by Sharon Ryan
Quickly, urgently, Shamus ran up to the house. When he reached it, he opened the door, walked in, slammed the door and yelled, “Willa, you get up right this damn instant. You hear me, lass?”
“Shamus?” Her voice was groggy. “What has gotten into you?”
She got out of bed and approached her husband. “My God,” she said, startled, “your face is redder than the Devil’s.”
He pointed toward his wife. “You… you’re expecting us to live like pigs in here.”
“What did you just say to me? You are calling me a pig in my own house. Unbelievable!”
“You knew I had to work and trap early, and you couldn’t even make me some eggs and cornbread for breakfast—or kiss me goodbye, wish me some luck. You know I’d like to talk to you before I go out there in the cold. You know how I love to look at you.”
“What? You think I’m your mama, Shamus—”
“You’re my wife, Willa. It’s time you start acting like it, and it’s about time you start cleaning up around here. Now, I don’t mind helping out around the house with chores, but you have to start pulling your weight around here, too. Understand? I will not be living in an unorganized house.”
“Pulling my weight? Shamus, this house was fine before you got here, and I am keeping it up fine with you here.”
“No! Look at the cans, the bed. The lean-to is disgusting. You need to clean up after the stallion at least twice a day. Put the whip back on the hook when you’re finished with it as well. And, why did you move my traps?”
“Because I didn’t like your garbage in my lean-to.”
“Your lean-to, huh?”
“Yes, sir, and I’ll place my whip wherever the hell I want to.”
“Willa!” Shamus could feel himself becoming angrier, as if his blood was about to turn into an almost invisible steam and float into the cold air. “When you married me, half of what is yours became mine, and half of everything I own became yours. I don’t like this thinking, this yours and mine; lass, everything here is ours, belongs to the both of us.”
“Most of this was mine, to begin with.” That was her retort, and it hurt Shamus’ pride. “You came to me with very little, nearly nothing.”
“You know that I came to you with money from my time in the mining colony, and you know I had my trapping money.”
Willa rolled her eyes at him.
Shamus went silent, and Willa knew she had crossed a line, but now, she was also angry—and excited. Willa had provoked the dragon, and now she would be disciplined. Their intimacy had been so tender once they had married, and until this outburst, Willa had forgotten how much she needed Shamus’ strong hand to reinforce his expected standards of conduct. She felt her insides go warm, and that warmth felt wonderful as she stood in the cold kitchen.
“If you don’t like it,” Willa said, empowered, “then you can leave. Got it?”
“No,” replied Shamus, “when I come back home this evening, everything around here will be in order.”
“You’re going to make sure of that, are you, big man?”
“You know I am. Do I joke around with you about such things, lass?”
Before Willa could even realize what was happening to her, before she could even respond, she was over Shamus’ knees, and her nightgown was pulled up, exposing her bare rear.
“I never thought I’d have to do this again after you became my bride,” said Shamus, dejected. “But it looks like I must redirect your bad behavior a bit more. I suspect a bit of that wild woman still survives.”
Shamus gave Willa’s exposed backside one hard smack, and because the feeling was so desired, so intense, Willa let out a loud, “My!”
She felt Shamus’ hardness rising within his breeches. “My!” she said again louder, more intense. Yet again, she felt Shamus’ manhood getting longer, thicker. Indeed, she was a lucky woman to have such a strong protector for a husband, a man loving enough to help correct her flaws, all of which she herself recognized and wanted to be rid of.
Shamus positioned her squarely over his legs, and she began to breathe heavily, as if her entire body would burst. Shamus held back—at first.
Before he gave his wife another swat, he again noticed the beets on the table.
“Willa!” he demanded. “You will put these vegetables away. Vermin could get in here and steal our food. Don’t you ever think of the small stuff like that?”
“No,” she said, defiantly, confident in herself, her resolve. “I never think of such things. Besides, it’s Sandy’s job to deal with any critter that dares to enter my house.”
