“No, he never has. But who can blame him?”
“And does he make you feel stupid when the truth is you’ve just never been trained?”
“I am stupid. I never do anything the way it’s supposed to be done,” Wade said humbly.
“That’s exactly how Griff treated me. And I think that you saw that, even though you want to believe I’m perfect. You saw a kindred soul who was going through the same thing and you wanted to save me. That’s noble, Wade. That’s something I respect and admire in you. We reacted differently to being dominated. I became a submissive little coward and you rebelled, defying your father by leaving the ranch and getting mixed up in every evil vice you could think of just to spite him.”
“We’re nothing the same,” Wade said firmly. “You can’t compare yourself to someone like me. I’ve done so many things, it’s impossible for me to ever undo them.”
“You’re right that you can’t undo them, but you can start today living your life differently. Come in with us.” She knew Wade still had scars on his heart and he’d still have trouble believing in himself. Look how long it had taken her to trust herself and believe in her own worth. But Wade had taken the first step today. He’d stopped sinking deeper in sin and reached up for God. And God could reach all the way down to meet him and help him the rest of the way.
“China doll…I…I can’t go near your baby.” Wade looked her in the eye, and for the first time she realized those green eyes that had frightened her could be vulnerable and soft and even kind. “And you can’t want me in your home.”
“My name is Cassie. Please call me that. And I welcome you to our home.” She urged him forward. “I have coffee still warm from this morning, and it’s only a little early for lunch.”
At her urging, Wade started toward the house. Cassie looked over at Red and she saw him nod at her with deep approval. Some of what she’d said had only really become clear to her as she’d talked. She knew God had guided her words, and she’d spoken them for her own benefit as well as Wade’s.
They headed for the tiny soddy with the cave bedroom. A giant step down from the lovely home she’d lived in less than a year ago. She could see now that God could use what she’d been through. He could use her to help someone else. The honor of it made her tremble deep inside.
And as she walked, she felt the china doll shatter inside her. Gone forever. And out of the rubble a new woman emerged. Not perfect. Not even close. She was a sinner who struggled and failed and tried anew each day.
But she was also a new woman in Christ. A woman God loved, but even more, a woman worthy of being loved by God.
What had started as a nightmare on that day of Griff’s death had become the fulfillment of all her dreams.
Red’s hand, resting on top of hers, moved so their fingers entwined. Together they supported Wade and each other. She smiled at her husband, and they helped bear the burden of their new friend. And as she walked, she realized that her whole life had led her to a plan God had all along.
She’d been following a twisting, turning, sometimes treacherous path that had led her straight home.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
Discuss the difference being submissive and being dominated.
Do you think the world has warped the concept of a submissive wife? How?
Is Red too sweet? Do you like a hero who is a little more flawed?
Cassie’s emotions follow the stages of grief, but they are also wildly fluctuating because she has been dominated by her husband for so long, she simply doesn’t know how to think for herself. Was that entertaining or was she too scattered?
Do you think a person, newly freed from domination would behave this way? Have you ever known anyone who had become a doormat in their marriage?
Wade is the bad guy, but do you have any sympathy for him?
Though Wade’s father, Mort, was cruel to Wade, he was a strong man in a hard land. Is he to be respected as well as despised?
Cassie notices similarities between Red and Mort. Discuss those similarities and how they were used for good by one man and evil by another.
Is the discussion of childbearing too graphic?
Is the scene with Suzannah being born fun or nonsense?
If you’ve had a baby, discuss your own experiences with childbirth and how skewed some of your perceptions were. How did your husband act during the birth, and how might he have acted if he’d been called upon to deliver the baby alone?
Could you live in a cave? Why or why not?
If you were transported to 1880 Montana, could you survive? Do you have the skills to feed and clothe your family without all the modern conveniences?
What is the fundamental lesson of this book? Self-confidence? How to find a balance in marriage? Self-respect? Courage in the face of abuse? What do you think it is?
DEDICATION
My sister-in-law Patricia Crouch Connealy was as much fun to talk books with as anyone I’ve known. And she was such an encouragement to me when I’d talk writing with her.
We lost her very suddenly last year, and I’m still shocked that she’s gone. A funny, sweet, kind, brilliant, knitting, reading friend. Our whole family is less because she’s gone. I miss you, Pat.
CHAPTER 1
Montana Territory, 1876
Belle Tanner pitched dirt right on Anthony’s handsome, worthless face.
It was spitefulness that made her enjoy doing that. But she was sorely afraid Anthony Santoni’s square jaw and curly, dark hair had tricked her into agreeing to marry him.
Which made her as big an idiot as Anthony.
Now he was dead and she was left to dig the grave. Why, oh why didn’t she just skip marrying him and save herself all this shoveling?
She probably should have wrapped him in a blanket, but blankets were hard to come by in Montana…unlike husbands.
She labored on with her filling, not bothering to look down again at the man who had shared her cabin and her bed for the last two years. She only hoped when she finished that she didn’t forget where she’d buried Anthony’s no-account hide. She regretted not marking William’s and Gerald’s graves now for fear she’d dig in the same spot and uncover their bones. As she recalled, she’d planted William on the side nearest the house, thinking it had a nice view down the hill over their property. She wasn’t so sure about Gerald, but she’d most likely picked right, for she’d dug the hole and hadn’t hit bones. Unless critters had dug Gerald up and dragged him away.
