Destiny's Bride (7 page)

She struggled to get the mattress back into the house and onto the bed frame. She refused to call Walt for help because he was busy outside, cleaning the yard and hauling junk from within their poor excuse of a barn. Silly emotions and false pride were not about to get the best of her. She wanted her husband to be proud of her, and she was determined to make the best of this, even if it killed her. Besides, she was tired of sleeping on the hard ground with nothing but a thin blanket between her and the dirt. Even this ugly mattress had some degree of appeal. As soon as they moved into the house, she’d cover it with the blankets from the bedroll and bring in the pillows still stowed in the wagon. Using the barn as shelter left her worrying the whole thing would fall down and crush them to death in their sleep. So many boards were missing from the walls, she was amazed it remained standing.

At the end of the day, both she and Walt were so tired, it mattered little where they slept. Cuddled together on the barn floor, Cecile nestled in the crook of her husband’s arm, and managed only a goodnight kiss before she drifted off. 

Sun streaming through the cracks in the barn and shining in her eyes woke her. Walt was already up, and Cecile smelled coffee. She hauled her aching body off the ground, stood and stretched into a growing yawn. Another day of work lay ahead, but she thought of all she had accomplished over the past few days. In the eyes of some it might not amount to much, but she'd done the best she could. At least the house smelled of soap and was as dust-free as she could manage. Now it was ready for the few belongings she’d brought along. Later they would acquire material for curtains, and hopefully some better furniture, but for the time being, the few knickknacks in the wagon would make it look homier. She wrinkled her nose at the thought. Was homier even possible?

She followed her nose, searching for a cup of strong coffee to see her through the day. She joined her husband outside for a scant breakfast and a breath of fresh air. She admitted the prairie morning was much more peaceful than the bustling streets of
Silver City. 

“Where do you want this?” Walt followed her into the house, toting her trunk.

“Just set it next to the bed for now.”

While he tripped in and out, carrying her settee and small bedroom table and lamp, Cecile moved them from place to place, trying to find where they fit. They looked so out of place that she almost wished he’d left them in the wagon. Such pristine objects for a shack.

Somehow, though a mystery to her, Walt still beamed with pride over this place. Luckily, he hadn’t detected her disappointment, or if he had, he hadn’t let on.

He walked in the door with another box, and at that moment, looking into his eyes, she forgot her surroundings and recalled the feeling of being in his arms. Tonight, they‘d sleep in the house, and christen the old bed. Suddenly, she felt much better about her situation.  Material things didn’t compare to having a man to love.

Walt finished carrying in all the supplies they’d brought from
Silver City. While she stacked cans and stored utensils on the freshly cleaned kitchen shelves, he came up behind her and hugged her to him. “Isn’t this a grand place, Cece?” His warm breath caressed her neck. “About five hours from here, my friend Troy Stinson is holding livestock for me. I figured on getting my own place eventually, and he knew a farmer who was selling off his animals. It’s not much, but it’s a start. I bought a cow, a few chickens, a couple of horses, and a pig. When we’re a little more rested, we can head out that way to bring them home.”

Walt saw something in this place that totally escaped her. She'd certainly enjoyed the serenity of crossing the prairie because of the contrast to the hustle and bustle she was used to; but now, here, miles and miles from the safety and comfort of her parents’ home, she wondered if she’d ever adapt. If only she could see this place through his eyes.

***

The worn broom she'd found when they first arrived proved useless beyond the first day, but the large piece of muslin her mother had packed was a godsend. Cecile cut the material into thin strips and tied them to the splintering broom handle. What the material didn’t sweep through the widening cracks in the floor, it absorbed. She had only to wash the muslin and she was ready for another day of cleaning.

