As the wagon pulled past Lucky Luke’s and the tinkle of piano keys spilled from the saloon, she felt a sting in her chest, a sudden longing for her mother. It still hurt, five years after she’d written her mother a letter filled with hateful words. She’d tried to apologize, of course. She’d written a number of letters after that one, asking for her mother’s forgiveness. But Madeline Crane had returned Julia’s letters unopened, and finally Julia had ceased to write. She supposed she couldn’t blame her mother. If only —
If only … if only … if only … Thinking those horrid little words changed nothing. She couldn’t undo the past. She couldn’t go back and refuse to marry Angus and stay in Grand Coeur. She couldn’t bring her babies back from heaven. She couldn’t —
She pushed away the memories as the wagon arrived at the mercantile. “We’ll pick up supplies here first, then go to the feed store,” she said to Hugh, wrapping the reins around the brake handle.
“All right.” He hopped to the ground.
She did the same from her side of the wagon. “Bandit, you wait here.” The spaniel lay down, head on paws, giving her a doleful look, and Julia reached over the side of the bed to give him a pat on the head. “I know, but I won’t be long.”
Hugh observed her and Bandit from the boardwalk, the hint of a smile once more in the corners of his mouth. Something pleasurable curled in her belly. An unexpected sensation. One she didn’t welcome.
Flipping strands of hair behind her shoulder with one hand, she moved toward him, studiously avoiding his gaze. “Come along, Mr. Brennan.” She stepped onto the boardwalk and lowered her voice. “I reckon it would be better not to use our given names when we’re in town.”
He gave a brief nod as she walked by him.
The mercantile was a large, rectangular room filled with merchandise on shelves and tables. As always, it seemed to Julia that almost any possible thing a person might want could be found in this store, and what things couldn’t be found could be ordered. Not that her needs were great. A good thing since neither were her funds great. She walked to the counter where Nancy Humphrey, the proprietress, stood.
“Mrs. Grace,” the woman said, a genuine smile brightening her face. “How good to see you. It’s been a long spell since you were last in town.”
“Yes, it has.”
“Everything all right at your place?”
Julia nodded.
Nancy’s gaze shifted beyond Julia’s right shoulder.
She didn’t have to look to know that Hugh stood not far behind her. “Mrs. Humphrey, this is my hired hand, Mr. Brennan.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brennan.” Nancy nodded in his direction.
Julia pulled the slip of paper from the pocket of her skirt. On it she’d listed the items she most needed to see her through the next month or so. Flour. Salt. Sugar. Coffee. Cornmeal. Vinegar. Oatmeal. Tea. Dried beans. And plenty more. The list was as long as the larder at Sage-hen was close to bare.
“I trust I can put some of this on my account, like I did last year. I’ll be selling off some of my herd in a few weeks and can pay the rest of the bill then.”
“Of course it’s all right. Your husband never failed to pay his bills. Not even in lean years. Mr. Humphrey and I know you’ll do the same.”
Julia felt herself wince and hoped Nancy didn’t notice. But she hated being tied to Angus even after his death. So what if her husband had paid his bills on time and in full? It had nothing to do with her. She was her own woman now. She belonged to no one. She would rise or fall by her own decisions, and God willing, she would make the right ones.
Was Julia as upset as Hugh perceived her to be? He couldn’t see her face, her back still to him, and yet there was something about the set of her shoulders that said she was distressed or angry or something.
None of my concern
. He needed to remember that. He needed to remember that this was a temporary job for a woman who was nothing more to him than his employer. He was lucky to have the
work. Time he settled for being content with that. Time to nip this … wanting … in the bud.
He turned and moved down one of the narrow aisles. Without money in his pocket, he wouldn’t be buying. And Mrs. Humphrey wasn’t likely to extend an unknown ranch hand credit the way she’d extended it to Julia. But it didn’t hurt to look around. When he arrived at a display of poles, rods, lines, and other fishing equipment, he stopped.
