Mail Order Prairie Bride: (A Western Historical Romance) (Dodge City Brides Book 1) (10 page)

She leaped to her feet and ripped off her nightgown, then quickly donned the same dress she’d worn yesterday. While she hurriedly laced her boots, she prayed that Briggs had not come in here expecting breakfast before tending to his crops. Surely he would have woken her. Oh, Heaven forbid he should find out how late she had slept!

She splashed some cold water onto her face and pinched her cheeks. She reached for a biscuit, took it with her and ran up the stairs into the daylight. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the wheat field was flapping and hissing beneath the incessant breeze. Briggs was nowhere to be seen, so she started off for the Whitiker’s place, thinking a visit there would be a good excuse to explain her lack of productivity that morning.

As soon as she rounded the corner of the house, she stopped, noticing two barrels standing at attention, both filled to the brim with fresh water. “Oh, dear,” she said aloud, fully aware she was talking to herself. He
had
been there.

There was still a chance he had not gone into the house, she told herself, trying to be optimistic.

When she passed the barrels, she found herself feeling a flicker of encouragement. It had been very generous of him to haul the water for her when he had his own work to do in the field. Perhaps there was a chance for civility, if nothing more. It had been clear to her last night, when he’d announced he would sleep in the barn, that he couldn’t endure the idea of touching her.

Well, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing, she thought, picking her way through the barn yard and past the snorting pig in the pen. Touching her would only remind him of the thing that had scarred their marriage on the very first day. Surely, he would feel differently in time, when she proved herself loyal and serious about this marriage…

A few minutes later, Sarah reached the creek. Looking in both directions and knowing enough not to expect a bridge anywhere close by, she decided there was no other option but to wade across. She removed her boots and hoisted her skirts up to her waist, then waded through the cool, resistant water, carrying her boots in one hand over her head. She climbed the creek bank on the other side, and while she sat in the grass retying her boots, she saw chimney smoke against the blue sky in the distance. With her drawers wet and sticking to her legs beneath her skirts, she started off in that direction.

A short time later, she walked into the Whitiker’s yard and found their homestead far more established than her own. A large vegetable garden grew just beyond the wood fence—a wood fence!—and the sturdy sod house stood square and straight, topped with a plank roof. Ah, what a luxury, she thought, recalling how she’d had to keep the stew covered last night while it was cooking, just to prevent dirt from dropping into the pot.

Warm and perspiring from the long walk in the sun, Sarah approached the front door. She noticed with interest a birdcage hanging by the front window, the songbird making cheerful music. Below the window, potted flowers turned their pink and purple faces to the sky and seemed to giggle in the wind. Sarah wished she’d had the forethought to bring along some of her biscuits. Too late now, she said to herself, as she raised her fist to knock.

Almost immediately, a plump, brown-haired woman opened the door. Her face beamed with a smile. “Why, hello there! You must be Sarah. Come in, come in.”

Right away, Sarah felt welcome and very grateful to meet a female neighbor. She hadn’t realized how the idea of being isolated had gnawed at her since she and Briggs had left Dodge City. “How do you do?” she greeted.

“I’m Martha Whitiker.” The woman ushered Sarah into the kitchen. “I’ve been waiting for days for you to arrive. Ever since Briggy placed that ad.”

Briggy?
“You know about that?”

“Oh, yes. He’s like a brother to Howard and me. In fact, it was our idea. Though I don’t know how we’ll get along without his company so often. But as Howard says, we’re not losing a friend, we’re gaining one, and poor Briggy was in desperate need of your arrival.”

Overwhelmed by this news, Sarah accepted the chair Martha offered and sat at the table, admiring the bright red checkered tablecloth.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Martha asked.

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

“Not at all! I slipped the bread into the oven only five minutes ago and I started a pot then.”

How easy Martha made it seem. Sarah watched her fill two china cups full of rich smelling coffee. Compared to Sarah’s new home, this place was a palace.

