Chapter Twenty-Eight
The sun glimmered brightly in the cloudless blue sky and three days later the snow was nearly gone, leaving wet and muddy roads behind. Although the wagon wheels tended to bog down in wet, low-lying areas, they were passable. Despite his protests, Will went back to school. Future farmer status had been approved, but illiterate future farmer status was vetoed decisively by both Heath and Jenny.
When they dropped him off at the schoolhouse, he’d sprinted excitedly up to his friends, who he hadn’t seen in five days, not acting at all like a child who was upset about returning to school. Jenny had called him all bluster, Heath saying he was all boy and he’d been a lot like Will at that age. He’d then dropped her by Ivinson’s to restock and then much to Jenny’s surprise, let her ride along to his meeting with George. As she eyed his broad shoulders and the Peacemaker holstered at his hip, she plainly understood the type of escort he had in mind for the future.
An astonished George invited them in. When they entered his humble but clean home, Jenny was thrilled to see his mother out of bed and looking remarkably improved. She held her arms up to Jenny and cried her thanks as she leaned down for a hug.
“It was my sister-in-law’s doing, Mrs. Gleason. She had the knowledge to put her finger right on what was ailing you.”
“Then bless her too, my dear.”
Another round of tears had come when Heath, after a lengthy discussion with George, had offered them a tenancy on the farm. The initial term was for one year, which would take them through the spring planting and fall harvest. George would work the farm in exchange for a share of the profits and a place to live. Since they would be moving in during the winter months and were without proceeds from the previous year’s harvest, Heath told him he could earn his rent by stabling horses during the winter and helping out at Silverbend if the need arose. On top of that, he offered him a stipend, one that Jenny thought was quite generous for a family of three. This would sustain them easily until the crops came in the following year.
As they rode away, leaving the family stunned by the whims of fortune and providence, not to mention Heath’s generosity, Jenny looked at her husband in adoration.
“You are a fine man, Heath Jackson. What you’re doing for George is more than I would have ever asked for or expected. I knew I was right about you all those years ago when you jumped into Mrs. McKittrick’s buggy and saved her life. You were a hero that day too.”
He sent a startled look her way. “I’d forgotten that day. How do you even remember? You couldn’t have been much older than Will.”
“I was eleven and fell in love with you that day. You were the stuff of dreams, at the very least a hero like in one of my books.”
He shook his head ruefully. “I was acting on instinct; besides, Aaron was there too.”
“He stayed on his horse, Heath, a mere spectator. You leapt from the back of yours, flew through the air, and landed with precision in time to save the poor old woman from certain death. For the longest time thereafter, I thought of you as a swashbuckler of old, swinging from the rigging onto the deck of a conquered vessel and rescuing the fair maiden.” She paused as that image played in her mind. She could easily see Heath as a buccaneer with tall, gleaming boots, his white shirt opened in a deep V at the neck, sleeves fluttering in the breeze as his long dark hair flowed around his shoulders. Just barely, she held back a sigh.
“What were you reading that put such thoughts in your head?”
“The Three Musketeers was one of my favorites and The Pirate by Sir Walter Scott. I also enjoyed poems, like The Corsair by Byron. Oh, and Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights, I read that at least a dozen times.”
He laughed, his joyous exuberance drawing looks from folks as they passed. It was also contagious and had her grinning right along with him. When he angled his head down to hers, his eyes were twinkling. “I’m glad you think of me in such lofty ranks as a Byron hero, my little romantic, but sadly, my sword-fighting skills are rather rusty.”
“You don’t have to use a sword to slay dragons or rescue fair maidens, Heath. You’ve proved that.”
He shook his head. Letting loose the reins with one hand, he tucked her under his arm. “I’m a man, darlin’, like any other.”
“You’re also modest.” She leaned her head on his shoulder, happier than she’d been in months. “Did I thank you for my birthday gift?”
“About a million times, love. I’m glad you like it.”
“Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would ever own something so beautiful.” Her eyes fell to the ring on her left hand. He had purchased it after their return from Omaha and secreted it away as a birthday surprise. He also gave her an exquisite brooch in the shape of a pansy. Set in yellow gold, the flower was hand-painted in purple and yellow with small diamonds outlining the petals. Her hand came up to where it was pinned to her lapel. Through her coat, she could make out the shape of what Heath called her true birthday present, as he owed her a real wedding ring anyway.
She’d been afraid to wear it out, especially to George’s in South Town, but Heath said as long as it was beneath her coat, out of sight, that it would be fine.
“Besides,” Heath had added, “why have pretty things if you can’t show them off?”
She did just that, removing her coat and folding it over her arm when she shopped at the mercantile. She ran into friends and acquaintances who were dying for details of her sudden marriage. They openly admired her brooch and wedding ring, not least of all sighing over what a catch she’d found in Heath Jackson.
After shopping, she was due down the street at Mrs. Mayhew’s to order a few dresses. Letty had helped her do up one, and a few skirts and blouses while they were snowed in, but Heath insisted she have a few more for church and visiting about town. He didn’t have to twist her arm much, since all of her things were either old and threadbare, juvenile, or very much out of style.
