Enchanted Heart (5 page)

He was busy with the next family at the pay line so she felt confident enough to stare, to wonder why she had sensed that this man could melt her heart when they had only touched for a brief moment, had only exchanged glances and courteous words. Instinctively, her fingertips found their way to her lips to caress the empty softness that craved a man’s attention. While she was preoccupied with that contemplation, the man turned toward her and cocked his head with a knowing smile. Marty sucked in a breath of embarrassment and gathered her skirts into a bundle and then turned to run home, to let the wind chase away that desperate feeling of longing and to close the door on her heart’s desire to be loved, to love and to embrace Love’s promise of true happiness.

She forced her mind to erase his smile, his confident saunter as he had pushed back the chair and had closed the distance between him and the corner of the building where she had hidden. She pushed aside the aching need to run back to him, to fall into his arms and allow that handsome stranger to take her breath away, for she knew in her heart that he was fully capable of doing just that. And she was keenly aware that she was vulnerable enough to let him.

Now that she was safely behind the door of her home, she felt herself regaining the sensibility that was her driving force, her perceptive and conscious understanding that life is not motivated by love alone and that there were always life-altering situations lurking around the corner that could either catapult one into fathomless happiness or thrust one into devastating depression. It was her basic strategy to balance herself somewhere in the middle of bliss and misery that gave her the incentive to take a deep cleansing breath and to eradicate any emotion, any hint of recollection of that day, that moment when she almost fell in love.

Chapter Five

Marty Ingram pulled back on the leather straps that controlled the two burly oxen that lumbered ahead of her wagon. They were ornery creatures to say the least and they fought against her with every step of their massive hooves and with every thrash of their gigantic horned heads. She cursed under her breath and asked herself why she had let Elsa talk her into moving to Fort Concho, a military post that had been erected to support and defend the settlers who lived nearby.

In her mind, she knew that it would be good to have a change of scenery, a new painting of a landscape that would bring happiness instead of the misery that she had lived with since her heartbreaking losses. And in her heart, she was certain that this was what Papa would want her to do, to take his wagon, to go on to the San Saba River where he had originally planned to build his homestead, to live his dream.

But somewhere, deep inside, she felt a tug of apprehension, for she recalled the last time that she had moved with her family and the tragedies that befell her because of that first move. Where that same wagon had carried Papa from the shores of Indianola to the end of his living journey where he would lie forever in the middle of the barren prairie, a perpetual figure on the cracked sandy soil that only time and the harsh Texas sun would erase. And then the loneliness and heartbreak of losing Elias and her tiny babies devastated her enough to cause her to crawl into a shell of protection in that expansive mansion throughout which her husband had left her to wander, lonely and depressed. But, the liberation that she had felt when she had walked out of that mansion and into her smaller home was only surpassed by the elation and excitement that overtook her when she stepped onto the boards of her wagon, Papa’s wagon, and turned her team toward her new horizon.

This time it would be different, she told herself. This time, they would survive the move, all of them, all of the four other families that undertook the journey with Marty, Greta, Elsa, her husband and her three children. And they would be settled in the new land, safe and sound. This time, happiness and not sorrow would follow her to her new home.

With that planted firmly in her mind, she slapped the strap against the lead bull and bellowed harshly at him. Her cross words told the two oxen that she was the one in charge and she would tell them when to walk and when to stop in their tracks and graze.

“Get up there you worthless bags of bones!” she yelled at them with a gruff growl, her auburn hair flying in all directions around her face, causing her to use one hand to curtail the twirling curls that slapped at her eyes, which riled her all the more.

When one of them stumbled on a rock, she whipped it onward, spurred by her anger at what life had dealt her and her determination to leave that life behind. She was so involved in scorning the actions of those hapless creatures that she failed to see the chestnut stallion turn into the lead bull and halt its forward progress.

“You stupid animal!” she yelled at the ox when it stopped and seemingly refused to move.

