

  “I’m not a spooked horse that needs to be placated.” Her dry tone halted him in his tracks. He lowered his hands, a reluctant grin curving his lips.

  He had been approaching her that way, hadn’t he? Funny that he’d failed to recognize it until she called him on it. The gal was perceptive. And intelligent. Perhaps it was time to take the kid gloves off and treat her as he would one of his brothers.

  Travis leaned his hip against the corner of the table. “All right, Meredith. No placating. No sugarcoating. Here’s where we stand.”

  She crossed her arms and braced her legs apart like a warrior willing to talk peace while still prepared to battle should talk prove ineffectual. With an arched brow, she nodded for him to continue.

  Travis ticked off his arguments on his fingers. “Your reputation is tattered. You have no home except for a house on a piece of land that Mitchell will do anything to get his hands on. You can marry Mitchell and live the rest of your life with a man you despise, or you can refuse his suit and see what vile scheme he concocts to steal your land from you. He could burn you out like he tried to do with us, or he could compromise you in order to force you to the altar. No matter how capable or careful you are, a woman alone has little chance against a man like him.”

  Meredith kept her head high and her face schooled, but the fabric around her knees wavered. Travis grabbed two chairs. Whether it was trepidation or her injury that was causing her to tremble, he didn’t know. But he wasn’t about to let her fall to the ground. He set one chair beside her and turned the other around and straddled it. Then he continued his assessment as if it didn’t matter to him if she sat or not.

  “Your only other option is to marry one of us.” He paused. “Me.” Travis suddenly felt the need to clear his throat. “This alternative would repair your reputation, give you a place to live, and provide the protection of four able-bodied men. Unless you have something else to suggest . . . ?”

  “Actually, there is something else.” Her quiet statement startled him.

  “There is?” He glanced over at Crockett. His brother shrugged.

  Meredith slowly lowered herself into the straight-back chair, the fight draining from her. “I could leave Anderson County. I could go farther west to where the railroad is opening new towns, or head to a larger city where no one knows me.” Her chin jutted upward. “I could find work. Make a clean start.”

  Leave Anderson County? Travis frowned. He hadn’t considered that option. Didn’t really want to, either. It was reckless. Dangerous. And for some odd reason . . . disappointing. Besides, he’d already settled his mind on this marrying business. No sense muddying the waters.

  “You’re a good man, Travis. An honorable man.” Meredith plucked at her sleeve. “You drew the short straw, and you’re willing to stand before a preacher because you feel responsible for me. But you’re not. I made the decision to come here, and I’ll deal with the consequences. You deserve to have a wife of your own choosing, not one forced on you through circumstances outside your control.”

  “It’s not like that, Meredith. It’s . . .” Travis sighed and rubbed his jaw. Why did she say nothing about what she deserved? He didn’t know much about the workings of the female mind, but he knew one thing—she deserved a choice.

  “I’m not going to force you, Meredith. If you believe leaving is the best option, I’ll not stop you. But if you think you might be able to make a home for yourself here, with a bunch of unrefined men, we’d like you to stay. I’d like you to stay.”

  Stretching his hand across the space that separated them, he caressed her cheek with his knuckles, then let his arm fall away. “You’re a fine woman, Meredith Hayes. You’re strong and brave and kind. And should you decide to take a chance on me, I’d be honored to make you my bride.�
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  14

  Meredith gripped the edge of the chair seat with her left hand as a new light-headedness assaulted her. Travis Archer had just proposed. Really proposed. Sure, he’d made no mention of love, but he had only been in her company for three days—four if she counted the day she stepped in that trap twelve years ago. The man needed time to catch up. After all, she’d been in love with him since she was ten. She had a bit of a head start.

  But did he really want her? What if his pretty words were just flattery? Travis didn’t strike her as the manipulative type, yet if she agreed to marry him, she’d be risking her entire future on an idealized impression. What if she was wrong?

  “Meredith?”