Belle had to admit she didn’t dig one inch deeper than was absolutely necessary. Maybe a little less than was necessary. This was rocky ground. It was quite a chore. Her husbands had made too many chores for her over the years. Digging their graves was the least of it.
She’d risked her own life to drag her first husband, William, out of the cattle pen. The pen any fool would know was too dangerous to go into—which Belle always did, not being a fool. Rudolph, their longhorn bull, was a mite cantankerous and given to using his eight-foot spread of horns to prove himself in charge of any situation.
Then Gerald had gotten himself thrown from his horse. His boot had slipped through the stirrup, and judging by his condition, Belle figured he’d been dragged for the better part of the three-hour ride home from the Golden Butte Saloon in Divide by a horse whose instincts told him to head for the barn.
Anthony’s only good quality was he’d managed to get himself killed quick. They’d been married less than two years. For a while there, Belle feared he’d last through pure luck. But stupid outweighed luck. Stupid’ll kill a man in the West. It wasn’t a forgiving place. And Anthony was purely stupid, so he didn’t last all that long.
Between William and Gerald—that is between being married to ’em—Belle had changed the brand to the T Bar. Known as the Tanner Ranch from then on, it never changed, regardless of whatever Belle’s last name happened to be at the time. She’d also had a real smart lawyer in Helena draw up papers for Anthony to sign so the ranch would always
belong to Belle, and if something happened to her instead of a worthless husband, Belle’s wishes would be carried out.
She tamped the dirt down good and solid. About the fifth tamp, she admitted she was using more energy than was strictly necessary. She’d whacked it down especially tight over Anthony’s pretty-boy face.
Three sides of the Husband Tree used up. She wasn’t up to puttin’ up with a live one or buryin’ another dead one. The tree roots wouldn’t appreciate it.
And neither would the children.
She said a quick prayer for Anthony, reflecting silently as she spoke, that knowing Anthony as she did, it was doubtful there were enough prayers in the world to save his warped soul. Never had it been necessary for God to perform a greater miracle, and Belle asked for just that, though she didn’t hold out much hope.
She finished the service in one minute flat, not counting the digging and filling, which had taken considerably longer. It had been early in the day when she’d found Anthony dead beside the house. Planting him had interrupted chores, but there was no help for it. She couldn’t leave him lying there. He was blocking the front door.
She nodded to the children, four of ’em, one from each husband, and a spare thanks to William. “We got chores.”
“Why’d you marry him anyway, Ma?” Lindsay bounced the baby on her hip. They were a study, those two. Lindsay so blond, the baby so dark.
“Not a lick of sense, that’s all.” Belle had no desire to fancy this up. She’d been pure stupid to get married, and her girls needed to know that.
“Well, have you learnt your lesson?” Sarah plunked her little fists on her hips and arched her bright red eyebrows at Belle.
“It’s a humbling thing just how well I’ve learned it, Sarah. There will never be another husband on this ranch. You have my word.”
“The folks in town’ll be out here tryin’ to push themselves off onto you.” Lindsay probably had a few faint memories of how Belle had ended up hitched to Gerald. The girl had made it clear long before Anthony died that when this one croaked, there’d better not be any more of ’em.
“I’ll take the shovel, Ma. I need it to clear out the dam. Dirt’s backed up on the canal you built to water the garden.” Twelve-year-old Emma pulled her Stetson low over her eyes. She’d removed it for the funeral prayer, though Belle hadn’t thought to require it.
Handing over the shovel, Emma grabbed it and headed downhill. The other girls turned from the grave and headed for the house. Fifteen-year-old Lindsay carried the baby, Elizabeth, born this spring not long after branding and not old enough yet to walk.
Thank You, dear Lord God, for letting Betsy be a girl. Thank You for all my girls. What would I have done with a boy child?
Eight-year-old Sarah fell in line next.
Belle watched them walk ahead of her. Each of them the image of her pa.
Lindsay and Emma had wispy, white blond hair, bright blue eyes, and skin that burned to a reddish tan from their long hours in the sun. Lindsay’d grown taller than Belle these days, and Emma now looked Belle straight in the eye. William had been a tall one, and as blond as most Swedes.
Sarah had a shock of unruly red curls, eyes as green as grass, and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose from her Irish pa, Gerald O’Rourke.
The baby, Elizabeth, whom they called Betsy, was a beautiful little girl. Belle almost had a moment of affection for Anthony Santoni. Betsy’s cap of midnight black hair fell into soft, natural ringlet curls. The dark brown eyes were rimmed with abundant lashes, and her skin had seemed tanned from birth. The little girl was the image of Anthony.
Belle lifted her own straight brown hair, “the color of chocolate” her pa used to say, and thought of her odd light brown eyes—like it would have killed one of the little tykes to take after her just a smidgen. And she had no nationality to speak of either. Her family had been in the country a hundred years before the Revolution, and they’d all been busy for generations being Americans. Who had the time to study ancestors?
