by Kit Morgan
“Who told you that?”
“My ma. She’s a woman, she should know.”
“Hmmm, that makes sense,” she agreed. She looked at him, and before she could stop herself, reached over and placed her hand on one of his own. “It was nothing for you to worry about. Let’s go.”
He stared at her, and she sensed his body going very still. “You’ll tell me if something’s ever bothering you? When you’re … scared, mad, that sort of thing?”
She swallowed. “I suppose so.”
“Ain’t no supposing, you either will or you won’t. But since we’re married, you will.” Without another word, he gave the horses a slap of the reins and got them going again.
She sat and chewed on his words. “Am I not allowed a private thought?” Uncle Burr would have thrown her in the attic for asking. But not Arlan Weaver. He brought the wagon to a stop a second time.
He stared down at her, hard. “You’re my wife, ya hear? And as my wife, I’m the one that’s supposed to protect and provide for you. Now how can I do that proper if I don’t know when something’s wrong?”
Samantha didn’t realize her mouth hung open until her good sense told her to shut it. She stared at him, his little speech as foreign to her ears as could be. Her body jerked but once, as it warmed, and tears began to form in her eyes. “Protect me?” was more mouthed than spoken.
“Of course. Don’t you know that’s what a man is supposed to do?”
“I … I …”
“I, I, I, blah, blah, blah. Good grief, woman. Talk straight.”
She snapped her mouth shut again and pressed her lips together. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not making fun of you. I’m trying to tell you what’s what between us. Now we better get going. I don’t want to be driving this team in the dark.”
“Are we going to make it to your farm?”
“No. We left too late.”
“Then what are we going to do? We can’t spend the night out in this wilderness!” The mere thought made her cringe. “Why didn’t we stay in town?”
He shrugged. “I don’t like folks getting into my business. I’d rather just get on home.”
“That doesn’t answer my question. Where are we spending the night?”
“Gunderson’s stage stop. It’s the halfway mark.”
She thought a moment. “We stayed there last night …”
“Yep, last stage stop before Nowhere. If we stay there tonight and leave early in the morning, we’ll be home in time for lunch.”
She watched the horses plod along, all the while wondering on something he’d said. I don’t like folks getting into my business. So did that mean he didn’t want people to know he was getting married? His own aunt didn’t even know! What was that about? Was he worried things wouldn’t work out between them, and that he’d be sending her back? Samantha’s fists clenched with the thought. It’d be a cold day in … wait a minute, it was cold enough … anyway … she wasn’t about to let him send her back! She’d make things work between them if it killed her!
She straightened again. “I plan on making you an exceptional wife.”
His eyes flicked to her and back again. “Glad to hear it. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“I can cook, you know.”
Now he looked at her. “I’m really glad to hear that.”
“I don’t sew very well … actually, I don’t sew at all. I hope you won’t hold it against me.”
He laughed, a sound like deep velvet. “Trust me, you’ll learn. My ma will teach you. All she does is sew. I’m sure she’d love the help.” He again slapped the reins and the horses went into a trot. “You aren’t worried I’ll send you packing, are you?”
Her head snapped around. “Of course not!”
He laughed again, louder this time. “You’re a rotten liar, Mrs. Weaver.”
“I am not … okay, so maybe I was a little worried …”
“Only a little?” he teased.
“I … I …”
“Full sentences, woman!”
“I have a name!”
He laughed some more. “Really? What is it?”
She sucked air through her nose. Two could play at this game. “Samijo.” She didn’t know why she said it. She’d not been called that since she was a little girl, but it was the first thing that popped into her head.
“Samijo,” he said. “I think I like it. But only one way to be sure.”
“What?” she asked confused.
“Your name, I gotta make sure it sounds right before I use it.”
She stared up at him. “And how do you do that?”
He smiled, and cupped a hand to his mouth. “Samijo!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “It’s time for supper, Samijo!”
