Short-Straw Bride

by Karen Witemeyer

  Travis jerked his gaze to the sky and flared his nostrils as he strove to subdue the stampede of desire thundering through him. He’d always found his wife attractive, but he’d not been prepared for this sudden ambush of cravings—to kiss her, touch her . . .

  Could she read his thoughts? Was he frightening her? ’Cause he was sure as shootin’ scaring himself.

  “I don’t mean to make you angry, Travis,” Meredith said, her expression more stubborn than fearful, thank the Lord. “But I can’t promise to do something that may violate my conscience.”

  Angry? What was she talking about? “I’m not mad at you, Meri.”

  Her brow furrowed. “You’re not? I could have sworn you were counting to ten or something, trying to keep your temper in check.”

  Travis nearly laughed aloud. His sweet, innocent wife had no idea what he’d been trying to keep in check. And he wanted to keep it that way. At least until he learned how to control it a little better.

  “I promise I’m not m—”

  Meredith’s gasp cut him off.

  “Oh my stars!” Her panicked eyes darted past him to the house and had him reaching for his rifle to confront the threat. “My cornbread!” She grabbed a fistful of skirt and sprinted down the path and across the yard.

  Travis let out a breath and watched her go, propping the unneeded rifle on his shoulder. She sure was a pretty thing. Feisty, too. And even though he hated that she’d put herself in danger, he had to admit that her courage and tender heart were the things he admired most about her.

  Perhaps it was time he got serious about courting his wife.

  Travis secretly schemed during supper, determined to wait for the right moment. When Meredith cleared away the dessert plates and the empty pie tin that earlier had been filled with sweet, flaky apple goodness, he excused himself to go check on the stock.

  If the woman was trying to sweeten him up, she was doing a right fine job of it. He couldn’t remember ever tasting anything as delectable as that apple pie. It only made him more anxious to get his wife alone. When he carried his coffee cup to where she stood washing the dishes, he caught the faint aroma of cinnamon and apples clinging to her even after the pie had been fully consumed. He couldn’t wait to see if the taste lingered on her lips, as well.

  After checking that the horses had adequate feed and water for the night, he headed back to the house with Sadie trailing at his heels. The sun had already dipped beneath the horizon, and light quickly faded from the sky. The moon promised to be bright, though—the perfect backdrop for a courting stroll.

  He bent to pat Sadie’s head, but the sound of the front door opening urged him back to an upright position. Jim crossed the porch, an unlit lantern in hand.

  “Heading to your workshop?” Travis strode forward to meet him at the base of the steps.

  “Yep.” Jim halted when he reached the ground and hesitated, as if waiting to see if any other conversation would be necessary.

  “Whatcha making this time?”

  Jim tipped the brim of his hat back and shrugged. “One of them chests womenfolk like to store blankets and such in.”

  “Oak or pine?” Travis asked, not concerned so much with the answer as in keeping the conversation going.

  “Oak.”

  A question burned on the front of Travis’s tongue, but he couldn’t quite seem to spit it out. It was only when Jim started to move past him that the words tumbled forth.

  “Do you think I did the right thing in hiring Moses and Josiah?” Travis peered into his brother’s face, hoping for a sign of approval yet worried that Jim might confirm the uneasy niggling in the back of his mind that accused him of giving Meredith too much influence over his decision.

  As always, Jim took his time answering. “The man knows building,” he finally said. “And his idea about using stonework for the first three or four feet of the walls is sound. We’ll be able to get more use out of the lumber we’ve salvaged from the original barn, plus the stone at ground level will be less likely to catch fire should a torch ever be tossed down beside it.”

  “You think he’s trustworthy?”

  “Dunno. But he and the boy are hard workers. They sanded the scorch marks from about half the boards in the scrap heap after lunch and tested them for weak spots while you and Crockett checked the grass up by Horseshoe Rock. Said he’d bring along his own tools tomorrow, too, so he wouldn’t have to borrow mine. Seems a decent enough fella.”