At that, Shamus picked up a beet, making note of its thick tail. He licked the beet, slowly, deliberately. The beet was large, heavy. He then gave Willa’s waiting, wanting ass a swift spanking of four hard swats using that beet. She moaned at the unexpected pleasure, the intense, immediate pressure and force. Shamus moaned mightily, too. Husband and wife sat motionless, pleased, exhausted.
“When I get back here,” Shamus said, as he put the beet back on the table and gave Willa a final hard swat, “you’ll have things in order—or else.”
Shamus, crouched on the ground, set about cleaning the traps for his day’s trials when he heard a familiar voice. “How are you doing there, Shamus?” asked Joe, as Shamus, surprised by his visitor, looked up into Joe’s smiling face.
“I’m doing fine, Joe, just some minor squabble with Mrs. Harding. You know the drill.”
“I actually don’t, Shamus, never been married myself; I’m something of a loner, always have been.”
“No, Joe, you are no loner. I bet you’re just a little shy around the womenfolk. I promise, they don’t all bite like Mrs. Harding does.”
Joe blushed a little bit.
“What brings you out here, friend?” asked Shamus.
“Well, Mr. Wilson asked me to fetch you, to bring you to town for a drink or two. We have a proposition for you.”
“Whatever do you two want to ask me? Ask now. I’ve got work to do around here, lots of it.”
“I assure you, Shamus, you’ll want some fine whiskey for this. Get your horse and come on down to the Pinnacle with me.”
As soon as Shamus and Joe entered the Pinnacle, Mr. Wilson waved them over and said to the bartender, “Two more whiskeys, three fingers, for my friends. Today may be cause for celebration.”
“Wilson,” said Shamus, “what’s the meaning of all of this? You call me to a bar in the morning to get drunk? I’m a family man now. I’ve got to plan for Willa’s future now, not just my own.”
“And, you’ll soon be so much more than a family man, I hope. You’ll make Mrs. Harding proud, prouder than she already is, I’m sure.”
“Huh?”
Joe smiled and sipped his drink.
“Cheers,” Mr. Wilson commanded, as he raised his glass. Shamus and Joe obeyed, and as the whiskey hit Shamus’ tongue, its notes of caramel and wood surprised him—the whiskey was the smoothest Shamus had ever tasted.
“Not holding back on the finer things, I see?” Shamus asked. “So, what’s the deal, boys?”
“Well,” said Mr. Wilson. “The Colorado General Assembly reckons that this area is booming, population wise.”
“Sure the hell is.”
“We’ve been allotted a senate seat in the Assembly.”
“What does that got to do with me?” Shamus quickly downed his drink, and Joe motioned the bartender to pour Shamus another three fingers.
“Governor Routt and I go way back; we were schoolboys in Illinois. The governor wants this seat filled by a good republican. He’s got some legislation he wants to go through, to better this new state. He asked me to recommend someone, and I couldn’t think of a better man than you, Shamus.”
“Politics? I’m a trapper. I don’t know anything about government.”
“You’ll learn.”
“Why don’t one of you boys run?”
“We’re getting old,” Joe chimed in.
“Yes, I
want to spend my old age with my wife and daughters,” added Mr. Wilson. “I don’t want to get down in the muck. You’ll do great for our community. You’re a good man. Besides, the only other fellow interested in this nomination is Andy Sorensen. That wimp would be a disaster, but you already know that.”
Shamus closed his eyes and finished his drink, suddenly remembering Willa squirming over his knees.
When Shamus returned to the sod house in the late afternoon, he saw that Willa, on her hands and knees, was carefully oiling rough spots in the floor. The house smelled fresh, floral even. The cans had been cleared, and the bed was tidy, organized. Sandy now rested on the clean bed, kicking her tiny legs in sleep.
Shamus picked up his wife from the floor and held her to him. He said nothing for a moment; neither did she. They simply stood, hearing the other’s breath, listening to each other’s heartbeat, feeling each other’s heat. Yes, Willa felt like home to him. Shamus represented home for her as well.
“I’m sorry, lass, for this morning, for being so rough on you,” he told her before he kissed her open mouth.
