Sixteen Brides (17 page)

“I’ll never forgive him.” Matthew was surprised by the lack of venom in the words. Still, he had to say them. Didn’t he?

“You must. Because you will never have any kind of life as long as you are carrying this rottenness inside of you. Don’t you see, Matthew? It’s robbed you of the only thing that keeps us all going. It’s robbed you of hope. Linney hopes for a normal life with her pa. You hope for happiness. And I’d stake a lot on the idea that Luke hopes you’ll forgive him someday.”

Matthew curled his lip and made a sound of disbelief.

“You two grew up together. As close as brothers. Don’t you think he misses you? And if you’re right, if he built the ranch house with Katie in mind, can you imagine what’s it like facing that every single day?” She paused. “You abandoned the house that reminded you of Katie. Luke faces his every day unless he’s chasing after cattle. In fact, it could just be that riding trails and chasing cattle is his way of doing penance.” She waited a moment. “And perhaps, just perhaps, he isn’t the only one guilty of what happened between you and Katie.”

Matthew took a deep breath. Memories reeled in. Memories he’d avoided, except in the night when what he called his demons came to visit. Luke telling him to spend more time with Katie and less time out in the fields. Luke telling him Katie was lonely. Luke telling him how lucky he was to have a woman like her. And Katie. Crying. Her expression when he said no, he was too tired to go to the neighbors’ for the dance tonight. No, he couldn’t drive her to town for another piece of that pink calico. No, he didn’t think it was a good idea for her to invite the ladies over for a quilting party. No . . . No . . . No.

Martha sighed. Her voice was weary when she next spoke. “Well, I’ve said what I came to say and then some. Plain and simple, you are breaking Linney’s heart, and she’s done nothing to deserve that. She’s done nothing but love you. Please, Matthew. Find a way to let some light into those dark corners in your heart. Jesus said—” she held up her hand—“and I know you don’t want to hear a sermon, and I’m not about to preach one. But Jesus did say that anyone who was weary could come to him, and he’d give them rest. Maybe you could start there. Ask Jesus to help you put the past to rest. Just
think
how good it would be to lay all that down, Matthew.”

Matthew gave a wry smile. “I knew the name of Jesus would have to come up.”

“You mean the Jesus who asked God to forgive the men pounding the nails into his hands? The Jesus who asked God to forgive the men gambling over his clothes while he dangled above them in agony?” She shrugged. “All right. I suppose I am giving a little bit of a sermon after all. But you know, Matthew, it just seems to me that what Jesus forgave was a bit harder than your possibly forgiving your own cousin for loving a beautiful, gentle, kind woman.”

She stood up. “If you care to know, Luke rode north a while ago. He made a bad joke about you two always seeming to get tangled up and said to tell you he was sorry. That he didn’t know you were in town. I take that to mean he’s trying to be mindful of you, Matthew. I don’t think he expected Linney to be at the store. She was helping serve wedding cake at the dining hall when I saw him leave. I think he was looking for Caroline. He never intended to talk to Linney, and that comment about Katie—well—she
does
look like her mother. And it probably just slipped out. He’s not an evil man, Matthew. There’s no plot to steal your daughter away from you. Surely you know that.”

Matthew took a deep breath. Martha was likely right. About a lot of things.

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

And I will restore to you
the years the locust hath eaten. . . .

JOEL 2:25

G
rateful for Will Haywood’s presence in the store, Caroline busied herself wiping down the display case glass and dusting shelves as far away as possible from the raggedy men who’d come in on the heels of Matthew Ransom’s attack on Lucas Gray. As the men settled near the storeroom door around the upended barrel supporting a checkerboard, Caroline wished for Martha’s return even as she worried about Linney and wondered over what had happened earlier.

If Matthew Ransom was given to outbursts like the one Caroline had just witnessed, perhaps it was a good thing Linney wasn’t keeping house for her father. And for all Caroline’s negative thoughts about Lucas Gray, she’d been impressed by the way he handled the attack. Most men would have been raving mad when they finally came to. Not Mr. Gray. He rubbed his jaw and made a lame joke, and then took his leave without saying one unkind word about Mr. Ransom.

Caroline had gone to the front window and watched Lucas mount up and ride away. She half expected him to head for the saloon and apply whiskey to his wounded pride, but he hadn’t done that, either. Instead, he’d urged his gelding into a lope and headed straight north. None of it seemed to fit with the cocky cowboy who’d flirted with her and Ruth on the train. And now, as the men around the barrel glanced her way, Caroline wished him back. With him in the room, she was fairly certain those men would mind the checkerboard instead of watching her every move.