Just then, the door flew open and a little girl blew into the house, her blond curls frazzled and wind-strewn. “Mama!” she shouted, overflowing with excitement. “Papa caught a prairie chicken! It walked right past him and he threw the hammer at it, struck it stiff!”

Martha scooped the child into her arms. “That’s wonderful. What a feast we’ll have tonight.” She set the girl down but held her hand. “Mollie, this is our new neighbor, Sarah Brigman.” The little girl shyly stepped forward.

Sarah leaned down to greet the child at eye level. “Hello, Mollie. What a pretty dress you have on.”

“Mama made it. She made my other one, too.”

“You’re a very lucky girl. How old are you?”

Mollie held up six fingers, then buried her face in her mother’s skirt.

“She’s pretending to be bashful today,” Martha whispered. “We don’t get many visitors.”

Sarah smiled warmly, then heard footsteps tapping over the ground outside. Mollie suddenly forgot her shyness and darted to the door. “Look! Frank’s got the chicken!”

Sarah swiveled in her chair to see a young boy step into the doorway. Blonde like Mollie, he stood barefoot, proudly displaying a dead chicken he held upside-down by its spindly legs. He couldn’t have been more than nine or ten. “You got some pluckin’ to do, Ma.”

Martha smiled, her hands resting on her wide hips. “I can see that. Come inside and meet our new neighbor, Mrs. Brigman.”

He lowered the lifeless chicken to his side, wiped one hand on his trousers and held it out. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Brigman. I’m Frank.” Sarah shook his proffered hand. “Will you tell Briggs
I
saw the chicken first?”

Sarah looked up at Martha, questioningly.

Martha said, “Frank thinks very highly of Briggs.”

“He’s going to let me help him dig his well.”

“A well?” Sarah repeated, hoping she’d heard Frank correctly.

“Yes, ma’am. I was too little to help Pa when he dug ours. And Briggs said I oughta know how to do it if I’m gonna be a farmer like him some day.”

Martha stepped forward and ushered the children toward the door. “All right, all right. Back to your chores. Thank you for bringing the chicken.”

Frank dropped the dead hen with a
plop
onto the table in front of Sarah, who quickly leaned back in her chair. The feathers shivered, then went still. Frank and Mollie bolted out the door.

Martha picked the bird up by its claws and plopped it on the counter, much to Sarah’s relief. “Our children…” she remarked, smiling. “I don’t know how we’d get along without them. It would be dreadfully quiet around here.” She sat down across from Sarah and sipped her coffee. “So, how are you holding up? All this must have come as a shock to you.”

Sarah raised her cup to her lips. A part of her wanted nothing more than to spill all her woes onto the table in front of this woman, but wasn’t it enough that Briggs thought she couldn’t manage out here? She didn’t want Martha to agree with him. “Well, I….”

Martha began nodding before Sarah could finish. “I felt the same way when I first came. In fact, I burst into tears the moment Howard stopped the wagon in front of the dugout.”

Sarah raised her eyebrows. “You lived in a dugout, too?”

“Oh, yes. What a time that was. I thought I’d go out of my mind. I was used to life in town with the mercantile down the street. You can’t imagine how I suffered that first year.”

Sarah glanced with hope around the tidy, well-stocked kitchen. “It seems like you have everything you need now.”

“Yes, we put a lot into this place. Most of the big improvements came when Briggs arrived, though.”

Sarah set down her cup, suddenly more curious than she cared to admit. “Really? How’s that?”

“He was all alone—and life isn’t easy out here for a man on his own. In fact, it’s darn near impossible. He traded work for a meal or a loaf of bread and came by often. That’s why he was so desperate for a wife. He’d get behind in his own work, coming here to help us. He didn’t have time to do what a woman would have done for him. Make no mistake about it, you’ll work just as hard as he does. But you’ll make a good life here, I know you will.”

Sarah felt her optimism returning. It wasn’t like her to give up, yet last night, when her husband had walked out the door, she’d come close. “It just seems like there’s so much to learn. I was so relieved when Briggs suggested I come here and talk to you.”

