Flint Hills Bride

by Cassandra Austin

  Somehow, even to herself, the argument seemed weak. She felt tears spring to her eyes and brushed them away. Tears, there always seemed to be tears! And often at the oddest times. Holding Trevor did it the fastest.

  Things had to work out with Anson. What would become of her if they didn’t? She rested a hand on her belly and swallowed the lump in her throat. If Anson didn’t come for her, she would have to go away alone. She would be too ashamed to face her family and too afraid they might make her give the baby away.

  She wished there was someone she could talk to, someone who wouldn’t condemn her. She had come close to confiding in Rose who had been her best friend for so long. But Rose was married to Arlen, and he was worse than her mother when it came to propriety. He would have her packed off to a maternity home and spread the lie that she was on some European tour. A sister with a bastard could hurt his political career.

  Lynnette was her next choice. She would be understanding at least. And so would Christian, maybe. But what help could she really expect from them? They couldn’t tell her how to magically make the baby go away, how to magically undo the past.

  You’ve made your bed and now you have to sleep in it, had a whole new meaning now. She felt another tear threaten and brushed at it angrily. She hated feeling sorry for herself! She had no patience for it in other people. She would survive. She would be a good mother to her child, with or without its father.

  But, she told herself sternly, there wasn’t any danger of that. Anson would come for her. They would be married. When her family saw how happy they were, they would relent and welcome her back. She tried to picture her family gathered at Christmas, her parents, her brothers and their wives, Christian’s children, her own baby toddling around. It was easy.

  But putting Anson in the picture proved difficult. She couldn’t imagine him sitting with her brothers and finding anything to say to them. She couldn’t imagine him helping with the decorations, singing carols, playing with the children.

  She shook her head to dispel the thoughts. She was setting limits on him, and it wasn’t fair. More than likely he would fit right in. She would just know a more exciting side of him that her family would only guess at. She smiled to herself and wondered if it was forced.

  A tap on the door startled her. “Are you sleeping?”

  Emily had never been so glad to hear Willa’s loud whisper. She ran to the door and opened it.

  Willa flounced in and threw herself across the bed, her short full skirt billowing for a second to reveal a tear in her stocking. “I can’t stand another minute in the nursery!” she exclaimed.

  Emily held back a laugh. “What’s so awful about the nursery?”

  “Everything! Trevor’s such a baby. I don’t have any place for just me. Sometimes girls need time alone, you know. Can I stay here with you?”

  Emily watched the little girl throw her arm across her forehead dramatically, a gesture she had probably learned from her Aunt Rose. Willa was just what she needed to distract her from her worries.

  But only for one night. Sometime soon she would be running away with Anson. She couldn’t afford to lose her privacy.

  She cleared her throat. “Willa, dear, how about being my sleepover friend tonight?” At the little girl’s eager reaction she added, “Just tonight, mind you. We’ll make a party of it.”

  Willa sat up quickly. “Honest? Shall I run and ask Mama?”

  “No. Let her write while your brother’s asleep. We can ask her later. I’m sure she won’t mind.” Emily sat down on the bed, and Willa scooted over next to her. “What do you want to do when you sleep over?”

  Emily was trying to think of what games a five-year-old might like to play when Willa came up with a suggestion. “We can write love letters to our boyfriends.” She quickly stifled a giggle behind her cupped hands.

  “Boyfriends? Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “We can make one up,” she suggested with another giggle. “Or I could write mine to Jake.”

  “Jake!” Emily eyed the child. “Isn’t he a little old for you?”

  Willa shrugged. “Papa’s older than Mama.”

  “Not twenty years older!”

  Willa shrugged her shoulders until they touched her ears. “But he’s so-o-o-o handsome. And so-o-o-o strong. He can lift me onto a horse like that.” She tried to snap her fingers.

  “Anybody can lift you onto a horse,” Emily argued. “You’re a little girl.”

  Willa thrust out her chin. “But Jake does it better than anybody else. Even Papa.”

