New Beginnings Spring 20 Book Box Set

by Hope Sinclair

“These are the finest foods available in Arizona,” Roger explained, glancing down at the food on the silver tray. “This cheese here is aged for several months longer than most cheeses… And here in this bowl—this is caviar. It’s imported from the eastern part of Europe. It costs a great deal.”

  Sylvia had no idea what caviar was. But she could smell it, and it smelled very bad, like fish. And the cheese smelled bad too. These smells didn’t go well with her pregnancy, and she felt the overwhelming urge to vomit.

  “Ex-ex-excuse me,” Sylvia stuttered, raising her hand to cover her mouth. “I’ve got to go outside and get some fresh air.” The men looked over at her, and Mr. Wallace rolled his eyes and nodded.

  Sylvia rushed out of the dining room, then out of the house. Luckily, she made it outside without throwing up. Once she was outside, the fresh air calmed her sickness and put her stomach back at ease. Still, even though she was feeling better, she opted not to go back inside. She wasn’t directly involved in the men’s conversation after all. She wasn’t interested in what they were talking about, or in Roger. And she needed to stretch her limbs after her long journey.

  Sylvia walked around the ranch for several minutes, taking a closer look at the exciting things she saw when she was on the wagon. It was lunchtime, and most of the men had wandered off to have their meal, so she pretty much enjoyed the land leisurely and uninterrupted.

  After a few more minutes, she found herself by the gate to the ranch, and again, she stared at the large W affixed to it. It sure does look strange, she thought once more. She stepped back a bit and stared up at it, trying to discern what was so awkward about it.

  “You shouldn’t stare into the sun, you know,” a voice said from out of nowhere. “Doing so has made many a man go blind.”

  The voice sounded familiar, and as Sylvia looked down and away from the sign, her eyes adjusted to see a familiar face a few yards away.

  “I wasn’t staring at the sun,” she replied. “I was staring at the metal sign—the W atop of the gate. It doesn’t look right. Something is odd about it.”

  “You’re right,” Jacob smiled. He was sitting under a nearby tree, eating his lunch. “There is something wrong with that W… and I’ll tell you what it is.”

  Sylvia smiled back at Jacob expectantly and walked closer to where he was.

  “It’s not a W,” Jacob explained. “It’s an M.”

  “An M?” Sylvia inquired. She looked back at the sign and cocked her head to the side to look at it in a new light.

  “Yes,” Jacob answered. “It’s an M turned upside down.”

  Sylvia looked at Jacob again, waiting to hear more. But she was distracted by what she saw. His lunch was spread out on a cloth beside him, and her mouth watered at the sight of his simple, wholesome food.

  “Would you like something to eat?” Jacob asked, sensing her interest in his lunch. “I have more than enough to share.”

  “Oh no, that’s okay,” Sylvia said, a bit embarrassed. “I’ll have something to eat when I go back to the house. I don’t want to—”

  “Nonsense,” Jacob interrupted. He stood up, removed his vest and set it out on the ground. “Please, have some—and please sit down with me, so I can tell you the story about that upside down M.”

  Sylvia’s hunger and curiosity got the best of her, and she nodded in agreement. She sat down on Jacob’s vest, and once she was secure, Jacob sat down again as well. Then he broke off a piece of his sandwich and handed it to her along with a plump red apple.

  “Thank you,” Sylvia said, accepting the food. It took tremendous restraint on her part not to devour it all immediately.

  “You’re quite welcome,” Jacob replied. He watched as Sylvia took a bite of the sandwich and couldn’t help but smile.

  “Before your father bought this ranch some ten years ago, it belonged to another family,” Jacob continued, moving on. “Like he said on the wagon, he got it for a very low price that was a steal. But nonetheless, he tried to save even more money, and rather than getting a new sign made, he reused the existing one that’d been on the property for nearly twenty years.”

  Sylvia was listening attentively, and she nodded at Jacob’s words. She could very well see her father cutting expenses that way.

  “He simply flipped the M over to use it as a W,” Jacob went on. “And with that, the Marshall Bonanza became the Wallace Bonanza.”

