Sixty Acres and a Bride (26 page)

Weston didn’t expect to run into Rosa in the barn, but there she stood in her new town-bought clothes, messing with a plow. Her goldenrod dress had black piping that ran from her shoulders to her waist, just in case he didn’t notice her curves. Much too pretty to be fiddling around in a barn.

Her large sleeves swayed as she tried to drive the plow blade into the hard-packed earth of the barn floor. He didn’t like the looks of this.

“The kitchen smells delicious.” He approached warily, afraid she might bolt again. “Octavia says we have you to thank for that.”

Her black eyes followed every step he made toward her. “Thank you. I miss cooking. I hope Octavia doesn’t mind if I do it more.”

“It’s your kitchen, but you might have to prove yourself before she trusts you. What are you doing out here? Are you looking for something?” Wes double-checked one of the straps for wear.

“No. I’m planning the garden. I’d love to put some different herbs and peppers out. And the big garden—I think I could plow it. This isn’t that heavy.”

The look he gave her should’ve made the words unnecessary, but he said them anyway. “You’re not plowing like a field hand. Not on my property.”

“Weston, things have changed. Your note is paid. I don’t owe you anymore. We don’t have to be stuck in this sham—”

“It’s not a sham to me,” he gritted through clenched teeth.

“You’ve made yourself clear on that, and I’ll honor your wishes. If getting an annulment is against your principles, we can leave things like they are on paper, but our contract is over. I paid you back. We can’t call this a marriage, when neither of us had a choice.”

“But if this is where we find ourselves, shouldn’t we make the best of it?”

She winced before he realized what he’d said.

“Someday you’ll regret you settled. I’d like to negotiate a new contract now. You paid for sixty acres and a bride, and you got neither, so I’m giving you a refund.” She dug the plow blade further into the ground. “But what about your end? Remember that night we met? You asked me to only work on Garner land, so I’m coming to you first. Will you hire me, or do I need to find another employer?”

Was that a threat? He knew she wanted nothing to do with him, but surely she wouldn’t run to complete strangers. Why was she so desperate to get away? But if she wanted to talk business, he welcomed the familiar language. About time he had an advantage.

“You aren’t plowing. What else can you offer?”

Her eyes darted about. She looked worried. “I’ll do all the housework, mending, and help Octavia in the kitchen.”

He unbuttoned his pocket and found a peppermint while he pretended to consider her answer.

“Eliza will need help for the next month or so, but after that? I won’t dirty the house much if I live alone.”

She leaned hard against the plow. “I can work outside. You saw me shearing. And I’m strong. I’ll work anywhere. I’m even getting good on Smokey. Maybe you could teach me—” A wind gust caught her skirt, forcing her to release the plow to smooth it.

“Why would I hire a woman to do a man’s job? Think of something else. What did the women in Ciauhtlaz do?”

“They spent most of their time taking care of their children.” Her hand covered her mouth, but it was too late.

Children. Somehow in the flurry of their marriage, Weston had overlooked the possibility of a family. He’d only thought about protecting her and her reputation, but now as she moved further and further from his grasp, he realized that he might also be burying the chance of carrying on the Garner name. For all his protestations to God about maintaining bachelorhood, he’d never relinquished his dream of having children.

Rosa came to stand by him and watched a sparrow hop along the fence rail. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s all right.” He shoved his fists deep into his pockets.

“You want children?”

His advantage had vanished. He smiled at the carefree bird even though his heart was breaking. “Very much.”

“You’d make a wonderful father.”

He looked deeply into her eyes and was disappointed by what he saw there: compassion and concern, but a solid determination to remain distant, as well.

He shook his head to clear the thoughts whirling inside. “I give up. You want to renegotiate? Here are your choices: We can have a sterile, distant relationship. You’ve taken my name and are my wife, but we’ll live as strangers,
or
you can throw your lot in with mine.”

