New Beginnings Spring 20 Book Box Set

by Hope Sinclair

  ***

  Carolyn tapped the palms of her hands into the flour, coating her skin with the soft white powder and clapping once for good measure. The air filled with a snowfall of tiny white particles, and she breathed in the soft smell. It reminded her of days from her childhood spent hiding in the kitchen and watching the cook prepare bread. Even though she had never baked anything herself, the aroma was still one that filled her with a great sense of comfort and familiarity.

  “Take just a pinch,” Bailey instructed, gripping onto the ball of risen dough and pinching off a section between his forefinger and thumb, “then roll.”

  He rolled the bit of dough between his flour-coated palms, smoothing out the surface until it was a perfectly formed ball. Then he placed it in the baking dish.

  “Now you try,” he instructed his wife.

  Carolyn took a deep breath, then she attempted to replicate her husband’s movements. She pinched the dough between her fingers and broke off a small section. Immediately, she realized it was far more challenging than it had appeared when Bailey had done it himself. The dough didn’t break easily in her hand, instead it stretched into a long column of dough, thin and spindly.

  Bailey watched earnestly, not intervening.

  Carolyn tightened her grip, finally managing to sever the handful of dough from the rest of the bowl. Then, gripping the small bit between her palms, she attempted to roll it neatly into a ball, as Bailey had done before her.

  The dough was stubborn in her palms, and instead of rolling, it squashed, filling the gaps between her fingers and sticking to the spots on her hands that hadn’t been sufficiently covered in flour.

  Bailey’s face broke into a smile, then he couldn’t help but laugh.

  “I’m hopeless!” Carolyn declared tragically, flinging the clump of misshapen dough onto the kitchen table.

  “You’re far from it,” Bailey countered. He took the dough and returned it to his wife’s hands, then with his hands on top of hers, he guided her to roll the dough gently.

  “All that is good in life takes patience,” Bailey said softly. “And that’s especially true for yeast rolls.”

  Carolyn blushed at her husband’s touch, at the warmth of his solid chest pressing gently against her back.

  “When did you learn to cook?” Carolyn asked.

  “My mother taught me,” Bailey said, his voice darkening the way it did anytime he mentioned his parents. Bailey didn’t keep his past private from Carolyn, but he did have reservations about discussing it. Even after so many years, those memories were still sensitive for Bailey. And seeing the depth of her husband’s emotions just made Carolyn admire him all the more. She found his propensity for love and loyalty to be endearing.

  “This was my favorite recipe,” Bailey added with a smile. “She only made yeast rolls on special occasions. We didn’t have very much money, so…” he trailed off, abandoning the thought as he carefully slid the rolled dough onto the baking pan.

  Carolyn smiled softly. “Well, Mr. Thomas,” she said affectionately. “If you can indeed teach me how to bake them, I’ll see to it that my husband has yeast rolls every day of the week.”

  Bailey smiled and the sadness disappeared from his kind eyes, because in that moment he knew that the joy he had found with Carolyn was far greater than his sadness ever could be.

  SEVEN

  Calico Junction, California

  August

  “Whoa there!” Lyle Watkins grunted, tugging up on his horse’s reins as he pulled up to Bailey Thomas.

  “Can I help you, Watkins?” Bailey asked, using the back of his wrist to wipe away the dirty sweat that had accumulated on his brow. He had only been working in the sun for a few hours, but he might as well have been toiling for an entire day, that’s how weary his sweat-soaked body felt as he trudged along the dusty dirt terrain.

  California had been plagued by droughts that summer, and in the absence of rain and clouds, the sun burned hotter than ever before. Calico Junction was in a state of panic. The crops that farmers counted on had shriveled up and died without the sustenance of water. The earth had hardened and the grass in the grazing pastures had turned brown and died, leaving the livestock both hungry and restless.

  The only man in town who had any form of relief from the drought was Bailey Thomas himself, and when he glanced up to see Lyle Watkins, he suspected that that relief was what Lyle was looking for.