  “Good.” One of the knots in Travis’s belly loosened.

  “I think Neill got a kick outta having someone his own age around. Once those two started yakkin’, they hardly ever stopped.”

  Which could mean anything from swapping names and a pleasantry or two to jabbering like a pair of magpies. It was impossible to tell with Jim making the observation. To him, a sentence with more than two words qualified as verbose. He’d probably said more in the last two minutes than he had all day.

  “Well, I’ll look forward to seeing them in action tomorrow.”

  Jim nodded and headed off to the shed. Sadie padded after him, leaving Travis alone with the other knot in his gut—the tangle of anticipation and nerves.

  Surely Meredith was done tidying the kitchen by now, and hopefully Crockett would be off in the den working on Sunday’s lesson or taking Neill on in a game of checkers. The last thing Travis wanted when he asked Meredith to walk with him was an audience.

  As it turned out, no audience waited for him in the kitchen, but then, neither did Meredith. Travis moseyed down the hall in search of his wife, trying to look as nonchalant as possible despite the porcupine rolling around in his stomach. He ducked past the den before Crockett could see him, figuring he’d look there last. No sense opening himself to a round of teasing if it wasn’t necessary.

  Her bedroom door stood open, but when he peeked inside, he found no trace of her. When he turned, however, he was treated to the sight of his wife’s backside wiggling toward him as she struggled to pull Neill’s door closed while clasping a wad of clothing in one hand and her sewing box in the other.

  Travis reached around her to assist, enjoying the contact as his arm brushed against hers. She jumped into a straighter position, and the movement pressed her back snuggly against his chest. He liked that even more.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you.” Which was true, but he sure didn’t mind taking advantage of the results. He breathed in the scent of her as he rubbed the side of his jaw against her hair.

  Meredith lingered a moment, then stepped away. Travis bit back his disappointment.

  “I was gathering the mending,” she said, her shy gaze not quite reaching his. “I didn’t realize you were behind me.”

  “No harm done.” Travis smiled at her, hoping the grin would pass for charming. Sadie was the only female he’d ever tried to coax into sharing his company before, and something told him gals of the two-legged variety might be a little trickier to convince. “Would you . . . um . . . like to take a walk with me? There’s a pretty spot down along the creek that I’ve been meaning to show you.”

  “It sounds lovely.” Her lips curved encouragingly, then fell. “Oh, but I told Neill I’d repair the cuffs on his favorite work shirt. One snag and the raggedy things are bound to tear clean off.”

  Hoping the regret he heard lacing her voice was genuine and not just wishful thinking on his part, Travis gently collected the sewing box and pile of shirts from her and tucked them under his arm. “It’ll keep,” he said.

  He led the way to the kitchen, set the mending items on the table, and then took her cloak from the hook on the wall and held it out for her to step into. “Shall we?”

  She hesitated, looking at the mending before reaching out to him again. But when she bit her lip and nodded, a spark of eagerness danced in her eyes that set his pulse to thrumming. Meredith reached behind her back to untie her apron, then slid her arms into the sleeves of her cloak and allowed him to fit it over her shoulders. His hands smoothed dow
n the edge of her arms as she did up the top few buttons, and he fought the urge to draw her into a more intimate embrace.

  Finally, she turned to face him, her smile sending that porcupine tumbling around inside him again. Bowing slightly, he offered his arm, and once her fingers settled near his elbow, he led her to the door.

  22

  As they left the yard to stroll along the path his parents used to take when they wanted to escape prying eyes, Travis felt more like a married man than he had since the day he took his vows. Moonlight lit their way, its soft glow adding a touch of enchantment to the pines and walnut trees that surrounded them. He took care to modulate his stride to accommodate her shorter one. The hitch in her gait didn’t slow her down, but he found himself taking extra care to guide her around pebbles and uneven ground that he usually didn’t give a second thought.

