Authors: Joyce Wright
Chapter Three
Jack left Etta in the hands of Lizzie and the girls that night, knowing that he could count on them to take care of her. He returned to the ranch feeling as if his head contained too many thoughts for his heart to contain. That night, in the cabin that he’d fixed up, he sat at the rough-hewn table that he’d built, lighted the lamp against the early darkness, and considered his future.
Lizzie was a dab hand at planning. What Etta needed, she said, was a proper wedding. On the Drink Deep. In fact, at the Drink Deep, since Los Lobos was served by an itinerant preacher who wouldn’t be in town until Sunday and Lizzie didn’t think it wise to wait. One of the saloon regulars was a Congregationalist minister who’d left Connecticut to try his luck with Nevada silver, but the mines had failed and he had ended up in Los Lobos, doing odd jobs and drinking. Lizzie threatened to shut him off from the bar if he wasn’t sober the next day so that he could marry the couple. The promise of free-flowing whiskey after the wedding was sufficient enticement and the Reverend Addison Montgomery nursed his beer through the evening, obviously of the opinion that sober was a relative term. Eldora decided that she would stand up for Etta, and Big Jim vowed that if he couldn’t be best man, he wasn’t going to the wedding.
Jack had much to think about and he was of no use in planning for the wedding, so his departure was not much commented on by the women; If Miss Etta thought anything of it, she gave nothing away. His bride-to-be was not what he had bargained for, but it didn’t sound as if she’d gotten out of life what she’d expected either. It was possible that she was lying and that she was marrying him to avoid a predicament of her own making, but she didn’t look the lying type and Lizzie could spot a liar on sight. She still hadn’t told him what had happened and he’d given up asking. When she was ready, she would tell him. Texas was big enough to hold secrets that couldn’t be shared and she didn’t look to be a loose woman who would bedevil their marriage with wanton behavior. She didn’t look wanton at all, to tell the truth; she barely looked old enough to put her hair up.
He smiled, despite himself, and shook his head. She said she was twenty three. And in eleven months, she would be. Here he was, thirty, about to be married and become father to another man’s child. There would be talk, when her time came, and no telling what folks would think. In the bunkhouse, the hands would speculate but no one would slander a woman, especially the wife of the trail boss. If she were due to deliver in the summer, he’d have to make sure that Lizzie was apprised of it; he’d be gone on the cattle drive, like as not.
If there were any cattle left to drive to Abilene. He was tired of seeing dead cattle frozen stiff, their bodies stuck to the hard ground. He wasn’t sentimental but it was troubling to see the herd suffering from the cold and snow. Big Jim was expecting losses, and he had deep pockets, but there was no question that this winter was hitting the ranchers hard. And with last year’s low prices for beef, ranchers had already seen a drop in profits.
Jack lived simply and had amassed a good amount of savings over the years. He hoped to buy his own spread one day, at least by the time he was thirty-five. Now in a year when he’d decided to take on the responsibilities of marriage—and a family—he realized that his goal might not happen in the time frame that he’d set. But as he’d said to Etta, all they could do was their best. Texas was home, but if he went broke in Texas, they’d move elsewhere. He’d done his share of traveling as a young man and thought to have it behind him.
Jack doused the lamp. Winters didn’t last. Maybe the spring would be better.
She was a somber little thing, Jack noticed, but she’d smiled at the wedding, a smile that pulled at his heartstrings, when he spoke his vows in a strong, confident voice. The Rev. Montgomery had heeded Lizzie’s warning and the service was as meaningful as if it had taken place in a cathedral. Eldora tossed her bouquet to Clara, a fellow member of the sorority of pleasure ladies and they all shrieked with laughter at the idea of a wedding in the offing for one of the Drink Deep girls. Big Jim introduced himself to Etta, folding her tiny hands in his giant palms and promising her that if Jack gave her any trouble, she had only to tell him and Big Jim would set him straight.
