Sixty Acres and a Bride (17 page)

Why didn’t he come closer? He’d had no scruples about approaching the house before. But he kept his distance, only allowing his horse to broach the boundary by a hoof before making her turn and pace the border in the other direction.

What horse was that? It wasn’t Pandora or Smokey. She strained to make out some familiar markings. So intent was she on the horse that Rosa didn’t realize she was leaning out the window, Molly’s old white gown that she was wearing gleaming in the blue light. Not until he took his hat off and sneered did she see the moustache.

Jay Tillerton!

An icy fear poured across her shoulders, down her back, and into every pore of her body. She froze, unable to move out of his sight, unable to spare herself his vulgar expression visible from across the yard. He was counting the days, and she was powerless to stop him. He knew her anguish, but he offered her a razor-edged lifeline to grasp with her bare hands.

Never!

Forcing a long draw of air into her lungs, she fell back into her room and slammed the sash closed. Her head hurt. She collapsed into her straw mattress and set her flute aside with shaking hands.

Their time was up. She needed to get ready for the move to . . . wherever. Only Louise still held hope, but Louise would never admit they could lose the farm. Rosa needed to look beyond the tragedy and start planning her new life. But hadn’t she done that already that year?

The morning of August thirteenth came like an undertaker, right on time but not joyfully anticipated. Following the rising sun, with a lot more enthusiasm, Uncle George and the boys arrived to drive the sheep to market.

“Good morning, ladies.” Uncle George stomped his feet on the back porch and motioned for the boys to do so, as well. Rosa thought she saw Bailey roll his eyes at the parental instructions, but he followed suit.

They each gave their aunt Louise a kiss on the cheek, then stood staring at Rosa. She didn’t mean to make them feel uneasy, but she couldn’t disguise the puffy eyes and drawn mouth the sleepless nights had gifted her.

Well, they couldn’t help the mess she was in. She passed a plate of tortillas to the boys, hoping to wipe the worried expressions off their faces.

“Are the bushels of produce you want to sell out there near the barn?”

“Yep, did you bring cages for the chickens? We still have the crates we hauled them in, but they won’t fit now.”

George looked both directions to his sons. “Boys, go toss those bushels in the wagon, but don’t mess with the chickens. I’ll be out directly.”

“It don’t take all of us to do that,” Tuck protested. “And I just cleaned my boots. Can’t I stay?”

“Get!”

Tuck stomped out with Bailey and Samuel, leaving George in the kitchen with the ladies.

“Before I head out, let’s have some coffee. We’ve got some matters to discuss.” He swung a chair around to straddle the back.

“So you can’t take the chickens? Do you think we have enough money without them?”

“No, ma’am, you don’t. Not near enough.” He took a pull from the steaming cup of coffee Rosa handed him and continued.

“Mary and me got to ciphering last night, and here’s what we come up with: Add up the sheep, the produce, and the greenbacks you got, you still come up ’bout a hundred short.” Rosa nodded to affirm his reckoning. “Here’s where it gets interesting . . . turns out we got ourselves a little nest egg in the bank. We’ve been saving so we could run longhorns ourselves next year.” He studied the inside of the mug for a second before continuing. “You see, we were in the same predicament you’re in, but our family came through for us. Now we think it’s time to do the same for you.”

“Oh, George, do you mean it?” Louise had his arm in a death grip.

“Sure do. Those sheep ain’t so bad, and Wes’ll probably want to lease our spread next year, too. Besides, if we didn’t bail you out, I suppose Mary’d insist on your moving over to our place, and if that happened I wouldn’t get a lick of work out of those hands, Bailey included.” He winked at Rosa, who sat too stunned to respond.

They weren’t going to leave? The land would be theirs? She didn’t realize she was speaking aloud until Uncle George answered her.

“I think it’s all going to work out. It’ll be close. I’m not sure exactly how much is in the bank, but Mary tried to figure the interest, and if the sheep market hasn’t softened, we’ll be right as rain.” He shrugged. “If we’re a few dollars short, I’ll send the boys over with some cages and we’ll run those chickens up to Bradford’s. Surely he’d pay top dollar for such beautiful birds.”

Louise blushed. “You mustn’t think poorly of him for not helping. He said he’d like to, but he’s saving to rebuild his store, since it burned in the big fire and all.”