  Travis tried to think of something romantic to say, something charming or witty to entertain his lady, but his tongue remained glued to the back of his teeth. The scenery would have to be poetry enough.

  “Do you hear the music, Travis?” Meredith glanced his way, her eyes luminous. “The rippling water, the humming crickets, the leaves rustling in the breeze. It’s like a lullaby I vaguely remember from childhood coming back to soothe me after a long day.”

  Travis grinned. It seemed his wife had enough poetry in her soul for both of them.

  “My father and I used to sit on the porch when I was young and listen to the night sing to us. He said it was the best cure for a weary spirit. And he was right. I would curl up in his lap and listen to the sounds of the night while the steady beat of his heart matched the rhythm of the rocking chair. No matter what had happened that day, my worries fell away while we rocked.”

  Her voice had turned so wistful, Travis could easily picture her as the young girl she’d been when first they met, snuggled up in her father’s arms, her head lolling against the man’s chest as sleep claimed her.

  “The last three years must’ve been hard on you without him.”

  Meredith stumbled to a halt and turned startled eyes on him. “How could you know that? That he passed three years ago?”

  “That’s when Christmas stopped.” Travis smiled softly at his wife’s scrunched expression. “Well, I guess Christmas didn’t exactly stop, but that was the first year there was no gift at the gate.”

  “I don’t understand.” Something more than confusion sparked in her eyes, though. Something deeper. A longing to regain a piece of what had been lost.

  He prayed what little he knew would ease that ache.

  “The first gift arrived the Christmas after I carried you home. A couple old primers, an arithmetic book, and The Old Farmer’s Almanac. Christmas Eve night he fired off two shots by the gate and left the books for me to find. The only reason I knew it was him was because he had inscribed the front of the almanac with a note thanking me for taking care of his daughter.”

  Meredith’s eyes grew dewy, but her lips turned up at the corners. “Do you still have it?”

  Travis nodded, his smile matching hers. “I do. I can show it to you tomorrow.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Wrapping his fingers around hers where they still rested in the crook of his arm, Travis gently urged her back into their stroll.

  “He surprised me with more books the next year. He always included some kind of schoolbook and the newest almanac, but then he started passing along back issues of the Palestine Advocate. On Christmas morning, Crockett and I would take turns reading the stories aloud to the others.” A chuckle rose up in Travis’s throat as he recalled how young Neill and Jim had been back then. It seemed like ages ago. “It became a tradition. We would all sit outside on the porch on Christmas Eve and listen for the gunshots. I would retrieve the parcel and the boys would swarm me before I could get off my horse.

  “Sometimes there would be a novel, once there was a book on animal husbandry, and Crockett’s favorite was the year we got a collection of Charles Spurgeon’s sermons. There were twenty-seven sermons in that little book if I recall, just enough for Crockett to preach each of them twice to us over the course of a year. I think he did that for three or four years before he finally started writing his own.”

  “I never knew he did that,” Meredith murmured. “I knew he put parcels together for the families of his students. I even helped wrap them in brown paper and tie the strings. But I never knew that one of those parcels ended up on your doorstep.”

  “Three years ago, even though most of us were grown men, we still sat on the porch waiting for those shots just like we did when we were kids. Only that year, the shots never came.” Travis tried to tamp down a rising lump in his throat.

  “We grieved that Christmas, Meri. Not because we missed the joy of the gifts, but because we knew something had happened to the giver. I think all along it was the idea that someone remembered us and cared enough about our education and upbringing to give the books rather than the books themselves that made such an impact on us. Your father was a kind man, and I am proud to be married to his daughter.”

  Meredith brushed the pad of her thumb beneath her eyes, but the smile she turned on him was glorious.

  “Thank you,” she said, her eyes glistening—the longing replaced by gratitude and something else that made his heart turn a flip.