He stepped closer and bent, trying to get a glimpse of her downturned face. “Maybe together we can be brave, Rosa. We’ll let loose of the past and see where we land, but if we do, this talk of leaving must end. We can’t build trust while you have one foot out the door. Sure, I have more than you, and I intend to give you so much you won’t ever be able to buy your freedom. For better or worse. Can you live with that?”

All he could see was the smooth part in her black hair. She wouldn’t look up.

He stepped back. He’d asked her to give him a chance, and she’d refused. Time was up. Happened to men everywhere, every day. Only difference—he was already married to her.

“You’re sticking to your guns, huh? Fine.” He dusted his palms on each other. “I promised that I wouldn’t leave you, and I won’t send you away, but if you want a business relationship, then you’ve got it. Starting now, you’ll keep yourself busy. If I need you, I’ll let you know, but don’t expect me to treat you any differently than the fellows—worse even, because I can’t be accused of fraternizing with my female help. Forget that we’re married. I’ll never mention it again. You got what you wanted. You win.”

He felt like a child stomping off, but he did anyway, trudging through every puddle before him.

T
HE SPICY SCENTS
brought back memories of home. Spooning the dark sauce over the golden chicken, Rosa tried to replace her feelings of loss with feelings of attachment. She might not belong to the family, but she definitely belonged with them.

How she could’ve used one of those hugs Weston had a right to, but in his negotiations he never mentioned love. The shame of an annulment, the practicality of having a wife and children—good reasons to stay together, but not what she was looking for. She’d asked him for love once before, and the terror on his face humbled her. She couldn’t cross that line again. The pain of rejection would send her running, and she didn’t want to leave. She wanted to be here.

Rosa relished the weight of the ceramic tureen of chicken in her arms, a small gift to the people she’d grown so fond of. Octavia followed her into the dining room with the cloth-wrapped tortillas in one hand and a bowl of beans in the other.

“Yee-haw!” Jake said. “I couldn’t believe my nose when I walked in. Fiesta tonight.”

“It’s all Mrs. Garner’s doing.” Octavia filled their empty glasses with sweet tea.

“Not true. It was a two-woman job.” Rosa carried the tureen back to the table and found her seat. “And if you’ve never eaten this before, I’ll be glad to show you how it’s done. You’ll notice there’s no silverware on the table.”

“How quaint! It won’t matter anyway. I drip everything on my belly.” Eliza laughed.

Octavia stepped out as Jake prepared to return thanks, but Weston stopped him.

“Hold on a minute. Rosa, weren’t you going to eat in the kitchen?”

She kept the smile plastered on her face, even though there wasn’t a hint of humor in his eyes.

“Why would she do that?” Eliza asked.

“She wants to. That’s where Octavia eats.” Weston might as well have worn a mask.

All eyes turned her way. He wasn’t jesting. Her throat closed, rendering her unable to confirm or deny his story. Without a word, Rosa gathered her glass and plate in trembling hands and walked to the kitchen through their shocked silence.

The door swung closed behind her, muffling Eliza’s heated conversation with her brother. For a split second Rosa almost railed against him, too. Her embarrassment tempted her to lash out, but logic reigned. She’d asked for this. As much as it hurt, he was doing what he’d promised—what she’d requested.

“Why are you in here? Ain’t you eating?” Octavia mumbled around a mouthful of chicken.

“No, ma’am. I don’t feel like it.” Rosa slid her plate across the counter and tossed her tea in the slop bucket. “Have a good night.”

The sunlight lingered, but Rosa turned in for the night. She closed her bedroom door and dropped onto her bed. The stuffy room seemed warmer than usual. Octavia hadn’t been upstairs to open the windows for the evening. She probably did that after supper while they were in the parlor. What else did Octavia do that she didn’t know about? More importantly, who kept Octavia company when her work was done?

Rosa searched for her sewing basket. An employee should stay busy, but the basket wasn’t in her room. It was probably down in the parlor. Soon Eliza would have the poetry book before her and would be reading to an unappreciative audience. Jake would be on the settee with Eliza, and Weston would be in his chair. Would he kick his legs up on the empty footstool since she wasn’t there?