  “You can indeed help me,” Watkins reported, glaring down from his saddle at Bailey. “I hear that stream that runs clear across your land is the only water that ain’t run dry yet.”

  “You heard correctly,” Bailey confirmed honestly.

  It was true, there was indeed a narrow stream that spanned the distance of Bailey’s land. And though it hadn’t been enough to reverse the impact of the drought, it had certainly helped to offset the damage. It had kept his livestock in good health, and it had restored life to a small square of the grazing pasture.

  Bailey knew that tensions were rising in Calico Junction, and he knew that being the only man with a stream of water amidst a devastating drought meant that he was in the uncomfortable position of having a limited resource that everyone wanted for themselves.

  “How about you share some of that water with me?” Lyle asked. “After all, ain’t that the neighborly thing to do?”

  Bailey glanced up at Lyle Watkins. His face was obscured by shadows under the rim of his cowboy hat, but Bailey knew the man’s face by memory. He had never liked Watkins much, and the feeling was mutual.

  Still, Bailey knew that water was a matter far more important that petty grievances. And he knew it wasn’t his right to deprive another man of something vital.

  “Take what you need,” Bailey nodded. “But don’t take more than that. We can’t let the stream dry up.”

  “Of course not,” Lyle smiled darkly. Then he kicked into the sides of his horse and steered her toward the stream.

  Bailey watched silently, reminding himself that it was the right thing to do… the only thing to do.

  He tried to go back about his work, but the heat had grown too severe. His head was pounding and the sweat was dripping from his limbs. His mouth was parched, and he needed a drink. He looked in the direction of the stream, and he decided he was due a drink of fresh water.

  He shoved the sharp point of his shovel into the dry earth, and then he trudged across the field. It took him several minutes to reach the stream by foot, and by the time he approached the water, he was even more weary and thirsty than he had been moments earlier.

  He expected to find Lyle Watkins still crouched by the waterfront filling his pails with fresh water, but he hadn’t expected to find that Lyle Watkins wasn’t alone. He certainly hadn’t expected to find Lyle in the company of Dale Harvey.

  And what came next… well, Bailey certainly hadn’t expected that, either.

  The men were both crouched by the bank of the stream, and they hadn’t heard Bailey’s approaching footsteps over the chatter of their own voices. They were talking as they filled their pails with water, and as Bailey drew nearer, he could distinguish their voices and decipher the words they were saying.

  “…man ain’t got no right, keeping a stream like this all to himself,” Lyle was telling Dale.

  “He’s shared the stream with anyone who asked,” Dale pointed out, coming to Bailey’s defense.

  “It ain’t enough to share if you ask me,” Lyle shook his head, unsatisfied with the answer. “He should open it up for everyone. Why should one man have all this water, when the rest of us got none?”

  “Now, Lyle…” Dale started to protest, but Lyle cut him off.

  “I always did think Bailey Thomas thought too highly of himself, and this just proves it,” he shook his head, spitting a stream of brown tobacco straight into the stream. “He used to be the type of man who thought he could do no wrong, and it’s only gotten worse since he married that stuck-up broad from out east.”

 
“Bailey’s a good man,” Dale said defensively.

  For a moment, Bailey felt touched that Dale Harvey was defending him. He had always considered Dale a friend, and he felt reassured to hear that he had earned the man’s confidence, even in his absence.

  “But,” Dale added, his tone darkening. “I agree with you about that wife of his. She’s spoiled rotten, talking about her life back east and boasting about her privileged childhood. Who does she think she is, talking like that to the people ‘round here?”

  “She don’t know hardship,” Lyle shook his head. “But she’ll learn soon enough. This stream won’t last forever, and when it dries up, Bailey Thomas will be just as poor as the rest of us.”

  “I bet that wife of his won’t be hanging around much longer once she realizes how hard life out west can be,” Dale shook his head.

  “And there ain’t a soul in Calico Junction that’ll be shocked to see her go,” Lyle spit into the stream again. “Seems like the only man in town who can’t see what a fool Bailey Thomas is, is Bailey Thomas himself.”