At least there were a few customers in the store. Nancy Darby had just had Caroline cut two yards of a soft flannel. When she selected a card of tiny buttons, Caroline smiled to herself. Mrs. Darby must be in a family way. A woman who introduced herself as “Mrs. Homer Peterson of the Lazy J Ranch” bought every remaining roll of the orange fabric, commenting as she did so that Alice Bailey wasn’t the only quilter in the county who knew how to use a challenging color to its best advantage. After the ladies left, Caroline picked up the feather duster again, working as far away from the checker game as possible. She scolded herself for judging by exteriors, but
laws o’massey,
how’d a man stand smellin’ like that?

Only a few minutes after Mrs. Peterson left, Lowell Day wandered in. He looked around the store. Caroline followed his gaze, certain Will wouldn’t allow the man who’d all but attacked her at the dance to stay. Much to her dismay, Will was standing with his back to them as he was telling one of his stories. Day made a show of inspecting the candy jars lined up along one edge and finally selected the peppermint. Five sticks. Caroline handed them over and moved away. He bit off a chunk of candy and munched it.

“Guess I owe you an apology. Got a bit . . . rowdy . . . the other night. I don’t remember it too well, to tell you the truth. I was a little drunk. But the thing is, Hamilton Drake was in the saloon before he left for St. Louis to round you all up, and he said the Society was all about sparking and getting hitched. But then you and those friends of yours decided different, I guess. I didn’t know. I just wanted what I paid for.”

Her heart pounding, Caroline glanced toward the rear of the store, wishing Will Haywood would look this way and come to rescue her, but Will was oblivious.

Day took a disgusting swipe at the peppermint stick with his tongue. “Well, now, there’s some that don’t think you ladies can make a homestead work. I, on the other hand, realize that a woman can do a lot of things that would surprise the average man.”

To keep from shuddering visibly, Caroline headed for the back of the store and Will Haywood, who was just saying, “So Martha tells me, she does, that all six of ’em have decided to be in control of their own destiny. Now, you take Mrs. Barton, for example. There’s a woman who knows what she wants. Why, the minute she saw the cottonwood spring, she was ready to file. She’s got a good plan, too. If any woman on earth can homestead and make it work, Mrs. Barton is likely that woman.”

“You got that right,” Day agreed, sauntering back to where Caroline stood right next to Will Haywood. Day didn’t miss a beat. “Now, Will, I know what you’re thinking. But I just apologized to this little lady a minute ago for being so drunk the other night and assuming things that just weren’t true—why, we all got to realize you just can’t assume anymore. Like this homesteading thing they’ve got in their heads. Just like Will says, if a woman could do it, Mrs. Barton surely can. I never saw such a woman. What is she? Six feet tall? Hands like a freighter. Why, she reminds me more of a lumberjack than—”

What Lowell Day said next made Caroline so angry that if she hadn’t seen Jeb Cooper step in through the storeroom door in time to hear Day’s remarks, she would have used one of the new kerosene lamps lined up on a nearby shelf to brain him herself. But by then Day’s throat was enclosed in a beefy hand.

Jeb Cooper gave him a shake. “When are you going to learn your manners?”

The peppermint stick in Day’s mouth broke off and fell to the floor. His hands flailed at Cooper’s to no avail. His eyes had just begun to roll back in his head when Cooper let go.

“I was just havin’ a bit of fun.” Day coughed. “I didn’t mean no harm.”

“Have your fun somewhere else,” Jeb said. Day stumbled out the door.

Martha came in the front as Mr. Cooper was leaving, then hurried to where Caroline sat at the cutting table adding a column of figures in the store ledger.

“What was Lowell Day doing in here? Please tell me my Will kicked him out.”

“Actually,” Caroline said, “he was apologizing for Friday night— after a fashion. And Will didn’t have a chance to kick him out, because Mr. Cooper did it for him.”

“Did you say Day
apologized
?”

“I think he did. At least as well as he knows how,” Caroline said. “But then in his next breath he said somethin’ unkind about Ella, so Mr. Cooper invited him to leave.”

Martha scowled toward the back of the store and muttered, “I can appreciate Will’s trying to keep them out of the saloon, but—” Raucous laughter drowned out the rest of the sentence.

Caroline decided to let the matter of Lowell Day lie.
HARDY women don’t take every little thing personally. Lowell Day’s just a crass wrangler looking for a little fun. If he thinks he’s got my goat, it will just encourage him. Forget what lies behind. Press on with hope.
She reached into her apron pocket and withdrew Mr. Cooper’s note.

“He left this for Linney’s pa. I told him I’d do my best to see it got delivered. He said to tell you he unloaded the sewing machine and the trunk out back.”

“Sewing machine? Trunk?”

“He said something about thinking Linney and Mr. Ransom were going to ride back to the homestead with him tonight, but that it didn’t look like that was going to work out after all. So he unloaded Linney’s things—that’s what he called them—
Linney’s
things—and headed out. There’s a small box in the storeroom and a big trunk and a sewing machine just outside the back door.”