As she stepped off the bottom stair from Ivinson’s onto the boardwalk, she turned north toward the seamstress’ shop and stopped dead in her tracks. Across the street, she spotted Heath. He wasn’t alone. His head was angled down as he listened to the woman beside him. It was Marion Jeffers. Jenny’s heart lurched as she saw the woman, her husband’s former lover, laughing at something he said. What was she doing back in Laramie? The widow had supposedly moved to Cheyenne.
Jealousy raced through her, but when Marion put her hand on his arm in an overtly familiar manner, it was too much. She wasn’t about to stand by and watch her flirt and make doe eyes at him on a public street. Her vision red with outrage, Jenny bolted forward, ready to race across the street and intervene. In her haste, she didn’t watch where she was going and stepped down into an icy cold puddle. Gasping, she looked down at her ruined boots and the saturated hem of her skirt. As she stepped back, her toes squishing uncomfortably inside her boots, a buggy drove by and finished the job, splashing icy cold, muddy water all over her, a few droplets reaching as high as her face. The chill racing through her was so stunning, Jenny shrieked.
“Oh, Jenny,” her friend Melissa Ann cried from behind her, having witnessed the whole thing. “Here,” she said, flapping a linen cloth at her, “take my hanky, poor thing.”
A hand at her back had her turning; Heath had arrived. “Let’s get you out of the street.” He guided her, sodden and shivering, back to the safety of the walkway. As her teeth chattered, Jenny spared a glance over her shoulder and saw that the widow had moved on.
“Darlin’, you’re a mess.” He took the cloth from Melissa with a nod of thanks and wiped at the mud on her face and neck. Jenny knew his efforts were futile. One small hanky wasn’t going to absorb the freezing cold mire. She gratefully went along as Heath led her to the buggy a few yards away. “What were you doing in the street? I thought you were stopping by the dress shop. You didn’t have to cross for that.”
“I saw you and thought I’d say hello to the widow Jeffers.” Her voice shook as she quivered, but she persisted, needing to know what the widow was up to. “Is she in town visiting?”
“No, she moved back. Unfortunately, her aunt passed on.”
“What a shame.” Her tone was scarcely sympathetic and Heath’s inquiring glance flicked to her. How dare the woman try to start back up with him? He was a married man. “Did you tell her we were married?”
“Of course.”
“And that she needn’t be concerned with you any longer? That you have a wife to see to your needs?”
“No. That went without saying and would have been rude.” A couple stared at her mud-covered state as they passed. Lowering his voice, he bent to her ear while carefully leading her to their rig. “Clearly you’re upset, but you have no need to be. What she and I had is history. There’s no need to get in a dither over something that is over and done.”
It might be over and done on his end, but she wasn’t so sure about the widow. “Does she know that? The way she was touching you, it doesn’t seem like she does. It looked more like she was ready to take up where she left off. I want to make sure she knows that isn’t a possibility.”
“She isn’t going to try to take up again, nor would I allow that if she did. I told Marion that we were wed and happily so, isn’t that true?”
She looked away, tears stinging her eyes. Doubt continued to nag at her weeks later, despite all the nights spent in his arms, the tokens of affection he’d given her, and his recent declaration of love. Her thumb curled in, rubbing the back of her wedding ring. What more could she ask of him? She knew she was being unreasonable, but it hurt seeing him with a woman he had actually chosen to be with and made her wonder what he would have done—if he would have still married her—if the lovely widow hadn’t left town.
“Jenny—” he began.
She cut him off and gave him her answer. “It’s true. We are happy. I’m sorry for overreacting.”
His hand captured her chin and angled her face toward his. Jenny saw concern, not anger. “We may run into her from time to time, darlin’. You’ve got to get past this.”
“I know that, but it doesn’t mean it will be easy.” Moving toward the carriage, she murmured, “I’d like to go home, please.”
“I need to see that your order is loaded. Have you already been to the dress shop?”
“No, but that will have to wait until next time. I can’t go like this.” She looked down at her mud-soaked skirts and then back at him as if he was crazy. “I’d track up her floors. Plus, she has ready-mades hanging all around that I’d ruin if I brushed up against them.”
“I was thinking she’d have something dry that you could wear. I saw Aaron and Janelle a few minutes ago and they invited us for lunch.”
Torn, Jenny bit her lip. She hadn’t seen Janelle since the day they’d gone to George’s, almost a week ago. She wanted to share her news about George and his mother, not to mention ask her advice on the return of the widow. “Maybe I could borrow something from Janelle.”
“Or, you could see if Mrs. Mayhew can be of help as was the plan. C’mon.” With his hand wrapped around her arm, he steered her to the dressmaker’s. The woman, who knew Heath well through Letty, shook off Jenny’s concerns and welcomed her. With a wave of her hand, she shooed Heath off to finish his errands while she took care of ‘his lovely new bride.’