***

With her creative invention stowed in the corner of the kitchen and the dinner dishes done, she had more pleasant things on her mind. Walt was out putting the team horses in their stalls for the night, and she took advantage of a private moment to wash up and don her nightgown. The cold well water dotted her skin with goose bumps, but shortly she’d be wrapped in her husband’s arms and warmed inside and out. No matter that the old mattress sagged in the middle. The activity she had planned would meld them together as one. The benefits of marriage were much more pleasing than she’d ever expected.

***

In preparation for the animals, Walt spent a few days shoring up the walls of the barn. He built a coop for the chickens, a pen for the pig, and did some much-needed repairs to the rails of the corral, using almost all the wood he’d brought from
Silver City. He even managed to make the porch stable. While he worked he continued his incessant happy humming, which had started to grate on Cecile’s nerves.

The nights were fine, but the dawning sun brought reality to light. Why couldn’t she find something about this place to make her hum? When she wasn’t watching Walt go about his chores, she made every attempt to stay busy by rearranging the odds and ends of furniture to find the ideal configuration, and sweeping the daily accumulation of dust back through the planks in the floor. So much sifted through the shutters that sweeping was almost a full-time job. Walt promised when he went for supplies, he’d buy glass for the windows. She hoped that would take place well before winter. Those old weather-beaten shutters wouldn’t keep out the cold air. It was bad enough to make continued trips to the well for bathing and drinking. She missed the new-fangled pump her father had installed right before she left.  With a shiver, she hiked up her skirt and, using the toe of her shoe, squashed the spider scurrying across the floor. Sharing a house with bugs was horrid, and she worried rodents might move in next.

Walt sauntered in from the barn looking pleased with himself. “Everything’s ready for the animals,” he announced. “We can leave tomorrow. I know you’ll like the Stinsons.”

She remembered Walt saying they were about five hours away. “Are they are our closest neighbors?”

He chuckled. “So far, they’re our only neighbors.”

It made little difference to her where they traveled. Any excuse to escape the confinement of these depressing walls was a welcome change. She held on to the belief that one day this shack he called a home would be a lovely ranch house with better furnishings, and a whole lot less dirt. 

Walt walked over and gave her kiss, and her grumblings were forgotten. Living with him made anything tolerable…at least when he romanced her. He pulled her toward the bed, and she giggled like a schoolgirl as they undressed and fell naked into each other’s arms. Her hunger for him never seemed to be sated, and he ignited feelings inside her that were still new and exciting. Certain her behavior was that of a wanton woman, she didn’t recall when she’d shed her naïveté.

Their lovemaking over, her heart still pounded from sheer pleasure. Soft snores already fluttered on Walt’s lips, and his breath teased the side of her neck. Sleep eluded her, but in the muted moonlight shining through the window, she gazed on her handsome husband and realized that her love for him grew with each passing day. She had no idea how long she stared at him before sleep claimed her.

***

The effects of her late night were evident when Walt jostled her. “Get up, sleepy head. We have a trip to make.”

Darkness cloaked the room. She groaned and rolled to face the wall. “It’s not even light out and I’m tired.”

Reaching beneath the blankets, Walt tickled her. “Get up. While you get ready, I’ll make some coffee.”

No use trying to catch a few more winks. Her husband was obviously anxious to get started and wasn’t going to leave her alone. Somehow in her sleepy stupor she found herself dressed, bundled in her cloak against the morning chill, and perched next to Walt on an uncomfortable wooden seat. Even the cup of coffee she downed hadn’t revived her. Hooking her arm through his, she leaned against his shoulder and tried to doze. The wagon lurched forward and set the creaking wheels in motion. Sleep was futile. She watched the sunrise through half-lidded eyes, but was soon jostled into alertness by the rutted trail they traveled.

The trip took almost the entire day and was a brutal reminder of the discomfort of the wagon seat. She was overjoyed when the small dot in the distance turned out to be the Stinsons’ spread.
Troy and his wife met them in the front yard, as hungry for company as the folks at the Spring Fling had been. When no one was looking, Cecile rubbed her aching behind.