She jumped at his loud, booming voice, and listened to its distant echo. “That’s how you find out if you like it?”
“I’m not done.” He cupped his hand again. “Samijo, run!”
“Run from what?” she asked, a hint of concern in her voice.
He chuckled as he looked into her eyes. “Samijo, have you milked the cows yet?”
She gazed up at him, and smiled. “No.”
“Samijo, have you cooked my supper yet?”
Her smile broadened. “No.”
He leaned toward her. “Samijo,” he said, his voice low and soft. “Have you made my favorite pie?”
“Yes.”
He licked his lips and glanced away. “What kind of pie have you made, Samijo?”
She was still looking at him when he turned back to her, their faces now closer than before. “Cherry,” she guessed.
“You always know what I like, don’t ya Samijo?”
She swallowed, her entire body felt all wobbly and loose, like she was made of jelly. “I suppose so. We are married after all.”
He smiled, and his eyes took on a tender look she had never seen in the eyes of any man. “That we are.”
Her eyes closed of their own accord at the sound of his voice, and when he put an arm about her shoulders and pulled her against him, she thought her heart was going to leap from her chest. “It’s getting colder, Samijo,” he said. “Best you sit right next to me, you’ll stay warmer that way.”
She couldn’t speak, as her body continued to warm at his touch, turning her limbs to water. If she wasn’t careful, she’d slide right off the wagon seat! She’d never sat this close to a man before, and found the experience thrilling. Her heart was beating so fast she thought she’d die. Yet she felt so relaxed at the same time. What was this?
“You know Samijo,” he began. “I think we’re gonna get along just fine.” He looked down at her again, and smiled.
She had to make herself breathe. In, out, in, out, and concentrate on staying upright. The urge to lean against him was overwhelming, his presence next to her like nothing she’d ever felt before. “Yes, I … I think we are.”
He smiled. “Even if you can’t sew.”
She smiled back, and they laughed together for the first time.
* * *
It was just after dark when they reached the Gunderson’s stage stop. Arlan helped Samijo out of the wagon, noted one stagecoach near the barn, and guided her inside. Passengers were already settled and sitting down to supper as they entered. “Well look who it is! Arlan Weaver, where have you been?” Mrs. Gunderson called across the room.
Arlan smiled as he gave Samijo a gentle shove toward the nearest table. “Nowhere. Need a couple of beds for the night, you got any left?”
“I got a few,” she told him as she looked at Samijo. “Who’s this?”
“My wife,” he said quietly.
Mrs. Gunderson beamed. “Oh!” she exclaimed and clapped her hands before her. “I had no idea!” she said in a low voice. “When?”
“Just this afternoon.”
“Oh, hearts are gonna break when folks find out you’re taken … wait a minute … what do you want two beds for?” she asked.
He smil
ed. Because I’ll spend my wedding night at home in my own bed.”
“But tonight is your wedding night,” she argued.
“It’ll be my wedding night when I say it is,” he shot back.
“You always were a stubborn thing, Arlan.” She turned to Samijo. “Don’t you let him boss you around, and if he does, you give it right back, ya hear?”
She raised a single brow at the remark. “That’s twice I’ve been told the very same thing,” she said with a smile.
“And you’ll hear it again, no doubt.” Mrs. Gunderson remarked. “So long as you’re married to him you will!”
Arlan’s face was an expressionless mask. “Two beds, Mrs. Gunderson.”
She sighed. “Fine, but I still say it’s no way to treat your bride on your wedding night.”
He glanced around at the other passengers. Several men were playing cards, their supper plates untouched. While two women, a mother and daughter from the looks of it, picked at their food at another table. “With this many folks around, I’d say it is.”
She looked to the other passengers as well. “I see your point. Two rooms it is. Go take care of your team, and I’ll see about your supper.”
“Much obliged, Mrs. Gunderson.” He tipped his hat, then took Samijo by the elbow and steered her toward a chair. “You’ll be fine here until I get back. Mrs. Gunderson will see to anything you want. I’ll bring in some of your things.”