  Sylvia nodded again. But then something struck her, and she nearly choked on the last bite of her sandwich. “Did you say Marshall?” she asked.

  Jacob bobbed his head up and down in response.

  “But isn’t that your last name?” Sylvia inquired next.

  “Indeed, it is,” Jacob answered.

  “So, this… this ranch was once yours?” Sylvia asked.

  Jacob handed Sylvia the other half of his sandwich, leaving none for himself, and Sylvia took it without much thought. She was too intrigued by the conversation to realize what was going on.

  “Not mine,” Jacob replied as Sylvia raised the second half of his sandwich to her mouth. “But, yes, it was my family’s… until my family fell into hard times.”

  Sylvia stopped chewing and bowed her head. She thought about how her father had gotten the ranch for a “steal” and felt guilty to be face to face with part of the family who he had stolen it from.

  “You see, my mother died about twenty years ago, when I was just 3 years old,” Jacob elaborated. “Shortly after that, my father took to drinking alcohol to cure his woes. Then he took up gambling and went on to accumulate great debt over the next several years. He got in way over his head and stood to lose all he had to his creditors… Then your father came along and offered to buy the ranch. He bought it for a fraction of what it was worth, but the sum was enough for my father to make good on what he owed.

  “I was fourteen when the sale took place. Up until that point, I’d lived in the main house and helped out around the ranch. But that all changed soon enough. When we sold the ranch, we were kicked out of the house, and my father, who was still hopelessly drinking, was going to move us into a shack on the outskirts of town. But the foreman on the ranch—who’d been my father’s foreman before he was yours—took pity on us and invited us to stay in the servants’ house. As part of the deal, I was hired as a stable boy, to earn our keep.

  “But then, about two years later, tragedy hit us yet again. My father’s years of drinking took a toll on him. The liquor destroyed his organs, and he died a premature death. Again, the foreman took pity on me and allowed me to stay on and work here, and over the past several years, I’ve worked my way from stable boy to ranch hand.

  “When the foreman retired just over a year ago, he recommended that I move up to take on his roll. But your father wouldn’t have it. He decided instead to send Roger out here to man his operation, and rather than hiring me as foreman, Roger hired another man, Thomas, whom he befriended at the tavern in town.”

  As bad as Sylvia had felt a moment earlier, she felt even guiltier now. Not only had Jacob arguably been robbed by her father, but he’d lost the position he deserved because of her soon-to-be husband.

  “How horrible,” she said, unable to think of anything more fitting to say. “I’m sure your predicament makes you quite… angry.”

  “Not really,” Jacob replied, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “I harbor no ill feelings toward your father, Roger, Thomas, or anyone else, about the ownership and management of the ranch. Though I must admit, I am quite concerned about some of the negative things that have happened here over the past year or so, and I’m committed to seeing those issues resolved.

  “I have ties to this ranch that are much different than any the other men may have, and that connection motivates me to do my job as diligently as possible and see that we succeed. I owe it to the land and to the animals… as well as to myself and my late parents, who put their blood, sweat, and tears into this place.”

  Sylvia’s guilt was replaced with more tender
emotions. She admired Jacob for all that he’d just said, and she felt empathy for his plight as far as his late parents were concerned. He grew up without a mother too, she told herself. And his father’s obsession with the drink sounds much like my father’s obsession with work, albeit to different ends.

  “You sure do seem motivated,” Sylvia responded, giving voice to some of her thoughts. “And you sure have been through a lot. I’m sorry about how you lost the ranch and the job of foreman, and the future you saw for yourself… And I’m sorry you lost your mother and father… Believe it or not, I can actually relate. I, too, have—”

  Sylvia felt a powerful connection to Jacob and was ready to open up to him and tell him about her mother’s death, her father’s preoccupation with business, her failed relationship with Travis, and whatever else he was willing to hear. But before she could, she was interrupted by the sound of her father’s voice calling her name.

  “Sylvia!” Mr. Wallace shouted from the front porch, eyeing his land. “Sylvia Wallace, come back to the main house immediately! We’ve got business to discuss.”

