He clenched his jaw and forced his thoughts back to the task at hand, trying but failing to calm the storm that was raging within. The sun was hanging low in the sky and he could hear Buena Gideon in the kitchen, preparing the evening meal after giving Robbie his bath and settling him in his crib. The sounds of pots clanging and knives chopping helped center his thoughts.
He’d rehearsed over and over again in his mind what he would say to Miss. Berry when she arrived.
Thank you very much for coming, but this was not my idea and I will reimburse you for the travel expenses and the inconvenience caused by my father. I am sympathetic to your plight, but will under no circumstances be marrying you.
Not wanting to cause her any kind of embarrassment, he would allow her to rest for the night before putting her back on the train in the morning.
Nobody in town needed to be any the wiser of her journey, saving her any embarrassment. It was a solid plan that he felt completely justified in carrying out.
Lovely and God-fearing as his father made her out to be from her letters, he would not be forced to love another woman. His wife was the only woman he could possibly love. Six months had been more than enough time for him to be sure of that. It was downright disrespectful to his wife’s memory to even suggest otherwise. Even if he did not have to love her in that way, he still couldn’t find it in himself to live with her and be kind to her.
He looked around the neat little room that served as the study. It held a simple wooden desk and bookshelf that held the meticulous ledgers his father kept of the ranch’s accounts. The leather-bound volumes lay slanted on their shelf. This room had always helped him organize his thoughts in the past, but now it brought back memories he’d rather forget.
The drapes were pale blue cotton, hand-stitched by his mother. She had wanted them to be comfortable when they did their work, frequently placing fresh flowers in the vase on the desk that now stood empty.
The rug was brown and rough from months of neglect, not having seen a lick of soap or even a broom. Buena was far too busy with the food and looking after Robbie to take care of all the cleaning as well.
He made a mental note to hire a girl from the village to come in and clean once this matter with Rosaline Berry was settled. There were plenty of young women in town looking for a job. He’d look for one that was happily married so that nobody could get any ideas.
His attention was drawn to the solid spruce guitar that lay forgotten in the corner next to the shelf of ledgers. Thomas crossed the room and lingered just in front of it, his hand reaching out and hovering inches above the neck as the varnished wood glinted in the light of the evening sun.
His wife had given him the guitar as a birthday gift, presenting it to him in this very room as he sat working at the desk.
“Happy birthday, my darling!” she had beamed as she handed him the guitar. “May God spare you many more,” her voice had chimed. She had this way of bringing the sun with her wherever she went, her eyes crinkling at the corners whenever she smiled.
His heart clenched at the memory as he withdrew his hand and walked over to the window that overlooked the entrance to the ranch.
He was momentarily plagued by guilt. What would his wife have said if she knew he hadn’t played a single note in months. What would she say if she knew he hadn’t prayed to God in all that time either? She would have been disappointed to see him as he was at the moment.
Daily prayer and evenings singing hymns with the family, as he played his guitar on the porch, had been part of their daily family traditions. Traditions that had been buried along with his wife.
His mother and wife had sung out their praises to the Lord. Afterward, his father would pick up the Bible and they would all gather around to hear the passages read aloud, the smell of their evening meal still hanging in the air as they listened in contentment.
He had so much faith back then. Now the memories were just a burden to his soul. His heart hardened as he recalled one of the verses he used to cherish.
(Proverbs 13:12) Hope deferred maketh the heart sick: but when the desire cometh, it is a tree of life.
What hope did he have left? His wife was gone. That desire would never again be fulfilled. There was nothing anyone could do to fulfill that hope.
Did his father really think that a new bride would once again ignite the fire in his soul that had gone out?
He stiffened as he heard the hooves of the horses drawing near, followed by the sound of the buckboard pulling into the drive. The light was low and he could just make out the figures that were sitting atop the seat. A small hooded figure sat beside his father.
Thomas took a deep breath and rehearsed his speech for the last time, mouthing the words to himself. He would await their guest in the kitchen and tell her of his decision as soon as she came in. Quick and simple. No need for pleasantries.
The voices outside told him that Buena was there to greet their guest. He waited a minute or two as he worked up his nerve.
Reaching for the lamp that stood on the desk, he took the matches that lay beside it and lit the wick. The sun had set and the hall was dark as he made his way to the kitchen.
Buena was chattering away in her comforting voice when he entered the room. She was fussing about, getting some tea for their guest, her plump frame bustling as she worked. She was a pleasant woman with a mop of light brown curls tucked into her cap. Her cheeks were always flushed like two ripe apples and a sunny smile was never far from her lips.
Thomas placed the lamp on the table beside the door. The kitchen was brightly lit from the fire that burned in the hearth., and an iron kettle was steaming as it hung over the flames. The long gray table that ran down the center of the room had been set with two additional plates.
Buena had taken to laying their food on the table and settling Robbie for the night before heading home in the evenings, but Arthur had asked her to stay a few nights until Rosaline could find her footing. A plan that would last for only one night, if Thomas had anything to do with it. After all, Rosaline would be headed back home in the morning.
Arthur Stratton stood at the door holding a small, battered valise. He nodded to his son in greeting and stepped aside.
Thomas’ breath caught in his chest, the words he had rehearsed all but forgotten as he took in the scene. Behind his father stood a slight young woman with the most enchantingly green eyes he had ever seen. At least a head shorter than him, she drew back her bonnet to reveal a crop of auburn hair that was loosely pinned into a bun with whisps of loose tendrils framing her face. Her features were delicate and pale.