  Emily eyed the little girl sternly, but she felt her lips twitch with a smile. In a moment they were laughing in each other’s arms. “All right,” Emily said finally. “We’ll write love letters tonight. What do you want to do now? Shall we see about making those cookies we never got around to the other day?”

  “Cookies!” Willa cried, jumping off the bed. She quickly covered her mouth then whispered loudly, “Trevor’s sleeping.”

  Willa remembered to whisper all the way down the stairs. In the kitchen, she tugged Emily’s hand and pointed. Jake was cleaning the ashes out of the stove.

  He looked up at the little girl’s giggle. “Good afternoon, ladies,” he said.

  Willa ran to Martha but gave Jake a sidelong glance before asking permission to make cookies. Emily intended to follow Willa but found herself walking toward Jake instead.

  “Don’t come too close,” he said. “You’ll get ashes on your dress.” She stopped a few feet away. She couldn’t help thinking of Willa’s description as she watched him work.

  “What were you two giggling about?” he asked.

  “I wasn’t giggling.”

  “I thought I heard two distinct giggles.”

  “No. Only one. And it’s girl stuff. Secret.” The last she said in Willa’s exaggerated whisper.

  “Oh,” he whispered back.

  Willa joined them with her lower lip sticking out a good half inch. “Martha says we can’t bake cookies ‘cause she’s gonna make Christmas stuff.”

  “Maybe we can help her with the Christmas baking,” Emily suggested.

  Willa shook her head sadly. “She says it’s candy, and it’s too hot for me to help. What are we going to do?”

  Emily couldn’t help but smile at the girl’s sense of tragedy. “I don’t know,” she lamented.

  “How about going riding with me?” Jake asked.

  “Can we, Aunt Emily? Can we, can we?”

  Emily bobbed her head, following the bouncing girl’s movements.

  “She says yes,” Willa told Jake, tugging on Emily’s hand. “Let’s go change.”

  “I didn’t say yes,” Emily corrected, allowing herself to be dragged from the room.

  “You nodded.”

  A few minutes later, Emily stepped from her room, dressed in a divided skirt, and found Willa in homemade pants waiting for her. They went quickly down the stairs and headed for the back hall to get their coats.

  Jake met them there. “You won’t need more than jackets,” he said. “It’s warmed up some since this morning.”

  Willa found what she wanted to wear, and Emily helped her into it and her gloves. “All I have is my cloak,” she said. “Perhaps I could borrow something.” She studied the row of coats, trying to pick something the right weight.

  “This one’s mine,” Jake said, grabbing a flannel-lined jacket. “I left it here last fall.”

  For some unknown reason, Emily wanted to refuse it. But she could think of no reason, and Willa was obviously in a hurry. She drew on the jacket as she followed the others outside.

  Jake was right, it was surprisingly warm for December. Christian and Perry had saddled the horses, and her brother helped her mount as Jake lifted Willa into the saddle. The little girl tossed her a smug grin as Jake mounted.

  “Watch her close,” Christian said to Jake before they started off. He was referring, of course, to his little daughter.

  Jake led them down the path th
ey had followed that morning. He stayed so close to Willa that Emily soon fell back to watch them. Jake took Christian’s admonition very seriously. When Willa leaned down to scratch her ankle, his hand shot out to steady her.

  Emily had to smile. Her talkative little niece was unusually shy. Yet she wanted to compose a pretend love letter to him that evening. At least Emily thought it was pretend. Of course, if the little girl actually delivered the letter, Jake would be nice about it. She couldn’t imagine him ever doing anything that would hurt anybody.

  She felt the most peculiar stab of jealousy, which she quickly shrugged off. She took a deep breath of the crisp cool air. It had been months since she had ridden. It had always been a favorite activity on the ranch in the summer. She leaned forward to pat the gelding’s neck.

  Ahead, Jake pointed something out to Willa, who nodded when she saw it. It was odd, Emily thought. When she wanted to be alone, Jake or Willa interrupted. When she wanted a diversion, like now, she found herself alone. Or nearly so. Her companions seemed to have forgotten she was along.