  Without even realizing it, Sylvia frowned. “I should get going now,” she said as she collected herself to stand. Jacob sprung up instantly and held out his hand to help her to her feet. As Sylvia placed her hand into his to accept his aid, she felt a warmth rush over her that went straight to her heart then to her head.

  “Thank you,” she said softly with a pink face.

  “You’re welcome,” Jacob smiled. He also felt warm from their touch, and his face glowed too. “And thank you for joining me for lunch.”

  “Oh, yes,” Sylvia giggled. “Thank you for sharing your food with me.” She bent over and picked up the apple he’d given to her earlier and went to hand it back to him. But he shook his head from side to side.

  “Take it with you,” he said kindly. “From what I know of Roger, he doesn’t keep much fruit in the house. He’s more into fancy, expensive foods like stinky cheeses and fish eggs.”

  “Fish eggs?” Sylvia asked with a laugh.

  “They’re called caviar,” Jacob clarified with a laugh of his own. “And they taste wretched, if you ask me.”

  “They smell wretched too,” Sylvia replied. “The cook brought some out just before I left the main house—and it was the smell of them, along with the cheese, that made me leave.”

  “Sylvia!” Mr. Wallace called out again. “Sylvia Marie Wallace, come ‘round to the house now!”

  Sylvia turned and glanced back at the house, then turned to look at Jacob once more. “I’ll see you later,” she said with a grin, “and we’ll… we’ll talk more then.” She shoved the apple into her pocket, turned, and ran back to the house.

  I sure hope so, Jacob thought to himself.

  SEVEN

  “The two of you will be married on Monday, in the town magistrate’s office,” Mr. Wallace explained with authority. “It’s the earliest he can accommodate you, and he’s giving up his lunch to do it, so it can occur with the utmost discretion.”

  Sylvia lowered her eyes and frowned. She dreamt about her wedding day a thousand or more times before. But never once did she envision getting married in front of a magistrate. It seemed so impersonal, so cold, so… like her father.

  And so like Roger.

  “This wedding should be anything but a big event,” Mr. Wallace went on. “It’s best we not draw any attention to you or your condition.”

  Since Sylvia had told her father that she was pregnant, he’d looked at it like a temporary disability or sickness. He hadn’t, at all, expressed any interest or excitement in the fact that he was about to become a grandfather. Why he hadn’t even so much as acknowledged it!

  “All right,” Sylvia said flatly. She calculated the numbers in her head. Today is Friday, she noted. Monday is three days away! That didn’t give her much time to get to know Roger, and she was pretty sure that what she would learn about him in that time wouldn’t please her.

  “Until you bare your baby, you and Roger are to go on as married, and you are to keep to the ranch as much as possible,” Mr. Wallace added. “The less you are seen, the more likely people are to believe you’ve been here longer, and to believe that your child was conceived in wedlock.”

  Sylvia was surprised at how thoroughly her father had thought things out. But she was more anxious and disappointed. Her baby wasn’t due for another five, maybe six, months. How on earth was she supposed to “keep to the ranch as much as possible” for that long?

  But no sooner than she started to worry, she felt a sense of relief. As she thought about the ranch, she thought about the ranch hand she’d bonded with earlier. I guess keeping to the ranch won’t be so bad with Jacob’s company, she reflected.

  “As far as me,” Mr. Wallace continued, “I’ll be staying on here until one week after your wedding, just long enough to work out some matters further establishing Roger in my business. I’d like to stay on longer—to get to the bottom of the recent rustlings—but I’ve got to go on to do some business in California. I have an outstanding meeting I must attend.”

  Sylvia wanted to shake her head. She should have known better than to expect any more from him, but she was still hurt that the reason her father didn’t want to leave Ruby so soon was business, not her or her baby.

  She wanted to shake her head. But of course she didn’t.

  A few seconds of silence passed before Sylvia looked up to find Mr. Wallace staring at her expectantly.