A memory from long ago returned. A pleasant memory of him and his dad, fishing together. He could hear their laughter mingling on a soft spring breeze. How old would he have been? Maybe fifteen. Sixteen at the oldest. They’d gone to the river early in the morning when the air was cool and fresh. Not only had his dad been sober, but he’d been in one of his rare good moods as well. On that morning, in that moment, Hugh had been glad his dad found him with that family in Nebraska and brought him back to Chicago. He hadn’t been glad very often. Only a few years later —
He closed off the thought as he continued down the aisle. There were some things best not remembered. But the memories continued to press in. To escape them, he went outside and stood on the boardwalk, letting his gaze roam over the main street.
Pine Creek wasn’t a big place, but it appeared to have all of the necessary businesses to make a town civilized. Not that he was likely to see much of it, it being so far north of the Grace ranch. And once his work for the widow was done, he would leave the area. He’d forget Pine Creek the way he’d forgotten plenty of other small towns between Chicago and this spot on the western edge of Wyoming.
Across the street and down a bit, a man stumbled out of the door of the saloon they’d passed on their way into town. Seeing the drunkard, Hugh was assailed with more memories. Some of the
unpleasant ones he tried to avoid. How many times in his young life had he gone looking for his father, usually finding him drunk in a similar establishment? How many times had his father leaned down on Hugh’s boyish shoulders and the pair of them stumbled along the streets and back alleys toward whatever place they were able to call home at the time? Even years later, the stench of alcohol, sweat, and vomit seemed to fill his nostrils.
“Mr. Brennan? … Hugh?”
Jerked to the present, he turned to find Julia in the doorway of the mercantile, watching him with a puzzled expression.
“Mind helping me load the supplies into the wagon?”
“Sure thing.” He would be glad for something to do. Anything to turn his thoughts in a better direction.
A wounded soul could recognize another wounded soul. That was something Julia had learned over the years. She’d seen something in Hugh’s eyes a split second before he was able to hide it from her. A look that said he’d known deep betrayal, intense cruelty, or unmentionable sorrow. Perhaps all three. Like Julia.
Suddenly, Hugh was more than a stranger she’d hired to help drive the cattle to market. And perhaps he was also more than she wanted him — or anyone — to be. Because if she could see into him, then he might be able to see into her as well. That would never do.
The two of them loaded the supplies into the wagon in silence, studiously avoiding eye contact. They continued in a similar manner at the feed store, and it wasn’t long before the team of horses was pulling the wagon south, Pine Creek growing smaller and smaller behind them.
They might have made it all the way to Sage-hen without exchanging a word if they hadn’t met up with Reverend Thomas
Peabody, pastor of the Pine Creek Presbyterian Church. Although Julia had seldom attended religious services in town, she liked and respected Reverend Peabody and was glad when he came calling, rare though those visits were.
“Julia Grace,” the reverend said, his entire face seeming to crinkle with his smile, “how good to see you.”
“And you, Reverend Peabody.”
“It’s been too long.” His kindly gaze shifted to Hugh.
Julia said, “This is Hugh Brennan. He’s working for me at the ranch.”
“Mr. Brennan. A pleasure.”
“Likewise, sir.” Hugh bent the brim of his hat as he spoke his greeting.
Turning to Julia again, Reverend Peabody said, “I hope you didn’t find the winter too difficult. I heard from Rose Collins that you’ve had no help on the ranch since last fall. Glad to see that’s no longer true. You’re well, I trust.”
“Yes, I’m well. Thanks.”
In the past she’d wondered if this godly man had guessed what sort of husband Angus was. A couple of times, she’d nearly told him, nearly begged him to help her escape. But where would she have gone if she’d left Angus? How would she have made her way? She wasn’t schooled beyond the ability to read and write. She had no special skills that would make her desirable as a teacher or a cook or seamstress, no breeding that would make her a suitable companion or governess. What if the only work she could find was in a saloon, entertaining men, like her mother before her? The last question caused her heart to squeeze.
“It was a mild winter,” she said. “The cattle weathered it well. They should bring a good price.”
Oh, please, God. Let it be so. Let them bring a good price
.
“I assume Mr. Prescott still wants to buy you out.”
“That he does, but I have no intention of selling.”
“Glad to hear it. Your friends would miss you.”
Her chest warmed. “Thank you, Reverend.”
