Site hosted by Angelfire.com: Build your free website today!

Part II

© 2005 by Elizabeth Delayne




"He's restless," Martha said as Thad rode away. It hadn't been easy for him to come to them, to share with Ruby about Roberta. In the privacy of the back room, he'd told them everything he knew and the things he suspected.

Maybe he hadn't realized it before, but it was possible Roberta had been trying to drive a wedge between them since James' death. She'd pitted herself against Ellie, the kids against Ellie, the farm against Ellie. Remembering had driven a sharp splinter of pain into Thad's spirit.

But neither had Roberta won her battles, Martha thought, because it was Ellie Thad was worried about now.

Before he left, Ruby had calmly detailed a plan, working out details that had only been vague wishes in his mind. There had been turmoil in her eyes. Regret, as well.

"Do you blame him?" Ruby asked now in an attempt to refocus her fears as she sat at a table and toyed with the jagged rip in the ruined dress. How Ellie must have been devastated, her hopes a proverbial pool of fabric at her feet.

Martha watched Ruby's reflection in the glass. Her dearest friend, troubled. Martha turned, studied her own reflection and knew there had been a time when her own eyes had reflected worry and turmoil for her own loved one—when Thad had disappeared, overwhelmed by heartbreak and loss.

Ruby had held her hand, helped her through, prayed her through. Thad was now home, a responsible, respectable man, seeking the best for his bride.

"Hmm? Don't tell me you fear that he will stay away? Not after all this?"

"No. Not particularly." Martha turned away from the window and headed back to the table and studied the fine work of the hem Roberta had sewn. "But I worry for him though."

"He's not going to leave this time," Ruby frowned and set the dress down. "Or should I say that he plans to come back. He never would give you a date before. He's mandated it this time."

"Oh," Martha waved a hand, "Rushing Waters makes a great deal if talk, but he would drag Thad back into town for his wedding day. I shouldn't be worried about him, but I'm his mother. I'm allowed to worry."

"That you are. I should have worried more over Roberta."

"You have worried, but you didn't know how to help. I didn't know how to help, either. She refused to come here, to be with us, with those of us who've shared in the loss," Martha took a deep breath, gathered her courage. "I wish you would let me go in your place."

"What?"

She held up a hand. "You are desperately needed here. Your husband, the boarding house, the business. The women here, some of them, really need you." She studied the dress. "And some of us really need to be needed again."

"You are needed."

"As a partner of a quilting business. One person of many. A terrible seamstress, at that."

"You're one of our best cooks."

"You have other people who can cook. You don't have someone to fill your shoes," Martha curled her fingers around the rungs on the chair. "Ellie's going to be officially my daughter in a few weeks. That will make Roberta an in-law. You know the workings of this town, I know the workings of a farm. My boys are close by the Newsome farm in nearly every direction."

"You've thought this through fairly quickly."

"I've been thinking this over for a few weeks. I wanted to go out, help out Ellie, but I didn't want to overstep my bounds. It Ellie's house ... or her house with Roberta. I don't want to overwhelm her with my presence. I remember how it was at first with Josie, being there all the time ... a young bride with her mother-in-law hovering."

And it was why she had moved at last into town, into the boarding house with Ruby. Josie had needed the space for her own family, for her own beginnings with Carl.

Ruby nodded and for a long time sat, seeming to contemplate the idea or her words. "It's not as simple, I don't think. Not with Roberta. There's more there then simple, explainable grief."

"Is any grief completely explainable, understandable?"

"In some ways. I don't know if I should tell you. I've never told anyone—"

"What?" Sensing the seriousness of the situation, Martha pulled a chair and sat down. She reached across the table and stilled her friend's hands that were nervously picking at the fabric. Funny, Ruby had never been a nervous type of woman.

"Why, Ruby, you've gone pale!"

"It nothing," she said, shaking her head. "Memories, fears, long buried. When Roberta came to live with us—remember?"

"Yes—such a sad little girl at first," Martha remembered. Ruby had been beside herself with worry and relieved to have a child to nurture as she'd been baron. "Her ma was sick. She came on the afternoon stage. You spend the month of waiting preparing that little room upstairs."

"Yes—that's what we told people, how we explained it to Roberta. Her ma wasn't sick—not the way people thought," Ruby faltered a bit and closed her eyes as if to organize her thoughts. "She came to us after her mother gave birth to another child. It effected her mother ... I don't know how."

She looked down at her hands that were still beneath Martha's. "My Doc, he says ... he says it happens to women, sometimes. They get affected somehow. Some women weep, some women fuss. It's common, he said, for women to do a little of both after a birth."

Martha nodded. "After I had Sam I spent nearly a week crying."

"And so it was with Roberta's ma—just more. Just worse. Roberta's papa wrote to us, asked that she remain with us a little while longer."

"He never wrote back," Martha guessed.

"Not to tell her to come home. Her ma—she had more children. Never wanted to see Roberta again. Never asked after her or came for her. Roberta was old enough to wish and want ... and understand. I never wanted her to understand the truth ... but she was always such a bright child."