  “Do you understand everything I’ve just told you?” he asked as if he were speaking to a child rather than a twenty-one-year-old woman.

  “Yes,” Sylvia responded immediately.

  “Very good,” her father said with a crooked smile.

  “Very good indeed,” Roger echoed. Sylvia looked over at him, only to find him staring at her again.

  “I’ll leave the two of you to talk for a bit,” Mr. Wallace said. “I’m sure you have a great deal to discuss to reacquaint yourselves, and I want to rest for a bit before supper.”

  Roger reluctantly stopped eyeing Sylvia and nodded at his father-in-law-to-be. “Thank you, sir,” he said in a way that didn’t necessarily sound respectful or polite. Sylvia, however, said nothing. Of course, she had no reason to thank the old man, and she was too well mannered to voice what she truly felt.

  Mr. Wallace said a few more words to Roger—something about the business of the ranch—then left the room. The moment he walked out the door, Sylvia’s heart started to race. She was quite nervous to be alone with Roger. In the past he’d been a bit backward around her, but since her arrival in Ruby, he seemed to be moving forward at a rapid speed.

  Sylvia didn’t quite know what to say or do, so she looked around the room anxiously, trying to find something to distract her. Her eyes finally landed on a medium-sized painting she hadn’t noticed before. It hung on the far side of the wall, next to a shelving unit decorated with various silver serving platters, candlesticks, and the like.

  “Do you like that painting?” Roger asked in a tone that sounded off to Sylvia’s ears.

  “Yes,” she replied politely. “It’s quite lovely. Did you paint it?”

  “Heavens, no,” Roger laughed. “I’m a businessman. I can’t be bothered with such frivolous things as painting. But I do admire others’ paintings, especially ones of this esteem. It was done by a very famous artist.”

  “How nice,” Sylvia replied, again being polite, though she didn’t really think what he’d said was nice. He was being ostentatious and proud, and those things didn’t sit well with her.

  “I got it for a great price, you know,” Roger went on. “The piece was originally owned by a Southern Confederate who was arrested after the war. His house was ransacked when he was taken off to prison, and his valuables were sold off for much, much less than they were worth.”

  Sylvia felt sick to her stomach. But not from her pregnancy or any unsavory smells this time. It was Roger’s distasteful words that disturbe
d her. He sounded just like her father, always looking to get something at a great price or a deal, regardless of what rules—moral, legal, or otherwise—the acquisition broke.

  “I’ve got a few other paintings I acquired the same way,” Roger added, unable to sense Sylvia’s displeasure. “I can show them to you if you like… I’ve got two in my study and one in the room where I store my rifles. And the nicest of them all hangs in my bedroom—or rather, what will be our bedroom.”

  Sylvia cringed at the thought of sharing a room, or a bed, with Roger, and she didn’t like what his comment implied. But she didn’t want to let on to how she felt, so she forced herself to smile and shake her head lightly. “I’m sure I’ll see them in time,” she said. “There’s no need to rush off and see them now.”

  Roger let out a sigh of disappointment and walked over to the painting. “As my wife, you’ll have exposure to the finest things,” he said in an even tone. “From the food I put on the table and the art I hang on my walls, to the social functions I attend and the places I go, you will see only the best of the best in your life with me.

  “I’ll make sure you get imported clothes, and that your child does as well. And I’ll get him toys and tutors and whatever else privileged children are supposed to have.”

  Roger turned away from the painting and stared Sylvia dead in the face.

  “In other words, as my wife, you’ll get everything that you deserve,” he clarified. “And I expect the same. Your father is already taking care of me as far as business is concerned. But I’ll expect you to take care of the more personal things. I expect you to always look your best, to be obedient to me when others are around, and to be obedient to me when we are alone.

  “I’m no fool, and I know that you probably don’t love me now, and you might never love me at all. But by every other measure, I expect you to play the role of wife. You owe me that much for what I’m doing for you.”

  Sylvia was shocked by Roger’s brashness, and again, she didn’t quite know what to say or do. But this time, she didn’t search for any distractions, less they open the gates to another course of conversation she did not want to have.