She looked at him and smiled in acknowledgement. For some odd reason, she didn’t want him to go, even if it was only as far as the barn. She’d grown used to his presence on the long drive. “I’ll be fine.”
He leaned down to her. “Will you now? You’re not fibbing to me are you?” he said in a teasing tone.
She bit her lower lip and blushed.
“Ah, the truth at last.” With that he left to go tend the horses.
“I can’t believe it.”
Samijo looked up. Mrs. Gunderson stood with a plate of food in her hand. “Excuse me?”
“I can’t believe Arlan Weaver married. His mama’s been trying to talk him into marrying for as long as I can remember.”
Samijo felt herself blush again, but then curiosity caught up with her. “Why hasn’t he married until now?”
Mrs. Gunderson set the plate on the table. “Don’t know, there’s the farm of course, and then his brothers. Woo wee, they’re a handful.” She looked at Samijo, and her expression went flat. “You do know about his brothers, don’t you?”
“Uh, no … he didn’t mention any brothers. Only his mother.”
Mrs. Gunderson sat, and leaned back in the chair. “Oh dearie me, you mean he hasn’t once mentioned the twins or Daniel?”
Samijo’s eyes widened at the sudden shocked look in the woman’s eye. “No,” she said, her voice weak.
“Well then honey, you’d best eat up. You’re going to need your strength come tomorrow when he brings you home.”
Four
By the time Arlan finished tending the horses and securing the wagon, Samijo had all sorts of scenarios running through her mind, all sparked by one question. What was wrong with Arlan’s brothers? There had to be something, otherwise why would Mrs. Gunderson have said what she did and acted so strangely?
She watched with trepidation as her new husband plopped down in a chair and eyed her untouched food. “You sick? That plate looks like you haven’t taken a single bite. I know we had some jerky earlier, but that can’t still be with you.”
She looked at her food, before raising her eyes to his. “I … have some things on my mind.”
He studied her, and smiled. “I like it when you’re honest. Makes you pretty.”
She gave him her full attention. “What?”
He smiled again. “I said it makes you pretty. My pa used to say honesty brings out the best in people. With you, it …” his words trailed off as he looked into her eyes. She felt herself lean forward, drawn into their blue depths as she waited for his words, and became vaguely aware of a hand sliding across the table to her own. One of his fingers brushed against hers as he leaned closer. “Makes you pretty,” he finished on a whisper.
“Are you sure you don’t want to get one room?”
Arlan and Samijo flew back in their chairs at the sudden appearance of Mrs. Gunderson. She set a plate of food in front of Arlan. “I’ll even charge you half-price!”
Arlan pressed his lips together and glared at her with one eye. “Mrs. Gunderson, did I not make myself clear the first time?”
“Yes you did. But I think you’re an idiot.”
Samijo burst into laughter. Arlan opened his other eye and aimed his glare at her. She met the look head-on, and forgot about the issue of his brothers. She was beginning to learn her new husband’s sense of humor and found she enjoyed it. He might come across as gruff and maybe even a little mean at the onset. But she was quick to discover that Arlan Weaver liked to play, in a subtle sort of way, that is, and she wanted to play too. “She thinks you’re an idiot,” Samijo echoed.
“What do you think?” he asked.
Touché. She leaned forward again, her mind racing as to what to say. “I think … that …”
“Yes?” he drawled.
“That you have nothing but my best interest in mind.”
He cocked his head ever so slightly, studying her. “True. Now eat your dinner before it gets any colder than it already is. Your new coat won’t be able to warm those potatoes up.”
She laughed at his joke, picked up her fork, and they shared their first supper together.