“Once again, a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brennan. I hope I’ll have the opportunity to see you again soon.”
Hugh nodded.
Reverend Peabody and Julia slapped their reins at the same moment, and the wagon and the buggy moved away in opposite directions.
“Common knowledge, I guess,” Hugh said.
“Pardon?”
“About your brother-in-law wanting to buy your place.”
“Yes.” She glanced at him.
“Is he offering a fair price?”
She thought on that a moment before answering, “Some would say so.”
“Maybe you’d be better off selling. You might find life easier elsewhere.”
“And go where?” Did his question anger her or frighten her? She wasn’t sure, but her tone of voice indicated the former.
“Anywhere you wanted. Another town. Another city. Another country.”
“This is my home. I have no intention of leaving just because my life might be easier elsewhere.”
I’m safe here. No one can hurt me here
.
“Sorry, Julia. Didn’t mean to offend.”
She drew a long, deep breath. She shouldn’t be so thin-skinned. It was one of her worst flaws. How could this man, this stranger, hope to understand what tied her to Sage-hen?
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Hugh added softly.
“No.” She shook her head. “It’s all right. You have no way of knowing how I feel or why I feel it.” She sighed. “I’m not going to sell to Charlie or anyone else. I’m staying right where I am.”
He turned his eyes away from her, staring off toward the mountains. “Guess you’re lucky then.”
“Lucky?”
“Knowing what you want. Some folks live their whole lives without ever finding what they want or where they belong. Some die still trying to figure it out. You’re lucky ‘cause you already know.”
“Are you still looking?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. Perhaps he hadn’t heard or perhaps he ignored her. She couldn’t be sure which.
With the baby in her arms, Rose stepped onto the porch and drew a deep breath. The air was rich with the smell of fresh-turned earth. In the distance, she saw her husband as he followed the team of horses, the sharp blade of the plow carving another row in the field. Peter must have spied her at the same time, for he raised an arm and waved.
There was something wonderful about being married to a man for so long that the two of them thought alike, could finish the other’s sentences, knew when they were looking at each other at a distance.
“Ma?” A small hand tugged at her skirt. “I can’t read this word.”
Rose looked down at the book Gomer held. “Did you ask Abigail to help you?”
The six-year-old shook her head. “She’s busy helpin’ Faith, and Bathshua’s out back, and Charity says I’m not to bother her when she’s writin’.”
“All right. You take your book back to the table and read the words you can. I’ll be in shortly.”
After her daughter obeyed, Rose turned toward the field again. Peter had started down another row, his hands grasping the handles of the plow, the leather reins draped over the back of his neck.
Mercy, how she loved that man. How blessed she felt to be his wife and the mother of his children. Of course, when they married, neither of them had envisioned they would be parents to ten daughters. A large family, yes. But all girls? It would have helped if the Lord had seen fit to give them a few sons to work alongside their father. Not that the girls didn’t help. They did. But it wasn’t quite the same thing.
Shame gave her conscience a quick sting. Shame for complaining, even in a small way. Shame when the Collins’ quiver was full to overflowing, while her dear friend’s was so empty.
She remembered the first time she’d laid eyes on Julia Grace. Married less than a month. Pretty and delicate. And sporting a black eye that scoundrel of a husband had given her the day before. Not that Julia had said, “Angus hit me.” It would be years later before Julia was that honest with Rose. Perhaps because she took the blame for his cruelty upon herself. Perhaps because she feared what would happen if Angus learned of it.
Rose had been taught by her own ma not to think ill of the dead, but it was difficult to come up with anything good to think or say about Angus Grace apart from his handsome face and the way he’d managed his ranch. It seemed to Rose that Julia deserved some peace and rest after all those years with such a brute, but she feared Charlie Prescott wasn’t going to give it to her. Land hungry, he was, and plenty persistent.
“Ma!” Gomer called, reminding Rose of her promise.
“Coming, Gomer. I’m coming.”
Hugh leaned against the fence and watched his gelding graze in the shin-high grass. After a week of rest and numerous rubbings of liniment, no sign of the horse’s injury remained. Whenever Hugh was ready to leave Sage-hen, his mount would be ready to carry him.