“We’ve been over this now, Ma!” Lindsay hollered to make sure Belle heard. “No more husbands, never.”
“Don’t waste time fussing at me, Linds. Those men have caused me a sight more trouble than they’ve caused you. I’m not gonna tell anyone in town Anthony is dead.” They’d notice when he didn’t show up at the Golden Butte to visit one of the girls. But missing him didn’t mean they knew anything. Maybe they’d think he’d quit being a lying, cheating, lazy, no-account man and he was busy. Running the ranch.
It took all she had not to snort out loud at the very idea.
Belle didn’t mention the Golden Butte to the girls. She never took them to town, and she didn’t think they knew exactly what Betsy’s low-down pa did while he was away from the ranch. Probably figured him for a drinker like Gerald.
The four girls were strung out before her, heading downhill. What a pretty bunch they were. Belle dreaded the trouble that could come to a pretty girl.
Pretty didn’t matter anyway. Heaven knew that with her weathered skin and calloused hands and straight-as-a-string hair, she was nothing great to look at. The men who came a-runnin’ every time she was widowed said pretty words about her appearance. But women were scarce in Montana. And a fertile mountain valley like the Tanner spread was even scarcer. The two-legged varmints would have been out here trying to turn her head with flattery if she looked like the north end of a southbound mule.
Growing up pretty—and who could judge a thing like that as there wasn’t a mirror for a thousand miles—was only a nuisance in her way of thinking. With all the water rights sewed up for over twenty thousand acres, Belle didn’t kid herself that her looks brought the men sniffin’ around.
Lindsay reached the bottom of the hill.
Sarah sped up to catch her and snagged Betsy out of Lindsay’s arms, then angled toward the house. “I’ll watch the baby and get the noon meal on, Ma.” Just as she went in the door, Sarah glanced back at Belle and said matter-of-factly, “Now that Anthony fell off the roof, can I toss a couple less taters into the pot?”
Belle nodded. “He ate about three.”
“We gonna save money on food now that he’s dead.” Emma tucked the shovel under one arm while she walked, snagged her buckskin gloves from where she’d tucked them behind her belt buckle, and began tugging them on.
Sarah went into the house.
Without comment, Lindsay and Emma headed for the barn.
Belle smiled with pride at her girls. They did take after her in one important way. The girls knew how to work. Belle hadn’t been able to marry any help, but she’d sure as shootin’ given birth to it.
By the time Belle quit standing around feeling proud over her girls and relieved over Anthony, Emma already had her horse caught. She rode out to work the dam, the shovel they’d used to plant Anthony strapped onto her saddle. Lindsay had disappeared into the chicken coop to fetch eggs.
Belle went into the barn, snagged her flat-topped black Stetson from a peg, and settled it onto her head. She shrugged into the fringed buckskin jacket she’d made from a mule-deer hide. Then she strapped on a six-gun in case she met any varmints on the trail, or worse yet, men come a-courtin’—those two being equal in her mind.
Rounding up one of her green-broke horses, Belle thought with pride of the well-trained cow ponies she’d been selling for good money the last few years. She let the young horse crow hop the kinks out with its usual good spirits, snagged her shotgun leaning on the fence, and shoved it into the sling on her saddle. Then she set out on the long ride to check her cattle. She had herds scattered near and far in her rugged mountain valley.
Lindsay headed into the barn to do the milking, carrying a bucket of eggs, just as Belle rode out of the corral. “I’m not forgettin’ this time, Ma. And neither are you. You promised—no more husbands.”
“A promise I intend to keep, daughter. Now quit with your scolding and get to work.” Belle had known for some time now that both of her ol
der daughters talked to her almost as if they were equals. She could still make them mind if it came right down to it. But mostly, she valued their opinions and listened when they talked, just as they listened to her. They made a good team, and it was possible her older girls already knew as much about ranching as Belle.
Lindsay held Belle’s eyes for a long second. “I reckon you learned your lesson, all right. Anthony Santoni, worthless excuse for a man. What were you thinking to marry him?”
Belle shook her head. “He wasn’t a worthless excuse for a man, Lindsay.”
Lindsay’s white blond brows arched. “He wasn’t?”
“Nope, he was just a man. Same as any other man, leastways any I’ve known.” Not strictly true. Seth worked hard at the general store. Red Dawson was a decent sort, what little she knew of him. Her pa hadn’t been so bad; he was a hard worker, no denying it. But he’d done Belle wrong, and she lumped him in with the other men. “I thought I had to. It was never shall I get married. It was who shall I marry. Not anymore though. We all know well and good that a man just slows a woman down.”
Lindsay gave Belle a firm nod and went on into the barn.
Smiling, enjoying being free of a husband—this time forever—Belle spurred her horse and smiled as the wind blew the pesky wisps that always escaped from her tightly braided hair.
Thank You, Lord, for making me a widow.
Belle hesitated briefly, pretty sure that God wouldn’t exactly welcome such a prayer. But the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. And he’d takethed Anthony, praise be. Who was she to complain?
It was great to be a widow.
Now if she could just stay one!
New Mexico Territory
Mary Connealy Page 29