* * *
When the meal was finished, Samijo watched her husband roam around the room and speak to the other guests while Mrs. Gunderson served dessert. One man talked like he knew Arlan, as others listened politely and answered his questions about where they were from, where they were headed, and thanked him when he wished them luck in their travels. His eyes said he was genuinely interested in them, and the men laughed when he told a joke. The two women watched in fascination, especially the younger one, who, though older than Samijo, didn’t hide the fact she found Arlan a handsome man. She looked at him the way Uncle Burr used to look at her, and Samijo’s stomach knotted with the unfamiliar fire of jealousy. It came out of nowhere and almost slapped the sense out of her. For a moment, she wanted to march over to the woman and yank her hair.
She took a bite of her dessert instead, and then a sip of coffee to still her mind. She had no reason to be jealous, she was the one married to the man. She blew some hair out of her eyes at her own foolishness, and continued to watch.
It wasn’t long before the woman who’d been staring at Arlan got up, and sashayed her way over to her table. “May I join you?”
Samijo’s jealousy reignited. “Of course,” she said stiffly and motioned to the chair Arlan had occupied. She picked up her coffee and took another sip to keep the jealousy at bay. The woman was very beautiful.
“I’ve been through here several times,” the woman told her. “But I’ve never seen you here before. Passing through?”
“Not really, I live in the area. We left Nowhere too late, and so stopped over.” Samijo felt disjointed. Her words sounded calm, but her insides were in turmoil. There was something about the woman she didn’t like, but couldn’t figure out what it was, other than the obvious.
“Have you lived here long?”
“No, I just arrived.”
“I see. But how rude of me, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Olivia Bridger, and that’s my mother over there. We’re going home after visiting family east of here.”
“Where’s home?”
“It was Oregon City, but we’re meeting my father in Nowhere. We’re thinking of moving there.”
“Oh,” was the only word to come to mind. Olivia Bridger had to be close to Arlan’s age, and Samijo wondered if she was married. “Do you have any other family?”
“Only my younger brother. He’s traveling with my father. See that man in the blue jack
et? That’s my cousin. He’s escorting us.”
Samijo looked to the man. He in turn was looking back with the same look dear Olivia had been giving Arlan. Like a starving man staring at a haunch of meat cooking on a spit. She sank a little in her chair, and sought her husband. Perhaps he sensed her discomfort, for in an instant, he was at her side. “How’s the pie?” he asked.
She looked to him, relief in her eyes. He glanced about the room, his gaze falling on Olivia’s cousin, who had gone back to the card game the men were playing earlier. “It’s good, you should try some.”
“I would, but somebody seems to be in my chair.”
Olivia giggled. “Oh, aren’t you the smooth talker?” She raised her hand up to him. “I’m Olivia Bridger, and you are?”
Samijo stared at her, was she expecting him to kiss it? She looked at Arlan to see if he considered doing so, her jealousy spreading through her like wild fire. Her eyes then became fixed on Olivia’s triumphant smile.
He stared at her hand before he took it in his own, and roughly shook it. “Name’s Arlan Weaver, and this is my wife, Samijo.”
Samijo’s eyes flicked from the woman back to him when he spoke it, and she smiled. So, he had made up his mind to call her that from now on.
“Yes, we’ve met,” Olivia said in a flat tone. “Though I didn’t catch the name.” She turned to Samijo. “How … adorable. Sounds like a name you’d give a puppy.”
Samijo’s eyes flashed. Was that an insult? It was times like these she wished she’d been allowed to socialize more while growing up.
“I don’t think so,” Arlan disagreed. “It’s my personal name for her, and I assure you, she is no puppy.”
Olivia’s eyes widened at his stern tone. “I meant no disrespect.” She stood. “I think I’d better head back to my mother now.”
“You have a pleasant evening, Miss Bridger. And I’ll have my pie.” He sat, and watched as she sashayed her way back to her table.
When he turned back to Samijo, she was staring at him with new admiration in her eyes. “Thank you,” she told him in a soft voice.
“For what?” he asked as he sat then stabbed his pie with a fork.