  She blinked and refocused on the man in front of her. The man who could be her husband if she gave the word. The man she wanted more than any other. The man who could hurt her more than any other.

  She bit her lip and glanced at the other Archers spaced about the room. All eyes lingered on her. Waiting. Leaving the decision in her hands.

  How was she supposed to know what to do? If she married Travis and he never returned her feelings, she’d be miserable for the rest of her life. But if she ran away when there was a chance for her and Travis to find love together, she’d be running away from her greatest hope.

  “Meri? Are you all right?” Travis’s rugged features softened in concern. He lifted his hand as if to touch her cheek again, and Meredith bolted out of her chair. Out of his reach. Her head throbbed at the sudden movement, and the floor seemed to roll beneath her feet, but she couldn’t let him touch her again. His tenderness would cloud her judgment.

  Recalling how Travis had extricated himself from her uncle earlier in the day, Meredith took a shaky step backward and employed the same tactic. “I’ll give you my decision in the morning.”

  Travis’s eyes met hers for a long penetrating moment. Then he nodded. “Fair enough.”

  He didn’t offer to see her to her room, and though a small part of her was disappointed, a larger part was grateful. He seemed to sense her need to exert what little control she had over her situation and respected her choice to do so.

  She limped back to her bedroom, the air taking on more of a chill the farther she moved from the kitchen. Logic said it was the loss of the cookstove’s heat, but Meredith feared it had more to do with walking away from Travis.

  A solitary tear rolled down her cheek as she closed the door. She leaned her back against it and sucked in a quivery breath. Why was this happening to her? How had things become so complicated? All she’d wanted to do was help Travis, yet instead, she’d trapped him—trapped him in his own honor, an honor more ironclad than the steel trap that had closed around her leg all those years ago.

  She should grant him his freedom. Just as he had freed her from the steel jaws of that trap, she should free him from his self-imposed responsibility.

  Stiffening her spine and her resolve, Meredith marched across the room to the bed. But when her hand closed around the bedpost and she sank down to the mattress, both her spine and her resolve weakened. She opened her right fist and stared at the short straw in her palm. Out of all the brothers, Travis had ended up with the short straw. Was it a sign that she should stay? God’s will?

  Meredith pressed her forehead against the curved wood of the bedpost and groaned. Why did the choice have to be so hard? Why couldn’t God make his will simpler to discern?

  “Seek the Lord, and his strength.”

  Meredith lifted her head. Those words. They were from one of the Psalms her father had helped her memorize as a child.

  “Seek the Lord, and his strength.”

  They ran through her mind again, eclipsing all other thought, resonating with her soul. The answer to her immediate dilemma remained as murky as before, yet a new clarity emerged. She’d been seeking answers within herself, not from the Lord.

  No wonder none of this makes sense, God. Only you can see what the future holds. Therefore, only you can guide me in the direction that is best. Please make the way clear. Help me make the right decision.

  Meredith tightened her grip on the bedpost and hoisted herself back to her feet. Travis had mentioned something about a Bible he kept in his bureau when he brought her that book of western tales yesterday—in case she preferred it to the male adventure novel. She hadn’t thought much of it since, but suddenly her spirit hungered for the wisdom it contained.

  She found it in the second drawer she opened, next to a mahogany keepsake box. The black leather cover was well worn, with cracks running parallel to the spine and part of the gold lettering rubbed away from the bottom of the H in Holy. It fit comfortably in her hand, as if it belonged there, and for the first time since she’d awakened, a hint of peace fluttered about her heart. It didn’t fully alight, but its nearness brought her a much-needed assurance that she was on the right path.

  Clutching the Bible to her chest, Meredith petitioned the Lord again for guidance and understanding, then crawled onto the bed, propped the pillows against the headboard, and settled in for a long night of prayer and searching. Whenever a verse tugged at her memory, she’d look through the Scriptures until she found it. She’d read it and reread it, trying not to form conclusions but simply absorb what God’s Word was saying. On several occasions, she dozed off in the midst of a prayer, yet when she stirred, her fingers still marked the passages the Lord had led her to. As the first hint of dawn lightened the room, she read back over the verses she had marked.