  Bailey had heard enough. He stepped forward, his boot crunching on a dry bit of tumbleweed that had blown over the desert. The sound immediately exposed his presence, and both men started and turned to face him.

  “Bailey—” Dale stammered, but Bailey cut him off.

  “What’s that I heard you saying about my wife?”

  “Easy,” Lyle sneered, with the same tone of voice one might use when suppressing a rabid dog.

  That tone just added another heap of insult to the anger and humiliation that Bailey already felt.

  “Neither one of us said anything that hasn’t already been said a dozen times over by everyone else in town,” Lyle said.

  Bailey swallowed heavily, fighting the urge to push Lyle Watkins backwards into the stream and watch as the water carried him far away. The truth was, if it wasn’t for Carolyn, he’d probably do exactly that.

  He had never had much patience for Lyle Watkins, and he had no intention of exhibiting patience now. It wasn’t worth the last bit of spit left on his tongue to argue with the man. He would rather just be rid of him.

  Lyle Watkins wasn’t his concern, anyway. He knew that what Lyle said was true. There had been plenty of talk about the new Mrs. Thomas. Ever since that dinner with the Harveys, it became abundantly clear that Carolyn had gotten off on the wrong foot with the people of Calico Junction.

  Bailey expected that kind of talk from the likes of Lyle Watkins, but he certainly didn’t expect it from the man he considered one of his closest friends. He turned to Dale, and no amount of willpower was strong enough to conceal the hurt he felt as he stared into the cold eyes of his friend and neighbor.

  “You got a problem with my wife?” he asked Dale coldly.

  Dale didn’t answer. Instead, he gulped shamefully.

  “Because if you do,” Bailey continued, “then you got yourself a problem with me, too.”

  “With an attitude like that, you’re gonna have a problem with a lot of people,” Lyle commented.

  “Get out of here, Lyle,” Bailey barked, letting his anger show in his voice.

  “Just as soon as I’m done filling my pail,” Lyle nodded darkly.

  “No,” Bailey said. “You’ve taken enough. Leave.”

  Lyle stood slowly, gripping the handle of his pail and trudging up the bank toward Bailey. He kept walking until they were close—eye to eye, nose to nose. Close enough that Bailey could smell the sour stench of tobacco on the other man’s breath.

  “Mark my words,” Lyle hissed. “This ain’t over.”

  Bailey and Dale both watched Lyle load the pail onto his saddle, then climb onto his horse and kick off. Once he was a good distance away, Bailey turned back to Dale.

  “I didn’t say that out of spite,” Dale said earnestly. “You’re my friend. I’m just worried about you.”

  “You’re the one who suggested I find a mail-order bride in the first place,” Bailey pointed out. “How’s Carolyn any different than Alyssa?”

  “They’re just different,” Dale shrugged. “Carolyn was cut from a different cloth than the rest of us. Nobody in this town grew up with servants or cooks.”

  “That’s the best woman I’ve ever met,” Bailey said bitterly. “And I’m sorry your prejudice is getting in the way of you realizing that.”

  “Bailey—”

  “Leave,” Bailey said flatly. “Now.”

  And without another word of protest, Dale complied.

  EIGHT

  That evening over supper, Bailey recounted all of the details of his encounter with Dale Harvey and Lyle Watkins to Carolyn. She listened thoughtfully, nodding, appreciating his honesty, cherishing the warmth and security of his hand placed firmly on top of hers.

  Tears stung her eyes when Bailey repeated the words they had said, but her heart swelled at the thought of her husband defending her.

  When he finally finished, she surprised them both.

  “I think we should share the water,” she said.

  “What?” Bailey was shocked.

  “They have a point,” Carolyn said. “Regardless of whose land the stream crosses, this town isn’t going to survive without that water.”

  “Not for long, you’re right.” Bailey nodded, recovering from the surprise. He hadn’t expected that response from Carolyn. He had anticipated anger or sadness, similar to the emotions he felt. Instead, Carolyn had responded with a grace far greater than his own. Instead of dwelling on the harsh words of Lyle Watkins and Dale Harvey, she had instead addressed the matter of the drought.