That little gal had looked Big Jim straight in the eye and said, “Mr. Carruthers is a man of honor and I will strive to be a wife worthy of him.” Even Lizzie brushed away a tear at that declaration. Jack felt a lump in his throat and as he lifted her into the wagon and wrapped a blanket around her to keep her warm on the cold January night, he wondered what had happened to a girl who plainly had no vice in her.
The winds were swirling madly with the promise of more snow, and the horses kept a slow pace, the wind smarting their eyes. Jack and Etta, bent over in the wagon as the snow began to fall, didn’t bother to talk when there was no likelihood that either would be heard. Jack was relieved when they reached the cabin. Although it wasn’t yet evening, the skies were already dark.
He carried her into the cabin, lifting her in his arms as if she were weightless and bringing her inside, then going back out to return with her trunk. She didn’t have much.
Etta Carruthers looked round the cabin with those enormous dark eyes as if she were beholding a castle.
“I’ll get a fire going. You’d best get out of those wet clothes and into dry; that snow has soaked us both.”
He said nothing as he led her to the bedroom. There was only the one bed, of course. He’d made the room as comfortable as a man could hope to do; he’d bought bright red woolen blankets from the general store and he’d hired Eugenie, one of Lizzie’s girls, to make curtains out of cheerful yellow fabric. Rugs by the side of the bed would give some protection from the cold for bare feet in the morning. There were hooks on the wall for their clothing. He’d indulged in a full-length mirror that stood against the wall; he had thought it would be something that a lady would require. It was probably not what she was used to back in Oklahoma, but Jack had shored up the drafts and there was a fireplace in all three rooms. He’d even added a privy to the cabin, building it against the far wall so that no one needed to go outside for calls of nature.
“I’ll make a pot of coffee and get you warmed up.”
But Etta had taken off her winter cloak and hung it on a hook to dry. “I can make coffee,” she said. “You should change your clothes first. You’re far wetter than I am.”
“Miss Etta, you need to get out of those things. You have to think of that baby.”
Her eyes filled with tears. Hastily, Jack brought out his handkerchief and dried them. “Miss Etta, just get into something warm while I build up the fire and make us coffee.”
When she came into the kitchen, she was wearing a simple dark brown skirt and a linen blouse. Her damp hair hung loose upon her shoulders. She approached the fire where Jack had the coffee brewing, and held her hands out to the warmth. “I can make us something to eat,” she offered, “if you’re hungry.”
“Lizzie wouldn’t let us leave until we’d emptied two plates,” he said. “She sent us home with food for tomorrow. I’ll go change and the coffee should be ready by the time I’m back.”
Chapter Four
Back in the bedroom, he doffed his wet clothes and long underwear, putting on his second pair, along with dry trousers and a shirt, clean socks and his boots. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror and he stopped to consider his image, wondering what Etta thought of him.
He figured that he looked pretty much like any other cowboy. Long and lean, no prince, that was for sure, with muscles that came from hard work and broad shoulders that were used to burdens. He came from a long line of ginger-headed Carruthers and his hair looked like he’d started to rust from the top, he thought. He had blue eyes that stared back at the world without anything to regret; he’d done his deeds and made his mistakes but he figured that God would consider the circumstances. He needed a shave, although he was pleased to note that his auburn mustache, his one vanity, gave him a look of resolve. He was as he was; men didn’t move to Texas because they were sought as husbands by Eastern belles.
When he returned to the kitchen, Etta was mixing up something in a bowl. “I thought you might like biscuits,” she said. “You have a well-supplied kitchen, Mr. Carruthers. There’s plenty of food here.”
“We did a lot of butchering this fall and there’s plenty of salted and smoked meat to get us through the winter. There won’t be any trouble keeping the butter and eggs fresh, not with the temperatures this cold, as long as the chickens lay. The storehouse is mighty cold; you should have sent me out there to fetch what you needed.”
“I was curious,” she admitted, showing the smile that flitted across her face so quickly that he thought he must be imagining it.