“Sounds like he’s got plans for the future, the scoundrel!” George said merrily, still relishing his role of deliverer.

“Oh, stop. I couldn’t accept his money even if he offered. He’s already been more than generous with Rosa’s work. Hasn’t he, Rosa. Rosa?”

Rosa remained motionless, stunned. All those months of awaiting judgment, and at the last count of the firing squad, the reprieve arrived. Pardoned. Too much to comprehend. The fear was a huge block of ice in her heart, and while George’s news was the first warmth in months, it would take a while before it would melt.

She couldn’t keep her head from spinning long enough to think the whole process through. George would leave today with the sheep. He would sell them at the auction tonight. Tomorrow, the fourteenth, he would take the money to the courthouse and pay their bill. After that they were free and would never again need to come up with a hundred sixty dollars in three months. Never again would that much be required of them. They’d proved they could run a ranch, hadn’t they? They’d raised enough food to live on. Next year they would be self-supporting.

“I just can’t believe it. I thought the farm was lost, and now you . . .” Rosa turned shining eyes to George and, before he could stop her, lunged, throwing both arms around his neck.

His eyes rolled sheepishly beneath bushy brows. “Miss Rosa, this is the one part that caused me to shy away from doing this. I didn’t want you carrying on about it.”

“George, you old fool, you have to let us say thank-you, at least.” Louise searched for her handkerchief but gave up and used her apron to wipe away the tears.

“I reckon we might as well get it over with.” George patted Rosa’s arm as she squeezed his neck. “Maybe being the hero isn’t half bad after all.”

H
ER PASTURE SPREAD BEFORE HER,
deserted—the gentle woolly residents driven away the day before.

“Don’t worry about them.” Rosa scratched Conejo between his long ears. “We’ll get you some more little friends to guard next year. Until then you can go to Uncle George’s so you won’t be lonely.”

Next year. She wouldn’t believe it until Uncle George came back, and the further the sun trekked toward the horizon, the more worried she grew. What if it wasn’t enough? George said they could sell the chickens if they needed to, but would they have time tomorrow, the dreaded fifteenth, for gathering chickens and a ride to Lockhart? At what time did the money need to be at the courthouse?

Those thoughts had kept her up last night. She couldn’t float around the house with a song on her lips like Louise until she saw the receipt from the tax office. The tragedies she’d experienced made it impossible for her to ever take anything for granted again, and the longer Uncle George delayed, the more her imagination turned to unpleasantness.

By the time they’d washed the supper dishes, even Louise couldn’t hide her anxiety.

“Why doesn’t he come by?” She wiped out the basin for the third time. “You’d think he’d come here first, just to let us know.”

Rosa’s stomach knotted. The chickens had enjoyed the dinner she’d declined. Maybe it had fattened them up a little for their trip tomorrow, for she’d already surrendered to the idea of an early morning emergency ride to Lockhart.

With a slap, Louise threw down her wet rag and ran to the door.

“It’s Mary. She’s cutting across the field.”

Rosa ran too but couldn’t see around Louise.

“What? What is it? Let’s go!” She tried to worm her way around her, but Louise was rooted to the ground.

“Louise? What is it?” She succeeded in squeezing into the doorway and stopped, as shocked as her mother-in-law.

They didn’t need to meet Mary to hear her news. Her arms were dangling slack from her sloped shoulders. Her grotesquely elongated shadow was dragging behind her like fresh kill. Something had gone horribly wrong, and whatever it was, Mary bore the brunt of it.

“Oh, Mary!” Louise dropped to the porch and covered her face in her apron.

Squatting next to her, Rosa wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Mary came to the bottom step, her eyes lowered.

“It wasn’t enough?” Rosa asked.

She shook her head but didn’t answer.

Rosa took a long, shaky breath. She shouldn’t be so upset. She’d known this was coming for months. Surely she wasn’t surprised now.

“Thank you for trying. It’s not your fault,” Rosa said.

“No, it’s not, but y’all need to hear the whole account. I need to say my piece before you decide if you want to associate with us or not.”

Mary’s words sent a chill up her spine.

“Go on.” Rosa’s dark eyes never left the woman.

