The Bride Backfire (3 page)

Midge Collins drew in a deep breath for a friendly holler when she saw Opal walking down the street, only to swallow it when her friend ducked into the smithy, of all places.

Ah well. Polite young ladies don't raise their voices anyway.
A rueful grin crossed her lips at the idea that Aunt Doreen's and Clara's tutelage might be rubbing off on her. Midge bore no intention of acting a stick-in-the-mud at the age of fifteen, no matter how she wanted to please the makeshift family she'd come to love.

Polite young ladies don't snoop, either,
she reminded herself as she slowed her pace, sidling up on the smithy. But in Midge's experience, informed women kept their eyes and ears open. She wasted no breath on gossiping, but
knowing
... now that was a different story.

Saul said knowledge made the difference between helping and hindering, and Midge didn't respect anyone's opinion more than that of the doctor who'd saved her life just over two years before. As a matter of fact, she reckoned that God, if He existed like everyone in Buttonwood insisted He did, would understand Midge's constant status as lookout. After all, God could see and hear
everything.

Not being so fortunate as that, Midge resorted to lingering in doorways when the need presented itself. Like when a friend who never stepped foot in the smithy marched in, wearing her favorite dress, the day after she met with Clara. Oh, it didn't take much to weasel things out of Clara, who'd confessed to watching Brett Burn's growing interest in Opal.

As though Midge hadn't noticed that
ages
ago. The one who bore watching, to her way of thinking, was that shifty Larry Grogan.

Casually peering around the doorframe into the smithy, Midge spotted her friend's yellow dress, brightened by the forge's firelight, and squinted to get a better look. Sure as a sharpshooter never missed and told, Opal stood in deep conversation with Brett Burn.

Oh, she brandished a battered metal something-or-other, but if Clara's chat with Opal yesterday hadn't prompted this visit, Lucinda Grogan took tea with the Queen of England every Thursday. This trip to the smithy didn't fall under the category of business, no matter if it involved some careful calculation.

Midge eased back, unwilling to be caught spying when there would be at least two other Burns around the place. Yet she lingered when she should've left—a sense she'd missed something making her glance back into the smithy.

This time, she ran her gaze over every nook and cranny until it caught on a subtle movement in the stable annex.
There. That's what I missed before.
Her smile came back full force as she took in the entire scene a second time, with the missing piece in place. Midge recognized the figure as Adam Grogan, and she followed his sightline to find out what he was gaping at.

Her eyes widened.
Oh, now
that's
interesting!

“Ben!” Opal rushed down the church steps that Sunday, Pete and Elroy hard on her heels to greet their eldest brother. She pulled to a halt with the help of a big hug. “You're early!”

“Good to see you, sis.” He tucked her to his side and pulled their brothers close. “You, too, Elroy.” Ben made a show of tilting his head, over-long carroty curls spilling from under his hat as he peered at the youngest Speck. “This can't be little Pete?”

“Not so little anymore.” Pete puffed up in protest, gaze sliding toward where Midge stood several yards away.

“I can see that.”

“Four years makes a difference, son.” Pa came up to them all with a smile broader than the sky above. “Glad to have you back home.”

“Especially now.” The lowered tone didn't stop Pete's whisper from carrying as more than one Speck cast a quick glance toward the Grogans.

Or rather, where Larry and Willa stood. Opal didn't spot Lucinda or Adam nearby. Still, their fleeting looks constituted enough of a cue for Ben to follow suit.

He peered over, a frown darkening his face for the first time since Opal spied him. “That Larry Grogan stirring the pot again? We'll sort him out as needed, though I thought after his threshing accident he'd learned to settle down.”

“So you
did
get my letters.” Opal couldn't hold back the grumble. After all, it wouldn't have done him any serious harm to write back more often.

“Sporadically.” Ben's apologetic smile turned appreciative as he continued to look toward Larry. “Who's the girl? Don't tell me old Larry's nabbed himself a pretty little wife while I was gone!”

Opal just about swallowed her tongue at the realization Ben's appreciation focused on none other than Willa Grogan. Willa had, now that she thought about it, blossomed during his absence. But in the after-church swell of greetings, folks had moved around just enough to confuse the rest of her family.

“Who? The blond?” Elroy shook his head. “Nah, that's Clara Reed—Dr. Reed's wife.”

“Never bore any partiality toward blonds,” Ben denied. “The brunette—looks sort of quiet but with a spark waiting to come out.”

“That's Midge.” Pete thrust his jaw forward. “Now, you may be my elder, but I've got an eye on that one. You can't just come waltzing in here and decide you're interested in her spark when I've been fired up about her for—”

“That's enough, Pete!” Opal stepped in before her brother worked himself into a lather over nothing. “Since when would you describe Midge as quiet anyway?”

