Nordin, Ruth Ann - South Dakota Series 02 - Bid for a Bride (16 page)

The thunder boomed again, but this time Lucy didn’t jerk in response. She held onto Eliza, suddenly realizing that Eliza was soaking wet from having made the journey out to her house — something Lucy was relieved she did.

"I…" Lucy cleared her throat, aware her heart was still beating wildly in her chest. "I thought you were my sister. S-she tried to kill me. Right before I married Adam."

"Your sister tried to kill you?"

She nodded and sniffed. "She tried to strangle me, and when that didn’t work, she tried to drown me.

It was the only time she tried to kill me. She’d been upset with me before, but she never tried to kill me."

"Why did she try to kill you?"

"I think she wanted to marry Adam. He didn’t pay any attention to her, no matter how hard she tried to get it. I was ready to marry him, and she chose the night before the wedding to do it."

Eliza rubbed her back and gently rocked her. "Is that why you don’t want to tell your parents about the baby?"

"I can’t have my sister finding me. I don’t trust her."

"And your parents? Did they know what happened?"

"I wanted to tell them, but…" Lucy swallowed the lump in her throat and pulled away from Eliza so she could wipe her eyes.

"Well, I figured I was marrying Adam the next day and would soon be in Oregon. Then I’d never see her again so it wouldn’t matter. And she’s no threat to them. They adore her. I’m the only one she doesn’t like."

"Why?"

"I don’t know. I asked her one time, but she just left the room. Most of the time, she wouldn’t even acknowledge me."

Eliza rubbed her back. "I’m sorry. That’s terrible."

She took a deep breath and brushed her hair back from her face.

Her nerves were finally settling down. "I’m glad you came."

"Brian mentioned you didn’t like thunderstorms, so I thought I better come and see how you were doing." She glanced around the room before she continued. "Would you like me to stay here tonight?"

"I’d rather not be alone. I thought I could handle it just fine. I know I’m safe out here, but…" She shrugged and crossed her arms. "I got so used to having Brian here. It’s not so bad during the day when the sun is out, but here in the dark… Too many memories come to mind." With a tentative look at Eliza, she asked, "Did you mean it when you offered to let me stay with you while the men are gone?"

"Of course, I did. Would you rather go to my place? It sounds like the storm is passing. If you wear a blanket over your head, you shouldn’t get too wet."

Lucy nodded.

Eliza stood up and held her hand out so Lucy accepted it and got to her feet. "Let’s pack a few of your things and be on our way."

"Thank you, Eliza."

Smiling, she said, "Anytime. If you ever need anything or someone to talk to, you can come to me, alright?"

"Alright."

Feeling much better, she got her things ready for her stay at Eliza’s place. This house just wasn’t the same without Brian, and until he was back, she’d feel restless. It was a relief she had Eliza to occupy her mind until she could be in Brian’s arms again.

Three days later, Brian and John stood in Michael Taggart’s parlor with John’s youngest brother, Shawn.

"Boy, the furniture you two made will go over real well with Taggart," Shawn whispered. "I don’t recall you being that good, John. I mean, I saw you did fine work, but that out there on those wagons is better than I remember."

Brian waited for John to sign into his hand before he spoke for John. "Pa says you didn’t pay good enough attention."

Shawn gave a hearty laugh. "Nah. You just got Brian here. He’s the real talent."

Haha, John signed. Your uncle thinks he’s a comedian.

Brian chuckled.

"What?" Shawn asked.

Ask him how his wife and children are doing, John signed into Brian’s hand.

"Pa wants to know how your family is doing," Brian said.

Shawn grunted. "You two have no business doing those personal messages back and forth. Other people are in the room, you know. But since you asked, they’re doing great. In fact, Molly is expecting again. That’ll make three blessings come into our home."

Tell him your news, John signed.

"I married a good woman in April," Brian said. "She’ll have a baby in March."

Brian felt a pat on his back. "Mine’s due in February. Hey John, that makes you a grandpa. Don’t you feel old now?"

