Authors: Lisa Andersen
“John Townsend,” he addressed the man before them, immediately recognizing the husband of his former lover.
John nodded.
“Yes sir, it’s me,” he acknowledged, adding as he balled his fists at his side, “And you are the man who
dang
near ruined my marriage.” He paused here, adding as he opened his sleek tan coat to reveal what appeared to be a shiny pearl handled a
revolver
, “And if you would care to step outside with me, I’d quite like to settle this matter once and for all.”
Gasping outright, Lorelei touched Jacob’s shoulder with a warm protective hand, shaking her head as she told a furious John, “Mr. Townsend, violence is never the answer to anything—especially not in a church social hall.” She paused, adding as she braced her hands on her hips, “Have you never heard of turnin’ the other cheek and all that good stuff?”
Jacob shook his head.
“The man has the right to want me dead,” he told Lorelei, all the while never tearing his gaze from the face of his onetime rival. “And frankly, John, you have every right to hate the man who trespassed on your marriage. Just please know, Mr. Townsend, that the man who betrayed you is not the same gentleman who stands before you today.”
John snorted.
“So I take it, then, that you have an evil twin?” he deadpanned.
Jacob smiled, but only briefly.
“No,” he acknowledged, adding with a heated sigh, “I do feel, however, that I was overcome by
a certain
type of evil—a force that drove me to fill the empty, lonely place that lingered deep inside me after the death of my parents. I went to any and all lengths to fill that void, to numb the pain that threatened to kill my heart.” He paused, adding as he averted his eyes to the floor beneath them,
“I sure enough
did choose the wrong way to go about it, though. And if you feel that the taking of my life is sufficient punishment for the pain and dishonor that I have brought upon the heads of you and your wife, then so be it. I will not draw my gun against you, or try to escape my fate.”
With
this
, he once again lifted his gaze to look his rival straight in the eyes.
“If it would make you feel better, if it would mend your marriage, to take the life of the man who tarnished it, then please do so,” he advised John, adding with a sharp nod in the direction of the stunned, wide-eyed Lorelei, “just please, please do not harm the beautiful angel who has offered me love and salvation by way of her beneficent touch.”
In a reflexive
action
, a
stone-faced
John laid a firm grip on the glistening tip of his
imposing
pearl handled a
revolver
.
Then in a heartbeat, he released the gun, gripping instead the hand of his rival,
who
he engaged in a warm handshake.
“I suppose it would not benefit Lillibet to have a husband in jail,” he reasoned, adding with a nod toward Lorelei, “it also would not
benefit
this lovely lady to have a husband in the grave.”
Releasing his rival’s hand with an abiding smile, Jacob next took the hand of the woman beside him, turning to her with love in his eyes as he clarified, “Well, she’s not my wife; yet soon I do hope to correct this heinous misfortune.”
Dipping his free hand deep into his pocket, Jacob withdrew a shining diamond ring and presented it to a glowing Lorelei, slipping the ring over her finger as he asked, “Lorelei Harris, would you do me the honor of being my wife?”
Blinking back some unbidden tears, Lorelei stared with quiet admiration at the symbol of love that now adorned her hand, as well as at the man who bestowed this symbol as a statement of his love and heart.
“Yes, Jacob,” she breathed finally, leaning forward to grace his smiling lips with a warm, affirming kiss, “Yes, I will.”
*****
Jacob and Lorelei found themselves once again in church the following Sunday, this time for the blessed occasion of their holy and eternal nuptials.
Dressed for the occasion in an out skirted satin wedding gown the hue of purest cream, one further accentuated by the adornment of a
pink
pearl sash and elegant puffed sleeves, Lorelei also pinned her blonde tresses with tiny golden roses. She also carried a bouquet made up of fully bloomed versions of these same ebullient blossoms.