Martha spoke to Will, who assured her he would “keep an eye on the boys,” then closed the store, locking the front door and pulling down the blinds. Motioning for Caroline to follow her toward the back room, Martha glanced first into the box Matthew had left behind when he charged Lucas Gray. Peering out the back door at the large polished trunk, she murmured, “Finally. He’s brought all of Katie’s things into town.” She glanced toward the upstairs. “I don’t know whether to bring Linney down or wait for Matthew.” She glanced at Caroline. “What do you think?”

“Me?” Caroline put her hand to her chest. “Why, I have no idea.” She paused before blurting out the question that had been circling in her head all evening long. “Is Linney’s father given to violence? Is that the reason you’ve kept her with you? To keep her safe?”

Martha’s mouth dropped open. “Matthew? Violent? Oh, my—no.” She shook her head. “Matthew’s always been one of the sweetest, gentlest—” She broke off. “It was wrong, what he did today. But it’s the culmination of years of tension between him and Lucas. They were rivals once for Katie’s hand. Today was just an unfortunate coincidence, really. Lucas only came into the store because he wanted to see you. He expected Linney to be busy at the dining hall serving cake. But then—” Martha sighed. “I can’t really explain any more than that. It’s something the two of them need to face and fix.”

“I just appreciate knowing—for Linney’s sake—that outbursts like that aren’t commonplace.”

“The only person Matthew’s ever struck out at before was himself. Over things from the past that should have been laid to rest long ago.” Martha smiled softly. “But I think—oh, I think and hope and pray—that after today, things will be better.” She paused. “I think he was planning on telling Linney that he’s moving into town. But none of that needs to be your concern. I don’t know how to thank you for all your help today. Obviously there will be a generous credit on a new ledger page for you.”

Caroline followed Martha’s lead, happy to close the conversation 153 about Mr. Matthew Ransom and his problems with Lucas Gray. “The orange fabric is gone,” she said, and told Martha what Mrs. Peterson had said about Alice Bailey’s not being the only skilled quilt maker around.

Martha chuckled. “You know, men can jaw all they want about who rode the toughest bronco or who’s the best shot. They can’t hold a candle to the intensity with which Alice Bailey and Susan Peterson compete with needles and thread. It was pure genius bringing that horrible fabric to their attention. Mrs. Barton won’t appreciate my saying this, but part of me wishes you were staying in town, Caroline. For the store . . . for myself . . . and for Linney, who likes you very much.”

The last thing on earth Caroline wanted to do was get mixed up in whatever was going on with the Ransoms. Linney was very sweet, but her father? A man who would charge across a store and knock a man flat was not someone Caroline cared to get to know any better, no matter how fast her heart might beat when either of those two men came into view. Following her emotions had nearly ruined her life once. She wouldn’t let it happen again.

“I’m fond of Linney, too. But we’ve got our plans all set, and it would be wrong for me to back out on my friends.” She grinned.

“Besides, I’m just ornery enough to want to make the folks laughin’ behind our backs eat a little praline crow pie.”

Wishing Martha a good night, Caroline crossed the expanse of prairie between the mercantile and the Immigrant House, enjoying the beautiful spring night. As she lingered on the back porch looking up at the starlit sky, the checker players exited the back door of the mercantile. It was only when he lit a match and it illuminated his face that Caroline realized Lowell Day had been waiting out back for just this moment. When she shrank back, hoping he hadn’t seen her, a voice sounded through the dark. “Now, Johnny, you know how partial I am to candy. Especially southern candy.”

Caroline would have thought it only a crude joke between two crude men. Except for one thing. As they walked away, Lowell Day wished her a good evening. In a poor imitation of a southern drawl.

It was real. As she stood outside the U.S. Land Office in Grand Island, Ella looked down at the document dated April 19, 1871. “Pursuant to the provisions of the Act of Congress, approved May 20, 1862, entitled An Act to Secure Homesteads to Actual Settlers on the Public Domain,” Ella Maria Sophia Romano Barton was entitled to a patent for the NW 1/4 section 14 in Township 11 of Range 15 of Dawson County, Nebraska, comprising 160 acres.

“Somehow,” Ruth said, “I think
this
document has a bit more promise than my membership certificate to the Ladies Emigration Society.” She reached over to give Jackson a one-armed hug. “We’ll have a home now. A home no one can tell us to leave.”

Ella swallowed to keep back her own tears. Four pieces of paper and yet they represented so much more. Crops. Livestock. Calves. Hens and chicks and gardens and an everlasting amount of work. Perhaps she should feel overwhelmed, but at this moment all she felt was
joy.
Joy and hope and still more joy. She smiled until her face hurt.