He smiled back. He didn’t realize that his face, which was normally stern in appearance, eased when he smiled and softened the severity of his features. Etta noticed that he had high cheekbones and when he smiled, they soared with amusement high upon his face. His blue eyes, which had seemed to be unfathomable when she first met him, now showed a kindness that she had not expected. His mustache was magnificent, thick and full over his upper lip, and curving down like a stage curtain around his mouth. He was quite tall, so tall that she had to tilt her head to look up at him; when he’d lifted her and carried her into the cabin, she had realized his strength and she thought that it would be a comfort, if her circumstances had been otherwise, to be in love with such a man, to rest her head against his broad chest and know that here was someone who would never lay a hand to her or use his physical advantage against her.
But thoughts of love were not for women such as she and it was of no consequence that what had happened had not been of her will. A sin was a sin and she owed this man who had married her, knowing what he knew, her utter loyalty and service. He would not regret his decision to marry her, even if she was a fallen woman.
She baked the biscuits in the Dutch oven and poured him a second cup of coffee before he realized that his cup was empty. When he thanked her, she showed surprise.
“Don’t you think Texas men have manners?” he teased.
“No, I mean—I didn’t know.”
“Sounds like you’re not used to being thanked,” he said.
Those dark eyes filled with tears. “I am not used to kindness, Mr. Carruthers.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
“Someday. Not on my wedding day.”
The wind continued to moan like outside the walls of the cabin like it was in mourning. He could see the snow piling up beyond the windows as drifts, misshapen and bulging, took form upon the landscape. He wondered how many more cattle would be gone by morning.
“Fair enough,” he said.
The biscuits were good; he had two of them, smeared with marmalade that he’d bought from the general store. Etta said that she would make her own preserves in the summer if that would be all right.
“Fine by me, but you might be a tad busy come summer,” he pointed out. “When is this baby due?”
Etta looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “Must we talk about it today?” she begged.
“Not, not if it troubles you, but eventually we will have to.”
“But not today.”
“No.”
Etta shivered. “That wind sounds like it’s coming out of a desolate place,” she said.
“We’ve never had a winter like this in Texas, not to my recollection, and I’ve been here nigh on eight years.”
“It’s bad in Oklahoma, too. I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to leave for the weather.”
He had a feeling that there was more to be said, but he let it rest. “Do you like to sing?” he asked.
Her face lighted. “I dearly love singing. Why?”
“I play guitar, and it seems that it might be a good way to drown out that wind if you’ll join me in a few tunes.”
The smile lingered longer than a few seconds this time. “I would like that very much.”
He banked the fire in the kitchen and built up the one in the parlor, sitting on the bench that he’d made and letting her have the rocking chair that he’d bought from settlers heading west. He strummed the beginning notes of
Oh, Susanna
on the guitar and Etta quickly joined in. He’d taught himself to play to pass the time on the trail and soothe the cattle, but he’d never played for someone with a voice as pure as Etta’s. It was as if her voice were an instrument of its own.
It was fully dark and the snow had stopped by the time Jack recalled the time. He put his guitar down. “Another night,” he said. “It’s well past bedtime.”
She was silent. “Miss Etta,” he said quietly. “Although we’re married, I’m not going to be a husband to you in that way until you’re comfortable in your own mind.” He didn’t add that the thought of trespassing upon her body when another man had already done so went against his grain.
The cabin was dimly lit and he could not read her expression. There was only the one bedroom and the one bed; it would be shared but it would not be a marriage bed. It was the best that they could do.
They undressed in darkness, neither inclined to linger because of the cold. Jack took extra blankets from the chest and layered them upon the bed. January was not starting out well, he reflected, aware of the woman beside him, not sleeping either, as silent as he was, and both of them as silent as the snow that had fallen outside. What would become of them, Jack wondered, during these long months of waiting for another man’s offspring to be born? How long could he rein himself in when his wife was sleeping beside him? He must have been loco to have listened to Lizzie and allow himself to feel sorry for a girl who, however unfortunate her situation, was not the wife he had expected.
Jack rolled over on his side, facing away from Etta and the temptation that would only cause them both suffering because it could not be satisfied.