  “Be kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly love; in honour preferring one another . . . Distributing to the necessity of saints; given to hospitality.”

  She flipped from Romans to Hebrews.

  “And let us consider one another to provoke unto love and to good works: not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of some is; but exhorting one another. . . .”

  Meredith turned a couple of pages to the next passage. “Let brotherly love continue. Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”

  And finally, the verses from First Peter that filled her with purpose. “Likewise, ye wives, be in subjection to your own husbands; that, if any obey not the word, they also may without the word be won by the conversation of the wives.”

  Over the course of the night, a growing sense of certainty had blossomed within her as she meditated on the verses the Lord had led her to. A thread of similarity ran through them all—a theme of service, of love, of hospitality. She had thought her decision hinged on what was best for her, but as the approaching sunrise tinted the sky with pink, she finally understood that, in truth, it hinged on what best fit in with God’s plan. A God who was faithful, a God who desired his children to serve one another in love and to spur one another on to good works, a God who could use a wife to gently sway a husband to a life of greater faith.

  Even when sleep claimed her during the night, she’d dreamed in images and ideas. The Archers imprisoned on their own land. The sign at the gate threatening away all visitors. Loneliness. Isolation. “Love thy neighbour.”

  She’d found no promises of any love more than brotherly love. She’d found no assurance of happiness beyond the joy inherently found in hope. But what she had found was purpose and a belief that God could work through her to bring about good for Travis. And the rightness of it resonated in her soul.

  Meredith turned the pages back to Romans, to where she had placed Travis’s short straw as a marker. Once again she read the precious promise written in the eighth chapter. “And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.”

  She inhaled deeply through her nose, and her eyes slid closed. “I don’t know if Travis will ever love me, but I pray you will help me to trust in your promise, Lord. Help me to believe that you will work things out for our good so that I will not fall prey to bitterness or discontent. I’m leaping, Lord. Please don’t let me fa
ll.”

  Exhausted from the long night, yet oddly invigorated at the same time, Meredith climbed out of bed and padded over to the window to watch the sunrise brighten the trees. The dull ache in her head reminded her of her injury, but the floor respectfully stayed put instead of rising and falling as it had yesterday. She smiled and silently thanked God for small blessings. It wouldn’t do for the bride to stagger around like a drunkard on her wedding day.

  Travis stared at his jawline in the small square of mirror that hung in the bathing room and drew the straight razor down his cheek. He winced as the blade nicked the edge of his ear. Adjusting his grip, he rinsed the shaving soap from the razor and reached up for another stroke. His fingers trembled. Travis frowned. A lack of sleep combined with a prolonged sense of uncertainty had stolen his usual steadiness.

  How was a man supposed to prepare for his wedding day when he didn’t even know if the bride was going to show up? Not that he blamed Meredith for her indecision. A person needed time to settle something this big in her mind. It was just that he was accustomed to being the one who did the settling. He gathered input from his brothers, chewed over the ramifications, rendered a verdict, and put it into action. Simple. Direct. Practical.

  Meredith, on the other hand, left him stuck in the chewing phase while she mulled through her problem without his assistance. He’d been tempted more than once to knock on her door and ask if she’d reached any conclusions, but good sense had prevailed and he’d left her alone. Now that the sun had crested the horizon and it was officially morning, however, the desire to know his fate had him back on edge.

  The razor snagged a spot on his chin, and Travis scowled as a drop of blood beaded on his jaw. Great. With the way things were going, he’d end up with enough scratches on his face to have Meredith thinking one of the displaced barn cats had mistaken him for a mouse. Not exactly the impression one wanted to make on a woman who had yet to make up her mind concerning his worthiness as a mate. He’d dug himself into a deep enough hole last night without inviting more unfavorable scrutiny this morning.