“Well...” Loyalty warred with truth and Pete settled for a shrug. “He don't know her.”

“Yet.” Ben dropped the word like a gauntlet, biting back an obvious grin as Pete tensed up again. “So why's she standing next to Larry?”

“Because you're not looking at Midge.” Opal shot a pointed glance at Pete before laying a warning hand on Ben's arm. “The pretty brunette with the quiet air and the attachment to Larry? That's Willa Grogan.”

“Willa!” Astonishment rang in four male Speck voices, setting off a chain reaction.

“She grew up nice,” Ben mused amid Pa's spluttered warnings.

Elroy and Pete craned their necks and gaped as though seeing Willa for the first time in, well, about four years.

The whole tableau would have earned a roll of the eyes and a sigh from Opal at any other time, but as things stood, she swiftly separated herself from the Speck men. After the thunder of her family's joint exclamation, how could the Grogans not stir up a storm?

Sure enough, Larry's and Diggory's darkening expressions signaled trouble.

Lucinda, never one to smooth ruffled feathers, bustled over to throw protective arms around her only daughter and glower at Ben.

Opal fixed her gaze on Adam—whose face mirrored the resignation in her own heart. “Sorry,” she addressed her apology to him. “Ben didn't recognize your sister is all.”

Diggory shouldered forward. “He shouldn't have been looking.”

“Hold on.” Ben held up his hands, palms out in the universal signal of avoiding trouble. “I meant no disrespect. It's been years and my family needed to bring me up to speed on the new faces.”

“I'm not new.” Puzzled curiosity arched Willa's brows, making her eyes seem brighter than usual.

“No, Miss Grogan”—Ben swept off his hat and gave a little bow—“though I didn't recognize you alongside Mrs. Reed and some others. The years bring changes.”

“So I see.” Surely that wasn't
interest
tingeing Willa's agreement? A faint pink flushed her cheeks as she glanced at Ben in a way Opal would've pegged as admiration.

An admiration sure to invite adversity.

Opal bit her lip. Why, oh why couldn't Ben have noticed Amanda Dunstall? Or even Midge. As much as it would mean chaos with Pete, she'd rather deal with that than goading the Grogans!

Larry stepped in front of his sister. “Not enough changes for you to forget your place, Speck.”

“My place is in Buttonwood, same as yours.” Level and logical, Ben's words did nothing to soothe the situation.

“Maybe you should pick another place. I liked it better when you jaunted off for years.”

“You would!” Pete's jaw pushed forward as he addressed Larry. “Ben's the better man, and you wouldn't want any comparisons.”

“Don't insult Willa's brother.” A swift dip of his hat accompanied Ben's words. “No need for insults. Every man stands on his own merit.”

“True.” His sister's agreement with his enemy pushed Larry's patience over the edge.

“You don't get to stand anywhere near her, Speck!”

“Strong words for a man who breaches boundaries, Grogan.” Pa's eyes narrowed, making fear flash down Opal's spine. “Be careful who you insult.”

“Some boundaries carry more weight than others.” Adam's frown swept away the last of Opal's hope that further ugliness would be avoided. No matter he was right, and if his brother abided by that, they would all be fine.

“Ben's offered no offense,” she reminded everyone. “Nor does he intend to.”

“Keep it that way,” Lucinda snapped, finding her voice when her husband showed up. “We don't want
any
offers from a Speck.”

“But we'll make you one,” Diggory added, quick to catch on to the problem. “Stay away from our women, and we won't try to claim anything of yours.”

“Understood.” Pa's jaw clenched so tight Opal couldn't see how the words got out. “And here's the last offer you'll get from the Specks, so listen and listen good. Keep your Grogan carcasses off our land, and we'll keep our bullets out of your hides. Otherwise, you'll be digging graves.”

“She's dead.” Larry gave voice to the obvious as Adam looked over Sadie's remains.

“Not surprising.” He chose his response carefully. “She'd stayed with us longer than we could've hoped, and only stopped producing milk this spring. Not bad for an old gal.” Adam patted the cow's side and stood up.

“Wasn't age that took her.” Excitement colored his brother's voice now. “Look close—eyes clouded, froth at the mouth, and we both know she hadn't been eating or drinking again.”

“Old cattle can get finicky.” Noncommittal on the outside, Adam knew all too well what the signs most likely meant—especially given the sporadic losses they'd suffered the past two years.

“Someone poisoned her, and we both know who's to blame!” To a casual listener, Larry's accusation would ring with righteous outrage.

