Debra Holland (2 page)

* * *

Harriet stood quiet and watchful in the front yard of the church, allowing the rest of the congregation to swirl around her. The colorful cotton or silk dresses of the women matched the cheerful mood she sensed among the people. The flow of the crowd eddied and swelled, catching in little pools as women stopped to chat with each other, and the men gathered in small groups.

She enjoyed the feel of the warm sun, while she waited for some of the prominent women of Sweetwater Springs to detach from their conversations. She had a mission for the summer. Today was the day to implement it.

Harriet caught a glimpse of Nick and Elizabeth Sanders talking with the Carters. Her heart crimped, and she turned away. For her own serenity, she always avoided looking at the two of them together. Even after nine months of marriage, they still looked the picture of joy.

She lifted her chin. She’d come to terms with her feelings for Nick, walled them tightly away where they’d been fading. Surely soon, they’d evaporate like rain puddles in the summer sunshine. If only Nick hadn’t spent time at the school two weeks ago, helping rebuild the privy. Being around him had reawakened feelings that she’d strove to suppress all winter.

Overhead, a few puffy white clouds with gray underbellies moved in stately progress across the arching azure sky. Harriet reached up to adjust the straw bonnet shielding her face from the warm rays of the sun. Unlike last summer’s punishing drought, this year, the season had alternated between the sunny and rainy days necessary for the growing of crops and acres of grass and hay. The hand of the Almighty had lavished the land with abundance. Behind her, she could hear a cluster of men already making hopeful guesses about the autumn harvest.

Like darting minnows, children scampered through the crowd making for the large oak tree next to the schoolhouse whose branches would shelter their games. The children celebrated their freedom after months of studies. Harriet watched them, feeling satisfaction as she looked at each child and remembered how much he or she had learned this past school year.

Seeing them play made her remember her plan. She wanted to travel to each outlying house, cabin, or soddy to find any children currently not in school and persuade their parents to send them. But she suspected some of the families might need some financial assistance in order to do so. So she wanted to form a committee of the most well-off ladies of the community to help out. First she planned to talk to Pamela Carter, wife of the foremost rancher in the area. If Pamela agreed, the other women would follow.

Twin boys tumbled to a stop in front of her. “Howdy, Miss Stanton,” the first one said, quickly echoed by the second. Jack, she thought, although she couldn’t always tell; they looked so alike. But Jack was the outspoken one.

Harriet couldn’t resist the twins’ infectious grins, nor the way mischief brightened their gazes. She smoothed Jack’s unruly brown hair, already springing out of Sunday neatness, and tapped Tim on the shoulder of his blue shirt. “You boys have done fine with your studies this week. I’m proud of you both. You’ll be able to enjoy your summer off.”

Their newly adoptive mother, Samantha Rodriguez, came up just in time to hear Harriet’s remark. She dropped a casual arm around each boy’s shoulders. “Those words are joy to a mother’s ears.” She hugged them toward her, and then released them. “Run along and play for a while.”

“Yes, Mama,” Jack said, flashing another grin at the women before running off, Tim at his heels.
 

Samantha’s gaze followed the boys, pride banishing the drawn look she’d worn for the previous weeks.
 

Harriet took the moment to study the woman. Instead of the black widow’s garb Samantha had constantly worn since she’d arrived from Argentina, today she shimmered in bright blue silk that brought out the color of her eyes. A straw bonnet, threaded through with the same blue ribbons, perched on top of her auburn hair, shading her smooth, pale skin.

Harriet smiled at the beautiful widow. “I’m so relieved the twins were exonerated for setting those fires. You’ll never again have to worry about them being sent to an orphanage.”

“It’s all been an answer to my prayers.” Tears misted in Samantha’s eyes. “I can’t believe those are the same two sullen boys that came to live with me three months ago. It does my heart good to see them happy.”

Impulsively, Harriet grabbed Samantha’s hand. “The boys aren’t the only ones who are happy. You’re glowing.”