“I’ll keep it short. Lots could be said that don’t need to be said, but you deserve to hear the truth of it from me—since George ain’t got the nerve.” With a swoop she pulled her bonnet off and smoothed back her hair.

“George and the boys made it to market last night, and your sheep did right well—got closer to thirty dollars for them, so they were pleased as punch.” Louise quieted and listened through the apron she clutched to her face. “So George stayed and took the vegetables to market and headed to the bank to get our share of the payment.” Mary paused and cleared her throat. She wadded the bonnet in one hand, stiffened her spine, and continued.

“Seeing how we didn’t need as much since your sheep did so well, George decided to take the extra and try his luck at cards. . . .”

“Oh no. . . .” Louise lifted her head.

“He said he was just going to wager that extra money, but when he lost some of it, he couldn’t walk away. He wanted a chance to win it back. Well, those cardsharps were more than happy—”

“Mary, did he lose it all?” asked Louise.

Mary’s chin quivered, and she beat her eyelids rapidly, but then her jaw set. “No, he didn’t. He stopped. I may be a fool, but I’m proud of him. There’s a lot of blame to heap on George, but he did learn to walk away. He didn’t lose it all. We’ll still come up short, but you have all your money. Every penny of it. George didn’t gamble your money. Just ours. We aim to give yours to you as soon as you’ve got a safe place to keep it.”

“A safe place? I don’t want a safe place. This is my home. . . .”

“I’m so sorry, Louise, but it ain’t gonna turn out that way. We haven’t got long, but you got to make some plans. You have a fair amount of cash, more than you came with. You should be able to let some nice rooms. . . .”

But Louise wasn’t listening. She tore off her apron, ripping loose a strap at the neck and one at the waist, and stuffed the crumpled material to her face to muffle her cries.

Rosa covered her ears with her fists, fingernails digging into the palms of her hands. The last time she’d heard that cry was in the hills of Ciauhtlaz. It rang through the hollows of the mountains and echoed against the wall of fallen rock piled over her husband. She felt the sky crashing down on her, pressing her against the wood siding of the porch, holding her down to inflict more blows. Rosa wanted to get away, but where would she go? Last time Louise had presented the escape, but it had proved to be nothing more than another ambush, another cave-in to trap and suffocate her. Nowhere to run now. No sanctuary left.

“Rosa!”

She pried open her screwed shut eyes when she felt Mary’s strong grip on her arm. Mary practically lifted her and dragged her into the kitchen. Spinning her around, Mary stepped close enough that their skirts pushed at each other.

“Listen, I hate that it happened this way, that we can’t fix it for you, but you can’t fall apart. Louise needs you to be strong.”

Rosa leaned against the wall, hands placed flat on the cool plaster. She was so weary. She had offered all that she had, everything she was, and it wasn’t enough. She would never be enough.

“Let’s see if we can get her in here.”

Louise’s sobs continued to pour through the window with the cool evening air. The light was gone. Morning would come, but there was not another chance. Not for them to remain.

Sprawled across her bed, shoes still on, Louise had finally quieted.

“What are we going to do?” she asked Rosa for the hundredth time while Mary wiped her brow with a cool rag.

“You aren’t forsaken,” Mary said. “Haven’t you been reminding us that God keeps a special watch over each of His children—especially widows? He won’t forget you, and He gave you lots of family that loves you. Tomorrow, George will bring out the wagon, and we’ll get you moved over to our place. It won’t be so bad.”

Louise groaned and pulled the cloth over her eyes.

Mary rose from Louise’s bed. “Reckon that kind of talk can wait. You two need your sleep. Tomorrow will be busy.”

“You aren’t going home? What about the kids and George? He’ll want you with him tonight,” Louise said.

Mary took Louise’s hand in hers. “They’ll be fine. George will hold it together for tonight. Weston is there to take his flock to the sale barn tomorrow, and wild horses couldn’t drag the story out of George in front of Wes.” She yawned big and kicked off her shoes. “It’s late. Better get some shut-eye.”

“Stay with me, Rosa,” Louise begged.

Rosa nodded to Mary. “Go ahead. You can sleep in my room.”

“Are you sure, honey? You look like the walking dead already.”

“I’m sure. I wouldn’t sleep well worrying about her.”