And the child had grown into a woman, desperate for house and home, for a family of her own. Martha closed her eyes as the weight of the story settled on her mind. Twice Roberta's world, her family, had been stripped from her—not completely, but altering the rightful vision she'd believed in.

And all around the birth of a child.

*

Ellie sat on the front stoop and watched for Thad. She felt a little guilty staying away from Roberta and the children, but now that she was rested she was unable to face her stepmother with so many feelings stored in her heart. She needed time to pray, to regather her dreams.

She looked down at the ragged pants she wore, the hem frayed at her feet where she'd chopped the extra length off with a pair of scissors. The simple hem had long since worn away.

She sighed. What was the point in wallowing in disappointment? She couldn't change what had happened to her dress.

And how important was a new dress, really? She'd done without for most of her life. It had never been so important to be seen as put together before. She'd worn the clothes that had made it possible to help her father out on the farm. She'd worn what she had, what he'd given her, and lived only under his expectations.

Her father had love her. Unreservedly. She'd never had reason to doubt.

And Thad loved her as she was—she'd never had reason to doubt it.

Until recently. She sighed.

Josie had kicked her from the kitchen and told her to enjoy the evening of freedom. She could have saddled one of their horses and gone for a ride, but she was afraid she knew where she would go.

Again.

She found she could smile when she saw Thad's form on the horizon, riding toward her. It took her back to a day she'd been in the field with her father. She'd turned from the plow, looked, and saw him riding toward them.

Her heart had kicked up speed. He'd come home recently, several times in close succession, after years of several long, odd absences. He'd come to see her. She'd begun to wish. Secretly wish for him.

More then she'd ever done before.

She was steadier now when he rode to the house, tossed the reins over the front porch post, and dismounted.

He reached for her hands, smiled when she placed hers in his.

"You look ... so much better."

"I hadn't slept."

"It's no wonder. I'm sorry, Ellie, for everything."

She shrugged, struggled not to be overwhelmed again. "I suppose I lost some of my focus. What's important is that we will be together."

"And your dress?" he asked, and her eyes dropped, suddenly wary. It was too simple to say that she had dealt with the original shock. She wanted to wear a dress, one that fit properly, that was not old and faded.

She still wanted a beautiful dress. As vain as it was, she wanted to have something of her own for her wedding day. She wanted to look her best. For Thad.

Ellie glanced down, then looked toward the barn and tried to refocus her thoughts.

She felt his finger on her chin and looked back up at him. His eyes were steadfast and sure. "You're going to get your dress. A dress, better then either of us could have imagined."

"By Sunday?"

He shook his head. "No. Not by Sunday."

So Josie had said. "Then—"

"We'll wait. I'll go on to the mountains, get some hunting done, go ahead and see to some of the less important tasks I had planned to do while you were with me. I can't change, I don't want to change that this is something that is important to you. My mother pointed out that God expects brides to look their best, as He desires the church to look it's best before Him."

"You told your mother?"

"Yes—and Ruby," he grabbed her hands again as she started to turn away. "They needed to know. Someone needs to help Roberta overcome this ... grief. Someone who can help her."

"She won't like it."

"Well, neither do I. She hurt both of us with what she did last night. And she could very well hurt those children if someone doesn't intervene."

Ellie closed her eyes and told herself he was right. Hadn't her greatest fear been for her brother and sister? They may only be part her father's and part Roberta's, but they were hers as well ... simply hers. She'd prayed for siblings all her life. She'd helped Roberta during the labor pains, had held both within minutes of their birth.

"There's something else, Ellie, that we need to discuss."

She looked back at him in surprise. His voice had changed. He led her over to the porch steps and pulled her down beside him.

"Have you been going out to your old house on your own?"

She knew what house he meant, knew why he asked. She swallowed, knowing she could not hide the stricken look in her eyes.

"Yes," she said simply, then added quickly, "Thad, I couldn't help it. It's like I found myself out there over and over again. It was partly being in the house only with Roberta and wishing for my mother and partly missing my father so desperately, and then I was there, at their graves."

"I should have realized it was too much to ask for you to stay away from your parents' house, from your parents' graves. I'm sorry. For as much grief Roberta has, you still have your own. When I asked you to promise me, I was thinking only of the fact that I was living there."

"And you wanted the house to be a surprise. I promise, I didn't look. I made sure I didn't look. I just wanted ..."

Her father. She'd only wanted her father.

"Ellie, I don't care if you saw the house," he sighed. "I was wanting it to be a surprise, but it's not the entire reason, or the most important. You can't go out there, not on your own. What will people in town think if they were to find out? It might make things difficult for you, for us, especially since we're postponing the wedding again."

"I didn't go in the house. You were never there."

"No, but ... it's not proper. I came out here this morning ready to yell and fuss at you, angry that you had broken that promise. Then, faced with your grief, I realized that maybe I was asking too much. I want the house in its current state to be a surprise as well, but not if ... not if those trips are what you need. I should he thought, and I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too, Thad. I did promise."