Samantha squeezed Harriet’s hand. “It’s the dress,” she quipped, the fine lines around her eyes crinkling with laughter. “I’m afraid now that we’re betrothed, Wyatt’s taken to spoiling me. No more black.” She cast a fond glance at her darkly handsome fiancé standing in the center of a group of men who were obviously soliciting his opinions about ranching or some such important male topic.

“After all you’ve been through—almost losing the twins, your ranch—you deserve to be happy.”

“Thank you, dear Miss Stanton. Let me say that I wish the same joy for you someday.”

Harriet couldn’t help the slide of her gaze toward Nick Sanders. As he and Elizabeth talked to the Carters, his hand rested protectively on the small of his wife’s back. Elizabeth touched her hand to her stomach, smiled and said something.

Pamela Carter let out a cry, then reached out and hugged first Elizabeth, then Nick. John Carter thumped Nick on the back, then kissed Elizabeth’s cheek.

Cold shivers turned Harriet’s body to ice and contracted her stomach into a painful knot. Dizziness waved across her vision and weakened her knees. She clenched her teeth, striving to maintain her composure, for, even without hearing the words, she knew:
Elizabeth Sanders was expecting.

Harriet tore her gaze away from Elizabeth and Nick. Her vision constricted, graying the arching blue sky and dulling the bright colors of the ladies’ dresses. Shock made her ribcage contract more tightly than the most restrictive corset. As she tried to banish the dizziness of her distress, the chatter of the church crowd stilled. Dimly, she could hear Samantha Rodriguez speaking to her.

Samantha touched Harriet’s arm. “Miss Stanton, are you all right? You look pale.”

Harriet hoped her mouth shaped a smile and not a grimace. “I’m fine,” she managed to stammer out. “It’s such a beautiful day, I’m contemplating taking a walk.” There, she’d gotten words out. She hoped she sounded normal.

Samantha smiled, her blue eyes warm with understanding. “A peaceful walk sounds lovely.”

Understanding? How can Samantha Rodriguez understand what she doesn’t know?

Out of the corner of her eye, Harriet could see Nick and Elizabeth approaching them. Pretending not to see, she said to Samantha, “Mrs. Cobb is waving me over. Good-bye, Mrs. Rodriguez.”

“Good-bye, Miss Stanton.”

Harriet hastened away from the Sanders, diving into the crowd. She wiggled through the congregation, nodding and attempting to smile at anyone who greeted her. The Cobbs stood with their backs to her, engrossed in their conversation with Doctor Cameron and his wife. She veered away from them, away from the rest of the people, and headed toward the schoolhouse. If anyone saw her, they’d think she had gone there to do some work.

Once she reached the steps of the white-framed building, she walked past, rounding the corner and heading toward the back. She passed the lilac bushes screening the new privy. The stink mixed with the smoky smell left over from the fire Ben Grayson had set to the old outhouse last week. She didn’t even glance at the tiny building. Just a few days ago, she’d watched Nick Sanders and Wyatt Thompson rebuild the privy and had secretly allowed herself to enjoy Nick’s company.

Shame seized her, quickening her pace. Her feet carried her over the familiar path trod into the dust by the children who lived in the mountains.

Harriet could no longer avoid facing her feelings. She longed for a married man, a happily married man. She’d promised herself at Nick’s wedding that she’d barricade away her love for him. And for months, she’d thought she’d succeeded. She’d even accepted the admiration of the local cowboys, although without encouraging their advances.

Harriet fingered the gold pin at her throat. Being around Nick last week had cracked her defenses, allowing her true feelings to seep back through her barriers and into her heart.

Today’s news had been dynamite thrust into the chinks in her walls, exploding them to bits. Now the rubble lay shattered around her heart, leaving her raw, exposed.

She passed a stand of pine trees that stood between the town and the wilderness. Knowing no one would see, Harriet hitched up her skirts, increasing the length of her stride. The heaviness in her chest forced her ever faster, uncaring of the branches that reached out to rake her straw bonnet and catch the material of her best Sunday dress. She ran a long way, feeling sobs building in waves, their intensity pressing against her throat.

The path forked. Harriet chose the left. A grassy glade beckoned, and she headed toward its shelter, ready to sink down and release her emotion.