Mary picked up her shoes and gave Rosa a squeeze. “You’re blessed to have her, Louise. Mack’s best day’s work was when he got you such a good daughter-in-law.” She kissed Rosa on the forehead, tucked her shoes under her arm, and lifted the lamp. “Try to get some sleep now. ’Night, Louise.”

Rosa waited until she heard Mary’s heavy steps on the stairs before she stepped out of her slippers and lay next to Louise. The breeze was mercifully fresh. At least she was wearing her loose blouse and skirt from home. She was too tired to go upstairs for her bedclothes. Lying on top of the quilt, Rosa couldn’t tell through the darkness if Louise was asleep, but her breathing had evened.

“Are you awake?” Louise whispered. When Rosa grunted she continued, “Maybe it isn’t hopeless. Mary’s right—God takes care of us widows. Surely He’s going to do something. Remember Reverend Stoker’s sermon about Elijah and the widow? How God multiplied her flour and oil during a famine?”

Rosa closed her eyes. They didn’t need oil and flour. They needed over a hundred dollars by sunup tomorrow morning. She had yet to hear Louise make a reasonable suggestion when it came to their financial straits. Too late now.

“And then there was Ruth and Naomi. They were both widows about to lose their farm.”

Rosa bunched the pillow under her head and tried to act interested. “And God gave them a miracle?”

“Not a miracle. They had an unseemly plan, but God blessed it. I’m not sure I understand why.” Louise sighed. “If only we had a Boaz.”

If only. If only they had a dollar for every
if only
, they wouldn’t need something called a boaz. If Louise had a better option, she should’ve spoken up long ago.

Louise propped herself up on her elbow. “Rosa, he’s at George’s tonight.”

“Who?”

“Weston. He always stays in the barn at Mary’s when he’s there. Do you think he could be our Boaz?” She fell back against her pillow. “What am I thinking? I couldn’t ask you to do that. And what would he think?”

“Think about what? What’s a boaz?”

“He’s the man that saved Ruth and Naomi.”

“Saved their ranch?”

“Yes, of course. But I don’t condone their actions. Even Mary wouldn’t approve.”

What had the woman done? If this plan involved petitioning Weston for help, Rosa didn’t know if she had the courage. The memory of being left on her porch was too fresh. Too painful. Since that day, she hadn’t exchanged a single word with him. She couldn’t approach him, not for any amount of money.

But it wasn’t just the money. She wanted to save a legacy—to keep the land of a family she loved from falling into the hands of a man she loathed. Rosa ground her teeth together. Her neck tightened against the pillow. Already she could hear Jay Tillerton’s boots echoing down the hall, imagine his long, puny body stretched out in her parlor. What wouldn’t she do to keep him from winning?

Rosa rolled to her side and got to her feet. Standing, she lifted her chin and wiped the blurriness from her eyes with her turquoise sleeve. How bad could it be? Surely Louise, with her concerns over propriety, wouldn’t direct her to do anything too offensive.

“If you think it’d work . . .” She didn’t have the strength for another failed attempt.

“I think it would, but what about Weston? What if he isn’t agreeable?”

“He can always say no.”

Louise chewed her lip as she looked Rosa over. “I don’t suppose he would, but if he did, how could you face him? Listen, forget I mentioned it. It was a bad idea. Instead, let’s ask the land office for more time. I can’t believe they’d really evict two women.”

Sometimes Rosa envied her naïveté. Too bad the world wasn’t as generous as Louise imagined. But was Weston? Through the wall she heard the parlor clock gong eleven times before she reached for her shoes.

“I’m going to find him. Tell me what to do.”

They had nothing to lose. That’s what she kept telling herself. Rosa stumbled away from the house. She was numb. Her emotions were worn slick, but she would follow the story just as Louise had told it. After all, Louise had taught her what was proper in this land. She wouldn’t have Rosa behave scandalously, would she? As wild as the scheme sounded, it must be like the dancing—shocking to Rosa’s ears but part of the Texan culture. Biblical, even. Yet the closer Rosa came to her destination, the more aware she became of the awful disgrace to which she was exposing herself.

She could still see Weston’s outraged face after her dance. What would he say about her coming to him in the middle of the night? She’d promised to trust Louise, but the one who would have to prove trustworthy was Weston.