She picked at a pink hibiscus she’d sewn into her coverlet. Rosa loved the evenings when the men came home and the house was filled with their deep voices. The stories they’d shared, the jokes, the plans, all of it made her feel like she belonged. But she knew better. Weston had welcomed her, but she couldn’t live here as a guest. She needed some reason to justify her presence. Some reason that didn’t involve him personally.

Rosa rolled off the bed and pulled her flute from a drawer of stockings. The night promised nothing but sorrow and loneliness. She would learn to enjoy her own company. First she opened her window and then played the songs of a home that a young girl with a bright future once knew.

Try as she might the only songs she remembered were doleful melodies not played since the night of the thunderstorm. She sighed, refusing to give in to desperation. This wouldn’t be an easy transition, but she should count her blessings.

As far as laborers went, Rosa wouldn’t suffer. Many slaved from dawn to dusk and weren’t compensated fairly. Many endured overseers who were cruel and oppressive. Her employer, on the other hand . . .

She remembered another song, took a deep breath, and started the forlorn tune. Her employer was a good man—one who’d tried to correct her mistakes and pay for her errors, but she couldn’t rely on his charity. She didn’t deserve his help. How she longed to make it right, but an annulment was the only remedy she could fathom. Barring that, she had to resort to keeping as far away as possible.

The loud knock on her door startled her. She looked at her window. Darkness had fallen. They must have left the parlor by now. Smoothing her gown, she called out, “Yes? You may enter.”

But the door didn’t open.

“It’s Mr. Garner. Would you kindly desist with the flute? It’s late and you need to get up early to start breakfast.”

So unexpected was the request, it took her a moment to compose herself. “Yes, I-I will.”

“Thank you.”

“Good night,” she called, anxious for conversation, but there was none. Footsteps faded into his room, and then silence.

Rosa had no choice but to lie on her bed and watch the twinkling stars mock her.

“I don’t like it, Weston. It kept me up all night—that and indigestion.” Eliza lowered herself onto the settee with a groan.

Weston pushed the curtain aside to watch Rosa ride away from the house. First light and she was already out the door to begin her day’s work. “I don’t like it, either, but what choice do I have? She insists I treat her like a servant, or she’ll leave.”

“What if she left, Wes? You weren’t exactly planning on marriage this summer. Would it matter so much?”

Rosa’s small figure rode steadily as Smokey carried her farther and farther away. What if she never returned? Could he pretend she was just another cousin? Could he banish his hopes, or would they dog him continually?

“It would matter very much.” He dropped the curtain and turned to face his sister. “I’m scared, Eliza.”

“Of her leaving?”

“Leaving, staying—I don’t know which scares me the most.” He fell into his chair. “I want to give her everything, but I can’t promise her an easy relationship. I can’t promise her that she’ll be happy. I tried that with Cora and failed.”

“Guaranteed happiness? That’s her demand?”

“No, but with her history, I’m afraid to offer anything less. I can’t let her down. Mack only married her because Eli made him, and he let Rosa know how displeased he was over the arrangement. Rosa never forgave herself for complying.”

“Why should she feel guilty? Mack could’ve refused.”

“She doesn’t see that. Maybe he didn’t mean for Rosa to take it so hard. Maybe he would’ve adjusted and done right by her, but then he died, leaving her to wonder what she could’ve done differently.”

Eliza raised an eyebrow. “Sound familiar?”

“No one forced Cora to marry me.” But the words had scarcely left his mouth before he saw the parallel. Of course, no one had forced her. She’d chosen her course with less interference than Mack had. Yet once they were married, Weston felt completely responsible for her moods. Where had her accountability lain?

Cora had declined, mentally and physically. She’d lost the will to live. Had she chosen that path, or had she been dragged down it against her will?

“I can’t blame Cora. It wasn’t her fault.”