Unseeing, she stumbled over a fallen branch, twisting as she fell. Pain shot up her ankle. The momentum carried her forward into the trunk of a tree.

Her head collided with the rough bark. Dark sparkles hazed her vision, and she collapsed into an unconscious heap at the base of the tree.

* * *

Harriet’s consciousness returned in layers. Blackness faded to purple, then to gray, which in turn lightened to awareness. She vaguely realized she lay on the ground, half on her back, half on her side. The scent of loam and pine needles clogged her nose.

Without opening her eyes, she groped toward the ache in her forehead. When she touched the lump, the pain spread. She moaned and opened her eyes. One ray of sunlight, escaping the sheltering boughs of a pine tree, stabbed into her right eye. She turned her face to avoid the piercing light, only to have the ache in her head increase from the movement.

She made a sound of disgust. She’d have bruises to explain to the Cobbs, not to mention the ruin of her bonnet and Sunday dress. She’d been so careful with her salary, saving for a house of her own. Now she’d have to spend some of her precious funds for a new outfit. Annoyance blended with the pain in her head.

She tried again to shift her head and winced, a fresh wave of dizziness speckling her vision, and making her nauseous. Wooziness deadened her limbs and weighed down her thoughts. Harriet let herself drift for a long time without moving, hoping when she next awoke, she’d be better able to face her circumstances. The air chilled. She wrapped her arms around herself, refusing to stir.

Cold drops of water splashed on her face and brought her into full consciousness. The sunshine had given way to angry, dark shadows.

Gingerly Harriet sat up, her body sore all over. Even with a storm starting, she couldn’t bring herself to move with any speed. She started to tuck her feet under her in order to rise; a spasm of pain racked her ankle. Gasping, she flopped her legs back down.

It can’t be that bad,
she told herself, trying to believe her own words. But still, she took the deepest breaths her corset would allow before she made the attempt again. Keeping her foot extended, she scooted closer to the tree. She braced both hands on the ground and lifted up her body. Using the trunk, she struggled to stand without putting weight on her foot. As she inched herself higher, the rough bark of the tree cut into her palm.

Once upright, she panted for air, trying to catch her breath. Her corset constrained her ribs. The lack of oxygen increased her dizziness, threatening to topple her to the ground.

Harriet slumped with her back against the tree, fighting to stay upright. Her head throbbed. Long moments passed before she nerved herself to take an experimental step.

The deluge increased, trickling through the pine branches. Her straw bonnet began to droop, and the gingham of her green dress quickly became saturated. A fresh rain scent sprang out of the grassy earth and trees. She shivered.

Her stays blocked another attempt to deeply inhale. A flash of frustration penetrated her growing fear.
When I return home, I’m burning this corset and never wearing one again.

But first she’d have to get home somehow.

Harriet stepped forward with care. Fiery pangs shot through her ankle. She cried out, falling back against the trunk, almost fainting from pain. Frantically, she looked around for a stick to use as a crutch. But the only branch close by was the one she’d tripped over, and it was short and stubby.

She knew some families lived not too far away, surviving on hunting and small garden plots. They were probably snug in their cabins, but maybe someone else had been caught in the rain and was within earshot.

“Help, help,” she called, the words little more than a croak. Harriet swallowed, trying to clear the helplessness clogging her throat.

She called again, louder. When no response came, she wanted to cry.

The wind whipped through the trees, scattering more drops across her body. One more time she called out. Only the sound of the storm answered.

Under another pine about twenty feet away, she could see some sticks. One of them looked as if it might be long enough. Harriet dropped to her knees and began to crawl, trying not to jar her ankle against the ground.

It seemed to take her hours to go inches. Every couple of yards, she collapsed, panting and dizzy, allowing the waves of pain to wash over her. Once she caught her breath, she forced herself onward. Fat raindrops pounded on her back, her skirt became sodden, seeming to develop a life of its own, tangling her legs. After a few feet, her skirt bunched up underneath her, trapping her in place. She rolled to her side and jerked the material above her knees, tucking the hem into the waistband. She inhaled a fortifying breath, trying to block out the pain, and then resumed her crawl.