  She was now quite certain she was increasing. Her flow was two weeks late, and she had always been regular. The bouts of stomach upset and moments of fatigue were more frequent.

  She needed Anson. She needed to be married to Anson. Disloyal as it was, she wanted him less and less. If it wasn’t for the baby, she wouldn’t be particularly disappointed if she never heard from him again.

  If it wasn’t for the baby. That seemed to preface all her confused thoughts. If it wasn’t for the baby, she could pretend this was a happy visit instead of a banishment. She could comfort her little nephew without tears coming to her eyes. She could write her parents that she knew she had been wrong and ask their forgiveness.

  She could flirt with Jake.

  She shook her head to clear it. Where had that thought come from? Willa, probably. She had been watching her ride beside her strong and handsome Jake, noting how the girl’s shy smiles were an innocent form of flirting.

  Maybe the baby affected her mind as well as her stomach. She had no interest in Jake except as a friend. She decided she couldn’t trust herself to be alone with her thoughts. That bit of illogical whimsy made her want to laugh aloud. That would convince her companions that she had gone crazy. She imagined them looking at her pityingly and wanted to laugh even more.

  She kicked her mount to ride closer behind the other two, hoping to get in on their conversation. Before she really did drive herself crazy.

  After the ride, Willa ran to tell her mother that she was going to spend the night with Emily. She was restless all through supper, wanting to get started with what she was calling her party. She insisted that her mother help her wash and get ready for bed as soon as the meal was over.

  Emily went to her room to prepare for bed herself and get the pen and paper ready. She was starting to look forward to hearing Willa’s idea of a love letter. An invitation to help her look for frogs, maybe. Or a promise to make him a special heart-shaped cookie.

  It wasn’t long before she heard a knock on the door and the little girl bounded in, her hair flying around her shoulders.

  “Don’t you want your daddy to braid your hair before bed?” Emily asked, smiling at the eager face.

  “I want you to do it,” she said, climbing up on the bed to sit cross-legged in the center.

  Emily grabbed a brush and a ribbon and crawled up behind her. “Did you know your daddy used to braid my hair every night?”

  Willa shook her head. “Why didn’t your own daddy?”

  Emily laughed. She pulled the brush through the fine blond hair. “Most daddies don’t braid little girl’s hair. Usually it’s mama’s job. But when I was little and came to stay on the ranch, my mama wasn’t here, so your daddy braided my hair.”

  “But at sleep-over parties, we do each other’s. And yours is already done.”

  “Sorry, I should have waited,” she said, making short work of the girl’s shoulder-length hair and tying it with the ribbon.

  “That’s all right. I don’t know how anyway. When do we write our letters?” Willa asked.

  “Let’s do it right away,” Emily said eagerly. “You want to write yours first, or shall I?”

  “Me, me!” she cried bouncing on the bed. “You write just what I say.”

  “All right.” Emily slid off the bed and took a seat at the desk. Willa crawled around on the bed, a childish version of pacing. “Shall I start with ‘Dear Jake’?”

  “No,” Willa responded, stopping to stand on her knees and press her hands over her heart. “‘My darling Jake.’ No wait, ‘My own darling Jake.’ Write that.”

  Emily dipped the pen in ink and bent over the page. “Does your mother read her stories to you?”

  “No,” responded Willa, missing Emily’s grin. “Tell him I think he’s the most handsome man in the world.”

  Emily smiled. “‘Most handsome man in the world.’ What else?”

  “‘The bravest and the strongest.’” Willa said the words slowly, allowing Emily time to write. “And I want him to kiss me.” The instant she said it, she threw both hands over her mouth, gulping back a giggle.

  “Do you really?” Emily teased.

  She shook her head vigorously. “Don’t write that What if he really did?” She grimaced.

  “Are we going to send this letter?”

  Willa thought for a moment. “No. That way I can tell him everything.” She took a deep breath. “‘Your eyes are like the sky.’”

  “His eyes are green,” Emily corrected.