But Adam heard the current of satisfaction and even glee lurking beneath. He knew his brother's itch for trouble had grown to an all-out rash lately, and any pretext to attack the Specks wouldn't be overlooked.

“Assumptions won't get us anywhere.” Holding up a hand when his brother tried to interrupt, Adam continued, “Sadie'd been on her last legs long before this, and there's nothing to be served by pointing fingers at our neighbors for what could be a natural death.”

“It's not. You know it's not.”

“You don't know anything.”

Larry flushed, his scar a pale slash against the livid red of his rage. “I know this cow didn't die from old age, and I know you're trying to keep it quiet because you don't want
trouble.
”

“Why do you want it so much you create it at every opportunity?” Adam thumbed his hat back. “Couldn't you focus on what's best for the family?”

“What makes you think I'm not? You stare down your nose because you won't grab a gun, but it's just fine to let enemies sneak onto our land, poison our cattle, and get away with it.” The words came fast and furious. “Oh no. Big brother
Adam
will be content to wait until Benjamin Speck makes off with Willa or their old man finally settles the score with Pa for good before you get off your high horse and do something!”

“Or we can grab our guns and start a war over an old cow the Specks might not have touched, and be sure that those of us who survive will live with blood on our hands for the rest of our days.” Adam jerked the rope off his saddle and flung the heavy coil at Larry's chest. “It's a short step off a steep cliff to go from a sick cow to accusing the Specks of plotting to kill us.”

“True.” Pa's entrance to the heated conversation took them both off guard, as Adam knew it was intended to. “Swipe the surprise off your faces, boys. An entire contingent could have snuck up while the pair of you went to war armed with nothing but hot air.” He unrolled his butchering pack as he spoke. “Least you could've done was string up the carcass to make some use of the time.”

“Yes, sir.” Larry knotted a noose around the cow's hind legs before flinging the free end of the coil over the sturdiest branch of the closest cottonwood. They joined together in hauling it upright and securing it.

No one spoke, but Adam sent up enough prayers to pepper heaven itself.
Please let Pa see reason, Lord. Don't let him seek revenge or make this feud fatal....

“So you heard Adam, but I was saying—”

“Heard your bit, too.” Pa sucked his teeth as was his habit when thinking. “The thing of it is you're both wrong with a little right mixed in.”

Adam held his peace—and his breath—until his father explained. It was too early to be relieved, and far too late not to be nervous about the situation.

“Which is the part I'm right about?” Larry cut straight to the crucial question, as he could be counted upon to do anytime it concerned him directly. “That the Specks poisoned our cattle? That obviously it's the first move and the next will be worse? That we can't let them get away with it unpunished?”

About then he ran out of air, and in the pause for his next breath, Pa went ahead and answered.

“Sadie didn't die naturally and the Specks most likely caused it.” His first words brought a self-satisfied smirk to Larry's face before Pa kept on. “Assuming it's part of a grand plan to destroy our whole family would be getting ahead of ourselves, and going after any Speck without solid evidence is a plumb fool move.”

Thank You, Lord.
Adam felt a knot of tension ease from between his shoulder blades.

“Where's the part when Adam's wrong?” Petulance didn't suit a grown man, and Larry wore it worse than most.

“We can't let this go unanswered.” Pa's answer returned the knot to Adam's back, bigger and meaner than ever. “After we butcher Sadie, tonight I'll leave her bones near the Speck place with a note.”

“Next time it'll be one of theirs in return?” Glee didn't suit his brother any better as Larry volunteered to take care of things.

“That's right.” Selecting a knife, Pa gave a sharp nod. A quick, clean cut to the cow's neck had the blood draining into the large bowl. “Grogans are too smart to start bloodshed.” He wiped the blade on some long prairie grass as the stream slowed to a trickle. “But sure as shooting we know to finish it.”

“Outnumbered again.” Opal bit back a sigh and rolled up her sleeves as the men went out to work the fields, leaving her to face down the mountain of breakfast dishes. She started piling plates.

Sure, her brothers would tease her mercilessly if they heard her talking to the tableware, but they weren't around. Nobody was.
Which is the problem.
Opal scrubbed at the fragments of scrambled eggs with unwarranted vigor.
If I had someone to talk to, I wouldn't bother making the odd comment to the dishes!

Nor the chickens while she scattered seed, or the cows when she milked every morning, or her bees when she went to the apiary ...
All right. I'd probably still talk to my bees. But that's to be expected of any beekeeper. In fact,
Opal dried her biggest pan with a flourish,
I defy anyone to hear the welcoming hum of the hives and not want to be friendly in return!