“Yet you blame yourself. You see so clearly the splinter in Rosa’s eye, but you’ve missed the beam in your own. Rosa can’t afford to offer her heart again—not before you’re ready to accept it.” Eliza pointed at him for emphasis. “If you want to suffer from guilt, let it be for not kissing her senseless and pledging your undying love. Never undervalue the persuasiveness of a grand gesture.”

“You and your sentimental twaddle.” But Eliza was right. His regrets had crowded him into fresh offenses—like carrying out the first half of her suggestion without offering the latter. Rosa had allowed, nay participated in, the kissing, but when she’d asked for love, he’d hedged. No wonder she didn’t trust him. “Unfortunately, she’s made up her mind. She’ll have to make the first move now. And you—you can’t get involved. She’ll leave if she feels pressured.”

“I wouldn’t pressure the poor thing. These things must be handled with a delicacy I don’t possess. I just wish you’d get it settled. You’re keeping me on tenterhooks, and I’m uncomfortable enough already.”

With what threat had Eliza’s compliance been secured? Rosa clicked to Smokey, hoping to hurry the patient animal along. It must have been an impressive warning, for Rosa had fully expected Eliza to protest her new position. Loudly. Of course other events competed for her attention. Moving the furniture to Mr. Bradford’s and Louise’s personal items to Adele’s, where she was staying until the wedding, kept them all busy. Any spare time was spent preparing for the baby. Whether they had a deal or not, Rosa would have worked like a hired hand this week anyway.

Smokey’s horseshoes clicked on the hard-packed road, never slowing down. Cleaning out the vacant house for Eliza’s eventual move had taken longer than she’d expected. Back at Palmetto, Louise’s unfinished tablecloth lay folded in her sewing basket, and the wedding shower was tomorrow.

She cringed at the man who appeared as she broke out of the trees. Definitely no time for the likes of him.

“Who do we have here? If it isn’t Mrs. Garner, Mrs. Weston Garner.” Tillerton’s voice was smooth and pleasant—just like a tasteless poison. “I’ve meant to congratulate you. You sure didn’t waste your time with the small fries, did you? Went straight for the big catch.”

Falling in beside her, he went on. “I’m not surprised that Mr. Garner was game for a romp in the hay. I’m sure you were tempting enough. What amazes me is that ring on your finger. Poor man.” He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “There was a witness, wasn’t there?”

“Nasty man, leave me alone.” With her heels she prodded Smokey to a trot, but Tillerton stayed at her side.

“Yes, you women flock after the uncultured Philistines. My whole life I’ve played second fiddle to the big, strapping illiterates who don’t know the difference between Darwin and Dickens. Then I discovered that the ladies prefer rough handling. You treat them badly, and they come back for more. Sometimes they even—what was the rumor?—hunt you down and crawl into bed with you.”

But Rosa wouldn’t flee. She had the protection she needed at hand. She had to take care of herself. Weston wouldn’t follow her around anymore.

She glared at him. “You know, at the church you sold me a bill of goods. I didn’t know any better then, but I think you lied to me. No other man acts as crudely as you. No one else has insulted me. Makes me think the rest of the story was hogwash, as well.”

He bowed with his hand on his chest, leaning forward in the saddle.

“Mrs. Garner, I underestimated you in many ways, but in particular, your intelligence. To my shame, I’ll admit I was only having a bit of fun with a young single lady. Just teasing you. Let me assure you, as a married woman, you have nothing to fear from me.”

That was more like it. Rosa didn’t trust him any further than she could spit, but if he could keep from leering at her, maybe she wouldn’t have to shoot him.

“Thank you.” She tried to think of something civil to say. She’d spent a lot of time composing insults, but those wouldn’t work now. What would Louise say? “I haven’t seen your wife about. Is she well?”

“Yes, but she remains reclusive. If only I could entice her to enter society. She might step outside occasionally, but in general she doesn’t even want to leave the house.”

“Really? I saw her out just last week at the creek bed. She didn’t stay long, but—”

“You’ve spoken to Anne?” Tillerton’s jaw clenched. “That’s odd. She didn’t mention it. Makes me wonder what else she’s hiding from me.”