  “They are? All right. ‘Your eyes are like the…grass. Your smile is like sunshine. Your kiss is like honey.’”

  “Now, how would you know?”

  Willa giggled. “Put it down. ‘Your strong arms could carry me away.’” She threw herself backward onto the bed.

  “Where did you get this stuff?” Emily quickly scratched down what the little girl had said.

  “I spent a week with Aunt Rose. She writes poetry out loud when she thinks she’s alone.”

  “Writes it out loud, huh?”

  “Yeah. Some of it’s real romantic.”

  “And she’s married to Arlen.”

  Both girls giggled at that.

  Emily drew Willa’s attention back to the letter. “How do you want to end it?”

  Willa thought for a moment. “How about, ‘Your only love, Willa.’”

  “Great,” Emily said. When she was finished, she closed the ink bottle and wiped the pen.

  “Aren’t you going to write one now?” Willa sounded disappointed.

  “I don’t think so. How about I tell you a story, instead.”

  “I wanted to know what you would write to a boyfriend.” She stuck her lower lip out and squinted her eyes.

  Emily rose from the chair and put out the lamp. “How about we curl up in bed, and I’ll tell you what I would write.”

  “Pretend like you’re writing to Jake,” Willa said, crawling under the quilt.

  “Jake?”

  “Yeah. Tell me what you would write about Jake.”

  Emily climbed into bed beside Willa. She tried to go along with the child’s game, but the images of Jake that it conjured up made her somehow more lonely. She worked to turn the discussion to other things.

  When she finally succeeded, the little girl fell asleep. Emily lay awake, unable to get the images out of her mind. Jake’s eyes, voice, lips, height and muscles had all been discussed. Though they had left out his gentleness, kindness, and sense of humor.

  She groaned and rolled to her side. Typical, she thought. Now would be the perfect time for the little girl to chatter endlessly about nothing in particular. But now she was asleep.

  The next day Emily noticed a repeat of what she came to think of as her predicament. Always when she sought solitude, Jake or Willa or even Trevor intruded. When she needed company to dispel her somber thoughts, everyone else was occupied. She began to wonder if she really knew which she
wanted or if she simply longed for one whenever she had the other. The paradox, she decided, completely described the confused state of her mind.

  And the silly letter sat on her desk. She kept forgetting to ask Willa what she wanted her to do with it. And she couldn’t quite bring herself to throw it away.

  Jake leaned against the barn door, waiting for Emily to make her appearance. The past two days she had gone for a walk as soon as the sun was high in the sky, and he had joined her, though it was beginning to feel like torture. He had watched her grow more and more melancholy, pining for her love. Every time she got that faraway look in her eyes, he felt a pain acute enough that it nearly buckled his knees.

  She left the shelter of the house, her cloak so securely wrapped around her she might have been hard for someone else to recognize. But he knew that step, that particular sway of her body as she closed the door, the tilt of her head, even under the hood, as she set off toward the path.

  As she approached, he stepped from the shadow of the barn. “Good morning, Emily,” he said.

  She stopped dead in her tracks. “I don’t want company this morning,” she said.

  “How unusual,” he quipped. She never wanted his company. “Do we take the high road or the low road today?”

  “Why don’t you go that way,” she said, motioning toward her left. “I’ll go this way. We can meet back here before dinner.”

  He grinned at her, but it only made her grit her teeth. “Come on. I’m not that bad company, am I?”

  She took a deep breath as if fighting her temper. “It’s not you, Jake. I simply want to be alone. Please respect that.”

  There was a bite to her words that sobered him. “Emily, we walk together every morning. Why make a fuss about it?”

  “Because I don’t want you along. I’ve never wanted you along.” The hood slipped from her head as she stomped a small foot on the hard-packed ground. “I don’t need another shadow!”

  Jake stood stunned as she whirled past him. For a moment, he considered following her. Then he turned and walked slowly toward the barn. His pa would appreciate his help with the chores. And he would keep an eye out for Emily’s return.