Troy Stinson was a tall, bearded man in well-worn overalls, while his wife Hilda was a short petite woman with brown hair and large, expressive blue eyes. They made an odd-looking couple because of their extreme height difference. Their house wasn’t much bigger than the shack, but inside, Hilda’s meticulous housekeeping and decorating skills made the place look homier and much more comfortable.

While the men discussed things of little interest to the women, Cecile chatted with Hilda about things she never dreamt would be of interest to her. Hilda brought out her assortment of beautifully decorated quilts and doilies, each done to perfection. Cecile, impressed with the intricate patterns and colors, wondered if she could learn to create such beautiful things for their home.

“Making this trip has really changed my mind about our place,” Cecile told her new friend. “When I see what you’ve done to make this place so cozy, I can almost imagine being able to spruce up ours.” Strange words from someone who’d wanted to cry every time she looked at the hovel Walt considered a dwelling. Now, with a little effort, she actually saw promise in building a home of which to be proud.

As the two women enjoyed a cup of hot tea, Cecile accepted Hilda’s offer to learn to crochet and carefully tried to follow her instructions. Her fingers fumbled with the back and forth movement of the needle while trying to form the yarn into a single long chain. Hilda made the task look effortless, but it wasn’t. Finally, Cecile dropped the frustrating project into her lap and threw up her hands. “This is too hard. I’m all thumbs.”

With a little encouragement from Hilda, Cecile continued trying, concentrating on each stitch, until she eventually recognized surprising results. 

“See, I knew you could do it.”  You just needed a little more determination.” Hilda smiled and produced a needle and fair supply of yarn from the basket next to her.  “I want you to have these so you can continue to be creative.”

Reluctant to accept, Cecile shook her head. “Oh, I don’t want to take your things. Being this far from town, I’m sure you won’t be able to replace them for a while.”

Hilda thrust her gift toward Cecile. “Please, take them. I’ve crocheted pretty much everything I need for the rest of my life.” She laughed and pointed to the stack she’d just put on the table.

Cecile relented, kissing Hilda‘s cheek in appreciation. “Thank you so much. I doubt I’ll ever be a talented as you, but I promise to practice these stitches until I get them right.”

Spending time with the older woman proved to be more fun than Cecile had expected. She wished for more than one evening to share, but Walt had already announced they would leave at first light.

Long after everyone else had fallen asleep, and the last embers of the fire crackled, Cecile sat with feet curled beneath her in a chair by the fireplace, intent on completing a second row of chained stitches. For the first time she attempted to share Walt’s vision in the beauty of a project completed. 

She stopped the now nimble movement of her fingers and gazed across the room at her sleeping husband. Stretched out on a pallet of quilts and blankets on the floor, with his hair ruffled and his lips fluttering with each exhalation, he stirred feelings of love she had never felt for anyone in her life. All she wanted to do was keep him happy, and if living in a shack did that, then it was time to accept that it was her home, too. And with a little effort maybe the dwelling could look as nice as Hilda’s. Cecile didn’t remember when she finally fell asleep, but she awoke, sprawled in the chair, to find everyone awake, dressed and ready to eat.  Her neck ached and her body felt as stiff as a winter’s icicle.  She gathered her growing chain, twined it around the ball of yarn, stuck the needle between the strands, and then stood.  Smoothing her skirt, she flashed an embarrassed smile and joined the others for the morning meal.  The fried eggs and biscuits looked delicious, and the perked coffee smelled even better.

***

Breakfast was barely over when Walt announced the wagon was loaded and he and the animals were ready to go. Cecile embraced her new friend.

“Hilda, I’ve had such a good time visiting and having you teach me to crochet. I only wish we lived closer so we could get together more often.” Cecile backed away, her eyes blurring with tears. “I swear I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” She sniffled. “I guess being a new bride makes some women emotional.” She forced a smile and swiped wetness from her cheeks. “And, thanks so much for the needle and yarn. Hopefully by the time you come for a visit, I can show you some of my handiwork.”