  Bailey felt a warmth spread in his chest, a renewal of the love he felt for his wife. He stared at her admiringly, more proud than ever. He wished that the Harveys and Watkinses could see this side of his bride. Surely seeing this side of Carolyn would make them recognize how wrong they truly were, how noble and pure she was.

  “It’s not right for us to have green pastures for our cattle to graze, or clean water to clean our hands with before supper each night, when so many people in this town are without,” she continued, shaking her head sadly.

  “I’ve shared the water with anyone who has asked,” Bailey said. “But you’re right, that’s not enough. We need to do more.”

  “We can’t let this town fall apart,” Carolyn agreed. “Not when the answer to their prayers is trickling through our backyard.”

  Bailey nodded again, admiring his wife’s compassion. But it wasn’t that simple. “If there’s too much strain on the stream,” he said, “it could dry up.”

  “There must be a way,” Carolyn said thoughtfully, biting her bottom lip and wrinkling her brow with the deep ridges of reasoning.

  Bailey thought, too. He considered all of the possibilities, how he could make the water of his stream reach all of the residents of Calico Junction, and how he could make it last until the end of the drought.

  He kept thinking about it as he reached across the table and took a golden yeast roll from the bread basket. He bit into it, and the soft dough crumbled under his bite. Immediately, the taste filled him with memories of his mother, long-forgotten scenes from his childhood, family dinners, the smell of bread baking…

  “How does it taste?” Carolyn asked, bringing him out of the memory and back into the present.

  “Perfect,” Bailey said honestly. “Like the best yeast roll I’ve ever tasted.”

  Carolyn smiled proudly. She had mastered the yeast rolls, which meant one challenge was out of the way. Now, if only she could figure out a way to share their stream with the people of Calico Junction…

  ***

  A long day of toiling in the heat had made Bailey weary, and the couple retired early for the night. Carolyn had stayed awake while Bailey slept, reading a book in the dim golden glow of candlelight. Then finally, fatigue had claimed her as well. She tucked the book away, extinguished the candle, and tiptoed silently toward the bed she shared with her husband.

  Before slipping under the
heavy quilts, she bent onto her knees and rested her elbows on the bed. She cast a quick admiring glance at her husband, finding the comfort of his breathing form in the darkness, then she clasped her hands together and bowed her head in prayer.

  “Dear Lord,” she recited in a soft whisper, “I thank you for another day under the blessed hedge of your protection. I thank you for the tender heart of my husband and for your grace in the form of the stream that has kept us replenished in this time of drought.

  “Lord,” she sighed, “I pray to you for wisdom now. Please grant us the ability to share this blessing unto others, and to be shepherds of your will. I pray, Lord, for insight in how this can be done.

  “It’s in your name I pray, amen.”

  Praying always filled Carolyn with a renewed sense of hope, and tonight was no different. As she slipped into bed beside her sleeping husband, she felt that all was right with the world.

  Content, and will the small trace of a smile on her face, she fell asleep, feeling at ease.

  She had no idea at the time that, just hours later, she would be awoken by a horrible sound rumbling through the dark quiet of night…

  NINE

  Bailey and Carolyn awoke with a start, roused from their sleep by something louder than thunder. Vibrations shook through the walls of the house, and even the floorboards rattled.

  Carolyn sat up at once. “What’s that horrible sound?” she asked, clutching her hands to her ears in fear. She had never heard anything like it in all of her life—and she had never felt a fear this profound, either. “Is it thunder?” she asked. “Is there a storm?”

  “I’m afraid it’s not thunder,” Bailey said. He rushed to the bedroom window and stared out, and his eyes widened at what he saw. The room was still dark, but the silvery white moonlight beamed through the window and lit up Bailey’s face, revealing the troubled expression wrinkled into his brow. “It’s far worse,” he said quietly. “It’s a cattle stampede.”