The man she joined at the altar that day also shone as a picture of gentlemanly resplendence, wearing as he did a brown wool frock coat with matching pantaloons, as well as a wedding vest of ivory silk brocade that covered a crisp white cotton shirt. A bolo tie of silver brocade completed the look as did the resplendent smile that welcomed his beautiful bride.
Joining hands at the brass bordered altar that oversaw their nuptials that day, the couple stared deep into one another’s eyes as they heard and recited the vows of holy matrimony.
Finally, and with a binding kiss, the couple reached the end of the ride that had brought them this far; thus embarking as they did on the greatest ride of all—the one that would take them all the way home.
The singular act of shucking an ear of corn might not be considered the most glamorous or intellectually challenging activity; but, for some odd and inexplicable reason, Abigail Tompkins loved every moment of it.
Standing side by side with her parents Ray and Sandra Tompkins, the owners and proprietors of the Diamond T ranch in the heart of Austin, Texas, she basked with a smile in the sumptuous rays of the golden Texas sun, also reveling in the vision of endless emerald green fields that signified their life and industry.
Every morning she joined her parents in the tending of their 50-acre farm, a modest but fertile plot that also had served as the site of her childhood home.
Even as a child her tiny hands had picked and shucked these precious ears of corn, also garnering many precious memories in the company of the two dear friends who—as an added bonus—had brought her into the world. Mighty nice of them, she thought.
“I do believe, dear daughter, that you may have set some sort of record this morning for the most ears of corn consecutively shucked,” said her mother, a petite brunette with wide, brown eyes, who graced a grinning Abigail with a playful nudge as she added, “Congratulations!”
Standing upright at the center of the field, the tall, sturdy Abigail straightened her straw hat atop her dark haired head as she considered this curious praise.
“Well I must say it Mother,” she said finally, “if that is the most exalted accomplishment that I can achieve throughout the course of my young life, then—well—that makes me feel pretty darned sad and pathetic, to be truthful. Thanks for that, Mum.”
Chuckling as they exchanged looks that reflected their keen amusement, Ray and Sandra turned as one to fix their 21-year-old daughter with a warm, affectionate smile.
“Make no mistake, daughter. You accomplish every bit as much as we do on this ranch—more so, on some days,” Ray Tompkins assured her, adding as he reached forward to grace her sturdy shoulder with a loving pat, “And especially since both of your younger sisters abandoned us this year to marry their ever adoring beaux, we can’t tell you how much we appreciate you staying on with us—helping us build the Diamond T into something special.”
Abigail nodded.
“Thanks Daddy,” she acknowledged his compliment, adding as she made a broad gesture across the heather
strewn
fields around them, “The Diamond T is my home—not to mention my business. I’d far rather shuck corn than birth babies or clean up after some man, any day of the week.” She paused here, adding as she thrust a sturdy finger square at the center of her own denim clad chest, “This is my job, and I do it well. And I never have even the slightest desire to be anywhere else.”
Ray nodded.
“Well your ma and I can’t be any prouder,” he affirmed, adding as he graced his daughter with a warm, loving smile, “As you well know, Girl, your grandparents were the settlers who claimed this land. And now that they’ve passed, your ma and I have every intention of doing them proud. But we can’t do it without our dear lady farmer.”
Striking a deep bow in response to his words, Abigail tipped her straw hat in her parents’ direction before stepping sidewalks down their row of planted corn, soon leaning forward to continue her work as she whistled absently to herself. It would only be an hour or two, she mused, until she and her folks would retire to their ranch house to enjoy a hearty noon meal made from home
grown
—and handpicked--ingredients.
“And before we come back to the fields, I do believe I’ll encourage Pa to take a good long nap,” she thought, adding with a slight frown, “He has been looking a bit weary as of late. He perhaps needed to take a bit of a rest—that is, if Ma and I can hog tie him into staying out of the fields for five darned minutes.”
The joyful peace of a quiet Texas morning was shattered seconds later, as she heard a harsh, ragged cry rent the air around her, drawing her gaze toward the source of the sound.