Willa panted as she received Shamus’ sweet kiss. They parted, looking into each other’s eyes.
“I know, Shamus, that you’re just looking out for me, and I have to admit something: I enjoyed egging you on.”
“Silly gal,” he said as he gave her rear a tender caress.
“No, I appreciate all you do for me, have done for me—you’ve made me a lady, and you chased away that bastard Sneed. I was trapped here, and you freed me. For that, I will always love you, unconditionally. This isn’t going to be easy, being man and wife. I’m stubborn. You only have my best interests in your heart. I know that. You want only the best—the very best—for me. This is part of the journey, husband, learning to live with each other.”
“You got that right, Willa,” Shamus stated. “I would never do anything to purposefully hurt you. I love you too much. You’re a good woman.” Shamus stopped speaking for a few seconds, then he blurted out, “Wife, Mr. Wilson and Joe want me to do something, but I need to ask your permission before I can say yes.”
“Oh,” Willa exclaimed, “now what’s that?”
“They want me to run for the new senate seat, in the Colorado General Assembly, in Denver, as a republican.”
“They want you to do what?” Willa stammered. “In Denver?”
Chapter 13
A week later, Willa stood in her kitchen wondering if Lucy liked cream and sugar in her coffee, and if she did, then Willa wondered if she should make her own coffee this way as well; it would be a sweet treat, a change from the usual black coffee Willa frequently enjoyed. Willa naturally wanted to impress her friend. By instinct, she poured the coffee into two cups and added cream and a couple cubes of sugar—a luxury.
“Good Lord, Willa,” Lucy said, her eyes wide as Willa handed her a cup, “it looks like you made an incredible breakfast. Sometime soon, I hope you will give me a brief tutorial in these culinary ways of yours. Ah, cream and sugar—how delightful!”
“Shamus was hungry this morning,” Willa replied. “So, I made him biscuits with peach preserves, eggs, potatoes—simple really. Please, Lucy, help yourself to whatever you’d like.”
Lucy liberally spread the preserves on a piece of bread, and when she bit into it, she moaned slightly. “Willa, teach me to make this over the summer. Mother would love this.”
“Why so interested in household chores? Is there a young man who has your attention, Lucy?”
“Of course! Andy Sorensen and I are to be wed this spring, if, of course, you don’t mind—I know Andy had your eye not too long ago.” Lucy then winked at Willa teasingly. “I could not think of a more ideal man with whom to spend the rest of my life.”
Lucy laughed so hard, so merrily, that her entire body began to shake, and then coughed twice, her eyes red and watery.
“Wicked!” Willa shouted, laughing, too. “You have the most wicked mind in all of Colorado, Miss Wilson. To be even in the same room as Andy would serve no purpose but to demean you.”
“All joking aside, to just know that man’s pathetic name, Andy Sorensen, reflects poorly on us both! In all seriousness, though, I could end up on the frontier alone. It’s best to always be prepared.”
Lucy took another bite of bread, and Willa noticed how her friend sumptuously licked her lips afterward. Willa felt pride that she produced something—this simple jam—that could give both her friend and her husband pleasure. Shamus often told Willa how much he loved her peach preserves, and Willa always associated peaches with Shamus, as he had a jar of peaches the first time he met her. These compliments were a minor vindication, a small victory, that she could do something right, that life was indeed better for Willa than it had been in years. Life was better than it had been even when she lived in Iowa.
Once, not too long ago, she committed herself to a life of loneliness; she was ready to embrace such an empty existence. Now, however, she had a loving, attractive husband. And now, she could laugh heartily with a good friend in her own house.
Lucy looked up from her coffee. “My father says that Mr. Harding is going to Denver in the next few days to meet with the governor. He’ll have a splendid time, I hope. This will be a great opportunity for you both. You picked a great man. He’ll be successful.”
“Yes.” That was all Willa could say, simply. “He leaves this evening, actually. After dinner. Good old Mr. Joe picks Shamus up tonight. We’ll have supper, and Shamus will be off.”
Lucy noticed her friend’s complete disappointment and possible fear. For a moment, Willa’s face reflected the despair that was etched into it the day Clay had died.