But maybe she'd make a point of not conversing with the cookery anymore, just to be on the safe side. Things hadn't been so hard before Pete grew old enough and big enough to help work the fields. Autumn brought the harvest, and winter snows imprisoned everyone equally, but it was spring and summer Opal came to dread. The warm months brought sunshine but stole all company and laughter. The only time she saw her family, the men bolted their food or headed for bed.

Opal returned the last dish into its place and pulled the second loaf of bread from the niche near the fireplace. The next slid in immediately afterward. Cooking for Pa, Elroy, and Pete took some doing, but with Ben home, there'd be no time to lose.

She started the stew meat, knowing dinnertime would come as swiftly as the blend of meat and vegetables simmered into a thick broth, and chopped potatoes, onions, and carrots to add in later. Opal readied the potatoes with a generous hand, as the supply held steady even after a hard winter. The carrots, by contrast, she sliced as thin as possible. Until her garden added to the larder, produce was precious.

The smell of warm yeast layered over the tinge of smoke, always managing to elude the chimney to linger in the dark confines of the soddy. No matter that Opal threw the door wide open and pushed back the curtains to their only window, light seemed swallowed by their dark earthen walls. Someday, perhaps, they'd whitewash them....

For now, Opal removed the golden-brown loaf from her baking niche and popped in the final batch of bread with a smile. When this last round finished, she'd be out in the sunshine, free to visit her apiary.

Her broom made short work of sweeping the floor, still a necessary chore no matter the floor itself was hard-packed dirt. Loose dust got on—and in—absolutely everything, a constant battle from above and below when living in a soddy. Opal cast a glance at the ceiling, covered in pages torn from old catalogs she'd coaxed from Josiah Reed when his mercantile no longer needed them.

So long as the pages stayed tacked in place, dirt clods and insects didn't drop onto the table or beds. A few leafs looked to be working free of their moorings, spurring Opal to drag a chair beneath them, climb up, and affix them more firmly.

A woman needed an earthworm to fall in her hair only once in a lifetime, thank-you-very-much.
Actually, I could have done without that even once....

Her musings ended when the bread finished. After a quick check on the progress of the stew, Opal stepped outside. Spring sunshine spilled onto fresh green grasses bright with new life.

Summer's glare heats the earth in golden browns, making the crops grow. Fire tinges autumn's rays, painting the plants for harvest. Winter nights swallow the daylight too soon, so it shines fierce, blinding white whenever it punches through the clouds. But spring...

“I always did like early sunshine best, Lord.” She spoke the thought aloud, not bothering to stop and wonder whether it counted as prayer when she talked with God this way. It used to worry her, whether it wasn't respectful enough, but the Bible talked about even rocks crying out to Him. The Psalms, mostly David's thoughts and praises to God, was her favorite book of God's Word. Opal's words weren't washed in poetry like that king's of long ago, but she did her best to put her feelings into words.

“Spring sunbeams are the closest thing I can imagine to the breath of life. If I had to pick a color to represent hope, I'd pick the pale green of a new blade of grass in the soft light of a spring morning.”

“So would I.” The deep rumble of a man's voice jerked her to a halt.

“Larry?” She held her back ramrod straight against the note of fear her voice betrayed, refusing to turn and acknowledge him.
But it didn't sound like Larry....

“Adam.” The muffled sound of booted steps on moist earth struck no fear in her heart. “I didn't mean to frighten you.”

“You don't.” Turning to face him, Opal could've kicked herself for the words. “I mean, you didn't.”

“Ah.” He came to a stop a respectable distance from her, one thumb hooked at the base of his suspenders. “Of course not.”

Her pulse, which had slowed after the assurance Larry hadn't made good on his threats to come to the house, picked up its pace again at the half-smile on Adam's face. She frowned. “What are you doing here?” After the scene at the churchyard, the Grogans needed to stay as far away from her family as possible.

“You're not angry.” His gaze seemed to take her measure, and Opal squashed the temptation to wonder whether she'd stacked up. “There's still time, then.”

“For what?” Anxiety over his purpose, despite it being Adam and not Larry, began to gnaw the edges of her nerves. “And I'm not angry so much as dumbfounded that you'd be so foolish as to breach our boundary with the way things stand.”

“Sometimes a little foolish behavior is the smartest thing to do.” His dark gaze met hers, drawing her into unspoken questions she couldn't answer.

“That doesn't make a lick of sense, Adam Grogan.” She planted her hands on her hips. “And since you don't want to tell me what's going on, you can just scuttle back to your own farm. And stay there so none of my family feels obligated to make things any worse!”

“I'm sorry, Opal.”

His apology was the first thing Adam had ever done to frighten her. Everyone knew Grogans didn't apologize.

Her eyes widened as he took a step closer and lowered his voice. “It's too late for that.”