She gasped outright as she saw her father’s wiry body collapse outright on the ground beneath him, clutching his heart as he let loose a single pained moan and his eyes snapped shut.
Kneeling immediately beside her husband, a distraught Sandra grabbed her husband’s hands and screamed, “Ray!”
Running to join her parents at the center of the field, a stone faced Abigail struggled to stay composed as she too knelt beside the motionless body of the man who lay still and silent between his own corn rows.
“Pa,” she breathed, shaking her head from side to side as she leaned forward to put her ear to his chest.
Her eyes flew wide as she heard no sign of a heartbeat, and as she saw an aura of eerie stillness overtake her father’s body. His eyes remained closed, his lips relaxed, his tanned, robust face drained of all color, and his chest felt as hard and hollow as a jagged edge rock in the Texas desert.
“Pa,” she repeated, this time on a rough sob as she wrapped her arms tight around his limp shoulders. “No!”
Sandra said nothing, only wrapping her husband and her daughter in two loving arms as—true to her nature—she tried to love the hurt away.
“This time though,” she said aloud, adding as she strove to wipe the tears that flew freely down her daughter’s face, “I simply can’t do it.”
*****
“I cannot believe that this has happened. Why?”
Since the death late last year of his beloved wife Elsa, Cal Hopkins had asked this question countless times, only to hear the empty echo of his own voice as—once again—he heard no answer.
How fast and far could a heart fall, he pondered, and how far and fast could a life fall apart? It was only a year ago that he and his beautiful Elsa, the love of his heart since their early school days, had been expecting their first child, receiving their good news in the wake of the most joyful and productive year of their lives.
Married at age 21, the couple was perceived by family and friends as the ideal representation of the perfect pair; a tall, muscular groom with thick, ebony hair and eyes of crystal blue, paired with a petite, golden haired woman who seemed the picture of femininity. Their wedding gift had come in the form of a large plot of land along the northern border of their native Texas; a lush, green parcel that they knew would form the cornerstone of their lives together.
Soon they set to work side by side to turn a workable plot of land into a home and business, building a basic two story, wood plank house with a sloping roof and a homey front porch, and planting a field of Elsa’s chosen crop, the kind of sublime, sun kissed golden roses that grew only in the heart of Texas.
“Elsa embodied the wild Texas rose,” Cal remembered, smiling slightly as he recalled his wife’s golden blonde, almond eyed beauty. “It was no wonder that she loved those dang flowers so much. And when I saw how much money said dang flowers brought in, I grew to love them too.”
Yet he loved nothing more than the lovely, vibrant woman who worked every day beside him in the fields; showing the strength and fortitude of a seasoned rancher and the wide eyed enthusiasm of a little girl.
Yet in his arms she remained a woman, making love with him long into the night as they fulfilled each and every fantasy that had carried them through their courtship. And when their passion finally culminated in the conception of a child, the couple celebrated both the success of their ranching venture and the expansion of their family.
“Everything was so perfect,” Cal remembered now, adding as he shook his head from side to side, “How did it go wrong?”
He’d near begged his wife to stay home and rest for the duration of her pregnancy, allowing him and his older brother Stephen to do the bulk of their farm work until well after the arrival of their child.
“Yet she knew that we couldn’t yet afford to hire farm hands. She also knew, furthermore, that my brother had his own ranch to run,” he recalled, adding as he ventured to take a deep sustaining breath, “So she insisted every day on comin’ to the fields with me, workin’ by my side in the heat of the Texas sun….”
He paused here, dark memories filling his psyche as he remembered their last day together, a 24-hour period that surely would haunt him until his dying day.
Elsa had appeared the picture of health in the early hours of the morning, her delicate face shining radiant with a warm maternal glow, her lustrous mane of heather blonde hair flying like a pennant in the Texas wind.
He’d never forget the vision of his lady walking toward him that day, clutching as she did a lush, fresh picked arrangement of golden Texas roses.