Other men my age have grandchildren, John signed.

"He says other men his age have grandchildren," Brian said.

"Maybe," Shawn consented, "but your pa has a couple of gray hairs. He’s getting old. You should buy him a pipe for Christmas."

"Why a pipe?" Brian asked.

"All old men have pipes, don’t they?" Shawn replied. "That or you can get him a cane."

Brian felt a vibration along the hard floor before he heard footsteps. He turned his head in the direction of the sound and straightened his shoulders.

A man cleared his throat and stepped into the parlor. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. I’m Michael Taggart."

Brian mentally categorized the man’s voice and handshake as the introductions were made so he’d remember Michael if he ever happened to meet him again. The man also had a faint musky scent about him. "Nice to meet you, sir," Brian said after their handshake. Then he returned his hand to his walking stick while keeping his other hand over John’s.

"I take it that’s your furniture out there in those wagons," Michael said, his voice seeming to be directed at John.

I’m nodding, John signed to Brian.

"Shawn, you were right," Michael said. "Your brother and nephew do fine work. Those pieces will be a fine addition to this home." Footsteps echoed as Michael walked away from them and stopped on the other side of the room. "I’ll be happy to pay the full amount. Will you men be bringing them in?"

Shawn cleared his throat. "I’ll help John. Brian’s blind so he can’t."

"Very well," Michael replied.

I’ll be back soon, John signed to Brian before he released Brian’s hand. The sound of footsteps notified him that John and Shawn were leaving the room.

"I hope you don’t mind if I sit," Brian told Michael.

"Oh, please do," Michael replied. "I’m gathering the money to pay you and your pa."

Brian tapped the floor with his walking stick until it hit something solid. He reached out and felt soft fabric covering a chair. He sat down and waited for John and Shawn to finish bringing the furniture into the house.

After they were done, Michael paid John and the three men left.

John held Brian by the elbow as they walked down the sidewalk. John stopped so Brian halted his steps.

"What’s wrong?" Brian asked.

John slipped his hand under Brian’s and signed, Nothing. I see a hat I think your ma would like. There’s a nice shawl that will match Lucy’s favorite dress. Ask Shawn if Molly needs something.

"Pa wants to know if Aunt Molly needs anything," Brian told his uncle.

"I don’t know," Shawn replied.

Tell him to come in the store with me, and we’ll see what we can find for her. I owe him for helping us with the furniture.

"He wants you to go in the store and pick something out for her. It’s a thank you for helping us," Brian told Shawn.

"Alright," Shawn replied.

Do you want to come in? John signed.

"No. I’ll stay out here. Is there somewhere to sit?" Brian asked.

Yes. I’ll lead you to it.

John took Brian by the elbow and led him forward, so Brian followed. When John stopped, Brian reached out, felt the metal bench, and sat down. "I’ll wait for you and Uncle Shawn."

John let go of Brian’s hand, and Brian set the walking stick on his lap. He sat back, listening and taking in the smells around him. Sioux Falls was noisy compared to what he was used to.

He heard the jostling of buggies and the pounding of horses’ hooves on the brick street. The air was cooler on his upper body than on his feet, so he surmised he was sitting in the shade. People chattered as they walked past the bench.

His mind wandered to Lucy and he smiled. A couple more days and he’d be with her again. He couldn’t wait. He recalled the feel of her soft skin, the sweet smell of lavender in her hair, and the soothing tone of her voice whenever she talked.

Then a familiar voice jarred him out of his pleasant thoughts.

And in that instant, he knew who was passing by. It was his real father. In an instant, his mind flashed back to the past which he’d carefully buried so deep he no longer gave it any thought. The images of his childhood up until he was eight came crashing down on him, and though he fought to suppress them, they demanded his full attention.