“Father thinks he’ll be good for us, serving in the assembly.” Lucy paused for a few moments. She reached across the table and gently held Willa’s hand. “Willa, I know how you love your husband, and I can’t imagine how lonely you’ll be without him. If you feel lonesome, even for the briefest of moments, know that I’ll be here. I’ll come visit you often while Mr. Harding is away. We’ll even go into town to get some English tea.”
“Thank you, Lucy,” said Willa. “Thank you for being so dear to me, such a kind companion. Thank you for caring about my wellbeing. Thank you, too, for braving the cold to come visit me. I hope I won’t be too lonely. After all, I have Sandy to keep me company—that is when she’s not outside chasing squirrels.”
Later, when Mr. Wilson arrived to pick up his daughter, the two women stood up and hugged each other, and this provided Willa with some solace. Nonetheless, Lucy could not fully remove from Willa the dread of her new husband’s leaving.
Now, as Willa stood peering out one of her windows as Lucy and her father drove away, a light snow still covered the barren ground, and the sun hid behind gray clouds. Willa felt a chill.
Sandy played outside, intent on catching a squirrel or a small rodent. Occasionally, a small yelp reached Willa’s ears. Willa was alone, and she would be alone for a few more hours.
Willa sighed. It was time to make supper, the last she would have with her new husband, for soon he would be off—for days, weeks or months. Yesterday, she purchased pork cutlets, Shamus’ favorite dish from his childhood, from the town’s best butcher. She wanted to use up the leftover biscuits, as well.
The pork was cold and rough. Willa grabbed a small mallet and began to beat the cutlets to tenderize them, slowly at first—and then with a speed encouraged by sadness and anger. As she hit the cut of meat, which flattened itself on the counter, she began to sob—first softly and then intensely. A few stray tears found their way down to the now-flat cutlets.
As Willa plated her husband’s food, she felt her own appetite dissipate.
Shamus, beaming with joy, walked into the sod house and exclaimed, “It smells heavenly in here. What is this?”
Willa did not hear him come in; nonetheless, she turned to look at him. At that moment, her heart quickly sank, for soon, that attractive figure who had aroused Willa’s
body and mind, the man who had transformed her life so beautifully, would be gone.
“I made you a pork cutlet with some greens, mashed potatoes, and biscuits,” she told him, listlessly.
“Goodness,” Shamus said. “This feels like a special feast, and I am hungry.”
“I hope you like it.”
“I adore anything you make me, but I can tell this will be mighty fine. You spoil me, wife.”
Willa only nodded at Shamus’ words, knowing that a great emptiness would hang about her when he left. For a moment, she imagined that she could hear Joe outside, ready to take Shamus to Denver.
Shamus continued, “I have some good news. I was able to catch four foxes today. Luck is in the air, lass; I can feel it! I sold the furs to Mr. McFarland. He is going to make some pretty shawls with those furs—expensive too.”
He then reached into his pockets and produced a thick stack of bills, saying, proudly, “We’ll have enough money to keep this homestead going for a while. Here,” he said as he handed the money to Willa, “take it, for when I’m away. You will need it.”
“And how long will you be away, exactly?” Willa’s voice was flat, impenetrable. She did not take the money, so Shamus placed it near his plate.
“A week, maybe two, maybe four. I’ve got a lot to learn about how the state works. I know so little, and there’s so little time.”
Shamus began to cut his cutlet and put a chunk of it in his mouth, but Sandy came up to him, begging for food. “No, ma’am, you’re not getting any of this.” Sandy went to her blanket by the stove, dejected. Shamus set aside a small morsel for the pup, who quickly and happily devoured the food, and continued to eat, a satisfied expression consuming his handsome face. Willa wanted to smile at his handsomeness, to bask in it.
It was then that Shamus noticed how Willa had not made a plate for herself. “What is the matter, love?” he asked. “You’re not going to eat? This may well be our last meal in a while. You’ve got to eat; I want you to eat with me, as a man and wife ought to.”