“I can’t believe the irony,” he released a sigh, adding as his heart clung to her memory, “She looked just as she did on the day of our wedding, so young and beautiful, carrying her bouquet as she came to me.”
And then without warning their romantic dream morphed into a nightmare, his bride staggering before him as her breath escaped her and her eyes fluttered shut.
Although he’d carried her immediately back to their home and summoned the town doctor, Cal found that his desperate efforts to save his bride amounted to nothing. At the end of the day all he could do was comfort his wife in his arms as she and their child passed from this life without so much as a word of goodbye.
Now he lived alone in the house that they built, just barely sleeping in their bed and working every day in the fields they had planted, coming to curse the roses she loved, as they only served to remind him of a joyful life destroyed.
His brother Stephen worked with him some days, and even stayed with him throughout just a few of his long, lonely nights, trying to distract him with poker games, horseshoe throws and other trivialities that he hoped would bring a smile to the face of his grief stricken brother.
Finally a frustrated Stephen suggested that his brother
venture
out of the house and try a new career, perhaps even pursuing his lifelong dream of a career in law enforcement.
“Before you met Elsa and decided to become a gentleman farmer, you had a dream to put on a silver badge and saddle up as the sheriff of this town,” he reminded his brother, adding as he punched his broad shoulder with a hard and hearty fist, “Elsa would want you to be happy, Cal. And she’d love the sight of you riding tall and proud through the city, keeping the peace and making a name for yourself.”
Reluctantly taking his brother’s advice, Cal rode into town one day and signed up to be a deputy at the local sheriff’s office, leaving Stephen to tend his ranch while he learned the particulars of law enforcement.
Although he did find some small measure of happiness and comfort in the day to day duties of his new job—a calling that allowed him to fulfill his boyhood dreams of keeping the peace and flashing a shiny badge—he also found that his newly honed law enforcement duties took him all too frequently away from his home and ranch. And while Stephen paid frequent visits to his fields, trying to maintain his brother’s rose gardens and other crops while also tending his own land, it soon became apparent that some extra hands were needed at Elsa’s Rose, the newly named ranch that Cal swore to make a success—if nothing else as a thriving and beautiful tribute to the rose of his life.
“Please don’t take offense Steve.You have really been my savior during some mighty rough days,” he told his brother one day. “I don’t think I could have survived the nightmare of Elsa’s death without you by my side, lifting me up and dang near cattle prodding me into going on with my life and work.” He paused here, adding with a frustrated sigh, “I just think that this ranch is getting too big for two people who have limited time to work the land. I do believe it’s high time that I hired at least one farm hand.”
Stephen, a handsome, young, blond man with clear blue eyes and a muscular build, nodded in hearty agreement with his brother’s words.
“Say no more my brother,” he told Cal, “I’ve already placed a help wanted ad in
The Daily Post
. I promised all helpers a decent wage plus room and board.”
Cal grinned.
“Good work,” he praised his brother, adding as he graced Stephen with a slight slap on the back, “And since I’m going to be busy in town just about every day this week, I’ll leave it to you to pick two or three of the very best ranch hands ridin’ the range.”
The smile died on Stephen’s lips as he considered these words.
“Well now, there are just a few problems with that idea, dear brother,” he told Cal, adding with a hefty sigh, “I only advertised for one helper around this place, and I didn’t exactly request the services of a ranch hand. And, all things considered, I do believe it’s best that you interview our prospects yourself. Personally.”
Cal froze.
“I can’t say that I quite like the way you just said the word personally,” he admitted, adding as he folded his arms strong and firm before him, “And if you didn’t advertise for a ranch hand, what specific job title do you want to fill?”
Stephen shrugged.
“Well, if you really want to know the nitty gritty of things,” he mumbled, shuffling his feet beneath him. “I advertised in particular for a mail order bride.”
He cringed as his chagrined brother met these words with an unearthly, near inhuman growl, ducking just in time to avoid Cal’s lethal left hook.