"Your father wasn’t always this way," his mother had whispered to him as she held him in her arms. He felt her shaking as his hair became damp from her tears. "It’s the moonshine. If he’d only stop drinking…" But his father didn’t, and every time his father came home drunk, his mother would cry and hold Brian once his father’s rage died down. Brian hated those times. His mother always told him to hide under the porch and put his hands over his ears.

"Keep your ears covered until I come and get you," she’d tell him.

He obeyed until one day when he was eight — when he knew his father came home drunk and found that his favorite pair of leather boots had gotten wet. While his father yelled about the stains, his mother gave Brian the familiar nudge that told him he needed to go to his hiding place under the porch.

Brian hastened to do so and as he crept out the open window, he heard his mother say, "I can take care of those. All I need is some saddle soap or vinegar. They’ll be good as new. Just give me the money and I’ll pick up what I need in town."

"How did this happen?" he demanded, his speech slurred.

"Carl, I can take care of it. It’ll be as if nothing happened," his mother said, her voice shaking. "This is a simple fix."

A loud slap made Brian wince. He clung to the side of the house and listened beneath the open window, wondering what was happening and wishing for once he could see. However, in retrospect, he concluded it was best he didn’t see anything. It was bad enough hearing it.

"Did the boy do this?" his father screamed. When she didn’t answer, something heavy hit the floor.

"Well? Who did it, Fran? You or the boy?"

"I… it was me," she replied, and Brian could hear the tears in her voice.

That was a lie. Brian had been drinking some water and tripped over something in the parlor. He hadn’t realized they were his father’s boots until he felt the wet leather and told her. She put them back to where they belonged and told Brian as soon as they could get to town, she’d find something to take the stains out. She said she’d see about going the next day once his father gave her the money she needed. Then she warned Brian against mentioning the boots or the glass of water.

But his father found the boots anyway, and he wasn’t buying her lie any more than Brian thought he would. "Where’s the boy?" his father shouted, making Brian shrink closer to the ground.

Footsteps thundered in the house, and it took a moment for Brian to realize his father was searching for him. His mother’s lighter footsteps followed him.

"Please, Carl. He’s only eight!"

"Stop hiding him from me! You’re always protecting him. I’m your husband, damn it! Tell me where he is!"

"Please don’t. You’re hurting me," she cried.

"Tell me where he is and I’ll let you go!"

She didn’t answer him. She only sobbed louder, and then came several resounding slaps that made Brian realize that his father was hitting his mother. That was why she told him to hide and cover his ears. She didn’t want him to find out.

Scared, Brian did the only thing a child would think to do: he went to his hiding spot under the porch.

He put his hands over his ears and drew his knees up to his chest. As he struggled not to cry aloud, he sensed the vibrations coming from above him and knew someone was on the porch. And that someone was furious, if the strength of the vibrations was to be believed.

"Brian!" his father yelled. "Brian!"

Startled, he put his hands down and crawled further into the small space under the porch.

"Damn you, Fran! Where is he?" His mother cried out and Brian heard a series of footsteps before something fell to the porch.

"I got your ma, boy! Get over here or I’ll hurt her!"

"No, Brian! Don’t come out!"

Another harsh slap and stomping on the porch, what sounded like a body rolling, and his mother begging his father to stop were all Brian could understand.

Then footsteps pounded down the steps, and Brian squeezed his eyes shut tight, fully expecting his father to find him. He held his breath and clasped his arms around his legs. He bit his lower lip so he wouldn’t cry and give away his location. He kept waiting for his father to find him, but he never did.

It wasn’t until Brian heard the horse neighing that he crept closer to the hole under the porch. He waited and listened. The horse’s hoofs dug into the dirt. Once the sound faded, Brian tentatively emerged from his hiding place and felt along the wood frame of the porch until he found the steps and climbed them.

"Ma?" he whispered and reached out his shaky hands. She was out here. He knew she was. His heart raced with certain dread.

He heard labored breathing and moved in that direction. "Ma?" She groaned and swallowed.

He found her and grasped her hand, feeling something sticky and wet. "What is this?"

"Never mind that." She gasped.