  The path widened as they approached the pool at the base of a small waterfall. The creek only tumbled a few feet over the rocky ground, but it was enough to create a decent fishing hole. And near the edge sat a large boulder where his father used to sit with his mother.

  Travis had never forgotten the time he’d cut through the trees with his pole and jar of worms only to find his father lifting his mother onto the boulder before nestling in beside her. Travis had hid among the pines and watched his mother lean her head on Father’s shoulder. Joseph Archer had taken her hand and held it to his lips, then turned to his wife and whispered words that had made her smile and lift her face to accept his kiss.

  Not accustomed to seeing more than a quick peck or two between his parents, Travis grew uncomfortable when that kiss stretched longer and longer. He’d quietly retreated and returned to the house, ignoring Crockett’s teasing about his inability to catch a fish. He never told Crockett about what he’d seen. It felt too private. But from that moment on, the rock at the fishing hole had been dubbed the Kissing Rock in his mind. He’d never climbed on it since, promising himself that the next time he sat there, he’d have a girl of his own to kiss.

  “What a beautiful place,” Meredith exclaimed as he drew them to a stop by the rock.

  “I’d hoped you’d like it.” Travis watched her face as she took in the surroundings with wonder and delight. “I thought we could sit and talk for a bit, if you wanted.”

  “I’d like that.” The mistiness had disappeared from her eyes, yet they continued to sparkle in the moonlight.

  “This rock makes a good seat.” Hearing the huskiness in his voice, he quickly cleared his throat. “I’ll . . . uh . . . just help you up.”

  He fit his hands around her waist, his gaze mingling with hers. Then, not trusting himself to linger too long, he lifted her onto the rock and scampered up the side where smaller stones offered footholds. He settled close to her side, brushing his legs against hers and bracing his right arm behind her back. He stole glances at her while pretending to be as lost as she in the beauty of their environment. Her mouth drew his attention again and again, and he found himself desperately wishing he knew what his father had whispered to his mother to make her offer him her lips.

  So consumed was he with thoughts of kissing, that when Meri opened her mouth to speak instead, it took a moment for her words to register.

  “I studied to be a teacher.” She turned her head and looked at him. “Did I ever mention that?”

  As he tried to refocus his brain on conversation, she stretched her arms behind her to support her back and inadvertently rubbed her forearm against his bicep. His mu
scle twitched at her touch, and Travis had to work to keep his mind on their conversation. “No. I . . . uh . . . don’t think you did.”

  A faraway look came over her, and her gaze shifted to hover somewhere above the creek. “After the Freedmen’s Bureau shut down in ’70, Father continued teaching at the freedmen’s school. The students and their parents were so hungry for the education that had been denied them, they made great sacrifices to continue paying him a salary.

  “When I got older, he occasionally took me with him, let me read to the little ones and help them with their alphabet. Before long I was as enamored with teaching as he was, and for the first time in my life, I felt . . . useful and appreciated.”

  She crossed her legs at the ankle and swung them out and back, her heels thumping quietly against the rock in an easy rhythm. “I attended the Palestine Female Institute and planned to sit for the teacher’s exam, but then my parents came down with that fever.” Her feet stilled for a moment. Then she sat straighter and swung them back into motion. “I had hoped to continue Papa’s work at the freedmen’s school, but Aunt Noreen wouldn’t hear of it. She declared it unseemly to involve myself with such people and insisted it was too dangerous for a young woman to travel such a distance alone.”

  Travis hated to agree with anything the old bat had to say, but just the thought of Meredith traipsing about unprotected made his stomach churn.

  “Seeing Moses again today awakened those old dreams.” Meri aimed her blue eyes on him, hope glimmering in their depths. “I want to teach at the school again, Travis. Just one day a week. Saturday—when the largest number of students are able to attend. I would only need to be away from the ranch for a few hours. I could leave right after the noon meal and be back before supper. I promise I won’t fall behind in my chores. You probably won’t even know that I’m gone.”