“I’ve never been called that,” a male voice penetrated into her angered mind, causing her to lean up in order to see over the giant head of the ox to find out who had said those words, for surely, her ox had not suddenly acquired the ability to speak.

Her mouth clamped shut when she saw the man lean over to catch the leather straps that stretched from her hands to the oxen into his large fist. Then, when he patted the bull reverently while still keeping the animal stopped in its tracks, more intense irritation rose in her and she popped the whip in the man’s direction and yelled, “Let go of my oxen!”

Aiden Kincaid McAllister narrowed his blue eyes at her before he let the straps fall with almost the same fiery ire that the woman on the wagon had displayed. He wheeled his mount around to face her, determined to make her realize that there was an easier, more humane way to treat those beasts of burden. The woman snapped the reins again and whistled to the pair of bulls, never looking at him, but keeping her eyes staring blatantly in front of her. As the wagon lurched forward and it came abreast of his horse, McAllister leapt from his saddle and into the seat of the wagon beside her.

“That’s no way to get them to do your bidding,” he said more calmly than he had felt a moment ago as he quickly snatched the leather straps from her grip.

Opposed to his invasion of her property and equally displeased by the man’s insinuation that she knew nothing about how to move the feet of those dumb, useless animals, she reluctantly scooted to the other side of the seat so that he could take over. Wiping her hands upon her apron and then folding her arms defiantly in front of her, Marty tipped her chin up in contempt before she growled, “I’ll do as I please with my animals.”

“Not if you’re going to abuse them,” the man said with a hint of harshness in his tone. Clucking softly to the bulls and tapping them ever so gently with the straps and when they lumbered onward, he smiled proudly as if he’d accomplished some unachievable feat and said in a sing-song voice, “See. All it takes is a little love.”

From the corners of her eyes, she saw the man tilt his face toward her with that arrogant grin but Marty puffed angrily through her pursed lips and then reached for the reins before she said, “Love never gave me anything.”

“It won’t give you anything if you don’t give it something in the first place,” he said with a wink and a tip of his hat, revealing swirling black curls that whipped around his handsome forehead. He handed the leather straps back to her as if offering a trophy of admiration to an unimpressed queen who snatched them back as if she deserved them.

“I’ll have you know I’m a very loving person!” Marty claimed, keeping her eyes forward at the two bulls that seemed to be going along at a decent pace since the stranger had intervened.

“Not from where I sit.” The man said, throwing her a sideways look.

“Well, who invited you to sit here in the first place?” she argued, slapping the reins again.

“I did, on behalf of those poor helpless creatures that you are taking your anger out on,” he said before he slipped from the seat of the wagon to the ground. Then he whistled for his horse to join him and when it did, he hurled his body onto the stallions back without using the stirrup.

“I’m not hurting them. Why, they have thick hides and thicker skulls,” she argued with a haughty shake of her slender shoulders.

“I guess you have something in common with your bulls,” the man said after he had mounted. Touching a fingertip to the brim of his hat, he whirled his horse around toward the back of the wagon and disappeared in the dust that he’d made.

“How dare you!” she leaned around the canvas cover of the wagon and yelled at his retreating figure. A flick of his wrist in the gesture of a confident wave was his only answer.

“How dare that man?” she growled at the air that took the place of the man who had taken over her wagon and had insulted her in such a barbaric manner. She raised the whip once more, but remembering his reprimand, she dropped it in her lap and clucked to the pair of bulls in front of her and said kindly, “Come on, now, boys. Be good to me and move along.”

As if her soft words had motivated them, they picked up their pace and before long, her wagon was almost overtaking the one in front of her. She furrowed her brows and glowered at the thought of the man who had, in one simple gesture, taught her how to be patient with those two worthless creatures.