“I told him to send you over the moment you arrived. I said, ‘Don’t let her lift a finger before she talks to me.’”

“Well, he did let me lift a finger. In fact, he enjoyed watching me struggle over every little thing from lighting the fire to hauling water from the creek.”

Martha reached across the table and touched Sarah’s hand. “Don’t be too hard on him. He’s had a rough time lately. He’s a little gun shy.”

She drew her eyebrows together in confusion.

“You don’t know?” Martha asked, sitting back. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Please, tell me,” Sarah implored, wishing she had known more about her husband
before
their wedding night. She might have handled things differently.

“It really isn’t my place to say.”

“Martha, please, it would help me to know. Otherwise, this marriage is going to last about as long as a snowman in July.”

Sarah watched her neighbor shift uncomfortably in her chair. “We can’t have that, now. Briggs couldn’t handle another heartbreak like the first one.”

Sarah tensed. “Heartbreak?”

“Worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

Astonished, Sarah couldn’t imagine Briggs feeling so deeply for anyone, much less admitting to it.

“Oh dear,” Martha remarked. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. Howard told me not to.”

“Of course you should have. I need to know. What happened? Who was she?”

“It was a terrible thing.” Martha stood and refilled Sarah’s cup with more hot coffee. “Briggs came here two years ago from Nebraska after his whole family died—”

“His family died?” Her heart throbbed painfully in her chest, for she knew what it was like to lose people.

“Consumption,” Martha explained. “Every last one of them except for George, who had moved to Dodge to start his law office the year before. Briggs lost his parents, his younger brother, his three young sisters. After all that, he just couldn’t stay there. He wanted to start fresh somewhere else. So he sold everything and came to Dodge to be near George and buy some land. Then he met Isabelle in town. Her father is the Reverend. Very friendly fellow.”

“Isabelle….”

Martha nodded. “Yes, she’s the one.”

The one
. So, Briggs wasn’t so innocent himself.

“But Isabelle wasn’t exactly suited to the plains,” Martha went on. “She was a beauty though, and that made Briggs a little foolish in the head, I think. He spent most of his savings on the ring, plus an engagement gift—a necklace. I suppose he wanted to make sure she wouldn’t change her mind.”

Martha paused. “So Briggs built his little dugout and brought her out to see it, promising he’d build her a real house the following year. She took one look at that place and said she’d have to rethink their engagement. Not a week later, she ran off with another man—a rich one. It was the betrayal that broke Briggy’s heart. He said nothing was more important to him than trust, and that he’d never fall for a beautiful woman again because other men would always be trying to woo her away.”

Martha seemed to jolt back to the present, then squirmed in her chair as she looked into Sarah’s eyes. Sarah had the distinct feeling Martha suddenly wanted to eat her words. “I’m sure he’s over that now,” she added.

But when Sarah remembered the expression on Briggs’s face when he first saw her, she doubted it. “How long ago did this happen?”

“It’s been about three months.”

Only three months
.
That hypocrite.

Sarah stood and crossed to the window, wishing she had known about this sooner. She could have thrown it back in his face when he’d challenged her about her past with another man.

“Are you all right, my dear? Was I wrong to tell you?”

Sarah faced her neighbor. “No, you were right. I think I understand now, why he’s been cool toward me.”

He’s afraid to love someone. To trust them not to leave him.

“I hope I haven’t interfered,” Martha said. “But you should know that it’s nothing
you’ve
done. He’ll warm up soon, I know he will.”

Sarah looked out the window.
Nothing I’ve done.
If only it were true.

When Sarah turned around again, Martha was folding the table cloth. She set it on a shelf and carried the chicken to the table. “You don’t mind if I pluck while we talk, do you? If I can get this into the oven as soon as the bread comes out, I’ll be able to send you home with some fresh cooked meat for that hungry man of yours. That’ll help him forget about Isabelle.”