"Will you promise me now that you will not go without someone to accompany you?"

She nodded. "I promise—if I go again. I don't know that I should. It didn't really help to go there—not beyond that moment. Feeling that I had a place for one moment, a moment to cling to him. It was just a place to turn. I should have turned to you, told you about Roberta earlier. It might have saved my dress."

"Is there a reason you felt you couldn't talk to me?"

"Her grief—it seems so intense, so private. How could I blame her when my own was welling up inside of me? I didn't know what to do. I was afraid that—"

"What?"

"It seems silly now. She's only a few years older than you. It seemed you took her side on things and I was afraid that if I told you, you wouldn't believe me, that you would choose her. She would have her family again. A replacement husband."

"What?"

The look of shock and surprise on his face made her feel a little foolish and a little more the wise.

"You're the one I want, Ellie."

"I know that now. For sure this time." She reached up, took his face between her hands. "And you're the one I want. All I've ever wanted."

He nodded, and reaching for her hands, resting his forehead against hers. For a long moment they just sat there in the silence. Ellie smiled and felt herself rest. It was nice, she thought, to finally not carry the burden alone.

*

"It looks quiet."

Too still and quiet, Martha thought, studying the farm house James had built for Roberta and his new family. No smoke rose from the stove pipe. No one in the yard, no movement in the barn. It looked much like those in the house were still asleep.

"Ellie must have stayed at Josie's."

"It would have been hard for her to come back."

"And Thad said that he had asked her not to."

"Well, that's a good thing," Ruby said firmly. "It's too easy for the two of them to lean on each other and fall into old habits. Ellie has to let Roberta handle things on her own." She looked at Martha. "So do you."

"I don't plan on raising her children for her."

As they pulled the wagon to a stop before the house, Martha heard a baby crying. Roberta had two children. Mary, who was four and Lucas, who was only seven months old.

If she hasn't had breakfast, she'll need to fix t. It's not as if either child could wait so long or understand such grief.

Martha let Ruby take the lead. She walked into the cabin and back into the bedroom. The room was dark, the baby crying. Martha looked around, moving slowly through the room toward the sound as Ruby crossed to the other side.

Suddenly the room was flooded with the early morning light as Ruby threw back the curtains.

See finally saw Lucas, tears streaming down his little cheeks as he wailed. Beside him his sister sat, not more than three, her eyes blinking against the sudden light. Her face was pale and so very weary for a child.

Martha looked toward the window and gasped as Ruby continued ripping down layers of fabric that had been nailed to the window frame.

"Oh my darling," Martha whispered as she lifted the baby into her arms and cradled him against her heart. She reached out a hand for Mary who sat stoically at her brother's side. The little girl scrambled up and slid her hand into Martha's.

The rumpled form on the bed shifted and Martha retreated with the children. She would see to the children and let Ruby take the first round with Roberta.

*

Ellie stood stoically as Josie measured her for the wedding dress. Still struggling with the disappointment, she focused instead on Thad. He'd ridden off with Rushing Waters this morning, toward the mountains, toward what should have been their own wedding trip.

He was strong and brave and so ... hers, she thought. She closed her eyes and remembered him mounting his horse, looking back at her.

Sending her that rangy smile of his that weakened her knees. She's reached out and grabbed onto the post to steady herself and had reached a hand up to touch the cameo he'd brought her. It was lovely and simple and feminine.

"Remember," he'd said, running a finger gently down the line of her jaw. "You're my lady, and that's all that matters to me."

"Thad."

She'd barely been able to speak. His name trembled from her lips. It wasn't just his words—though it was his words—but it was the look in his eyes that penetrated her. It was the odd tone in his voice she'd never heard before.

"We're only a prayer away from each other, Ellie. Remember that."

And now, when he was miles away, she touched the cameo and prayed for him. It was a different Thad that had given her the cameo, Ellie thought, then the one who had ridden away from here years ago.

"I think I got what I need."

Ellie turned around as Josie stood up.

"We don't have to go all the way to Cartersville. I'm sure we can find something in town."

"You already know what the choices are in town—you would have had the same choices a year ago. It's been awhile since I've been to Cartersville myself. Besides, you haven't been since the spring—with your father."

Ellie frowned over it and sighed. Her father had loved building things, rockers and tables and chairs. They had sold his wares in Cartersville as there was more of a market for such things in the bigger town. They would pick things up for Roberta, as she hated the long drives. So usually it was just the two of them, talking about noting and everything, enjoying the silence and the familiar trail.

"My pa and I didn't pack up the entire family."

"You're marrying into a family that loves to go camping. Don't worry about us. The children are already talking about it. You wouldn't want to disappoint them would you?"

Ellie aimed her sister-in-law with a hard look. "That was a low blow."

"But it worked." Josie grabbed for Ellie's hand. "You're family Ellie—you always have been."

Check back Tuesday March 15 for Part III!

Return to The Widow's Charge