While she sat watching the thick heads of the oxen bob in front of her, Marty’s eyes became heavy. She sniffed the air and a distinctive scent still lingered around the seat of the wagon, a mingling of leather, sweat and some other smell that she could not place her finger on. Moss was it? A grassy meadow? She shook her head to chase away the feeling that the man who had just left her had somehow entered her life before. Perhaps in a dream, she thought. Dreams have a way of making one think that they are real, even quickening the heart just at the moment that one awakens. Yes, it had been a dream, one of many, she added in her meandering thoughts before she mindlessly looked toward the lush horizon and searched for him.

The day dragged onward and so did her wagon. From that moment on, it seemed that the bulls were completely under her control, stopping when she asked them to and going when she clucked at them. There was no more need for the whip or for the popping of the reins on their backs. They lumbered and labored for her with a mere soft word from her.

And when night came, she unhitched them and led them to the river to drink, resisting the urge to pat them on their brainless heads. Her sister Greta prepared the evening meal while Seraphina, Greta’s seven-year-old daughter, skipped around the campfire with Elsa’s daughter and oldest son. Marty watched them playing and wished that she and Greta could have been that carefree on their journey to The Promised Land.

She sighed and pushed away the sadness of losing Papa on their walk from Indianola to New Braunfels and then wiped her hands on her skirt before she joined her sister at the fire. With a smile at Greta she said, “I’m glad you came with us.”

Greta sucked in a breath before she agreed with a nod of her head, “Me too. I think this is what we need. But I’ll miss Mama.”

“So will I,” Marty said, but pushed away that sadness too. “At least she has Sven to take care of her. They are happy together.”

“Yes, they are,” Greta agreed. “I am glad that they found love, especially after all that Mama went through.”

Marty’s mind quickly reverted back to her own losses and paralyzing sadness that overtook her, but she pushed it aside, declaring with as much determination as she could muster that no more grief would mar her life and she smiled at Greta’s words of affection for their mother.

Then Marty nodded in fond agreement but her eyes were not looking at her sister. Instead, she was watching the river that they had crossed earlier, the same raging river that had almost toppled one of the wagons with its swift current. She threw down the pan that she had started to put onto the fire and ran toward the roiling waves, her voice carrying across the prairie, “Seraphina!”

Greta’s face went white as her eyes followed her sister’s retreating figure into the growing darkness. Instantly, she was on her feet, running as if the wind was carrying her toward her daughter and the river that had swallowed up the little girl. She screamed helplessly at the water’s edge and leaned toward it with her arms outstretched, “Seraphina! Oh, my Seraphina! Somebody help!”

Marty had already sloshed into the water, her skirt swirling around her and her blouse pasting itself to her body with cold, damp endearment. She tossed her hands into the torrent, feeling desperately in the depths for her niece. Her heart pounded in her throat as she searched the rolling rocks, ducking her head in to reach deeper into the water and yelling desperately into the air when she arose again, “Seraphina! Seraphina where are you?”

Over the deafening current, she heard Seraphina crying, coughing and thrashing so she dove into the water toward her. Inching closer and closer toward the girl’s tiny hand, Marty stretched her fingers, leaning so far forward that the river thrust her into a whirling, disorienting tumble that swept her past her niece. Feeling the warmth of the girl’s body brush her arm, Marty shot her hand out in an attempt to grab her as she rushed by. But just as she reached for Seraphina’s hand, the little girl was tossed away from her and was carried downriver into the darkness. Exhausted and out of breath, Marty slumped in utter exhaustion and disheartening despair.

She was gone. Swept away from her grasp just when she had almost saved little Seraphina. Tears flowed down her cheeks, mingling with the splashes of ice-cold water from the river that threatened to take her along with it. At that moment, she didn’t care if it did, for she dreaded treading that river back to tell her sister that Seraphina was dead.

She put her hands to her face and cried. Slowly, she slipped into the water and let it overtake her. But, just as her head was entering the cold depths, a hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back up to a standing position. From somewhere far away, a voice came to her above the noise of the current, causing her to take heed of its advice to stay above the icy deluge and to live.