Page 9 of A Steadfast Heart (Wind River Mail-Order Brides #2)

I will not give in.

Kaitlyn wiped the already clean preparation table in the kitchen. She had finished the lunch dishes some time ago, and it wasn’t time to start dinner. She peeked through the door to the dining room.

Jo sat in her chair, her upper body draped across her schoolbooks. She hadn’t moved since the last time Kaitlyn had checked on her, but she wasn’t asleep. No, she was stubborn.

Maybe Kaitlyn shouldn’t have told her she couldn’t leave the table until she finished her bookwork, but she’d tried everything else. It had been nearly a month, and Jo hadn’t done more than a page or two of schoolwork. The door creaked as she pushed through. “How’s the penmanship practice going?”

Jo scowled at her. “I’m never gonna need this.”

“Beautiful handwriting is a worthwhile accomplishment, though perhaps a luxury. Legible handwriting is a necessity.”

Jo rolled her eyes. “Not for a rancher.”

“Yes, for a rancher.” Kaitlyn met Jo’s gaze. There had to be some way to convince the girl to listen, but all Kaitlyn knew to do was to present her arguments. Again. “If your writing isn’t clear, how will you keep your books? Write to other ranchers about purchases and sales? Leave instructions for your workers?”

“Why can’t I do a nature study like David?”

Kaitlyn gritted her teeth at the whining tone but didn’t allow her smile to slip. “David finished his bookwork for the day, and you haven’t even started.” Kaitlyn had demonstrated the individual letters of the practice page more than once, but Jo wouldn’t even pick up the pen. Finally, Kaitlyn had decreed that Jo would sit there until she finished the page.

That had been three hours ago. The pen was still idle.

Discouragement made Kaitlyn want to slump. Her own teachers had managed rooms full of stubborn children. Drew only wanted her to manage three, and she was failing.

Kaitlyn glanced around the parlor. Sunlight flooded in through the now sparkling clean windows. She crossed to the bookcase and drew out a copy of Tom Sawyer . Should she read it aloud? She shook her head. Jo didn’t deserve the treat, but more importantly, it wouldn’t lead in the right direction.

She took the book to a chair by the window. Jo was watching, but Kaitlyn didn’t acknowledge her gaze. Instead, she opened the book and started reading. It wasn’t hard to allow a laugh or two to escape.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, I’m reading the scene where Tom tricks his friends into doing his work.”

“Read it to me?”

“Be glad to, once you finish your penmanship.”

Jo muttered and sprawled back across her papers, her back to the parlor.

Kaitlyn smothered a grin. She hadn’t thought it would be that easy. “You can read it yourself anytime you want once your reading improves.”

“I read good enough. ’Sides, penmanship ain’t reading.”

“No, but they’re connected. One supports the other.” Kaitlyn turned the page in her book. A clink interrupted her. She looked up to see a trickle of black ink spreading across the dining room table.

“Oops.” Jo’s smile was sweeter than honey. “Guess you’d best clean that up. I would, but I can’t get up.”

Kaitlyn retrieved a rag and wiped up the spill. A bit of turpentine removed most of the stain, its sharp smell burning her nose. Then she took the paper and pen from Jo’s spot at the table. Jo’s smug smile faded when Kaitlyn replaced it with a slate and piece of chalk. “Less chance for accidents this way.”

She sailed into the kitchen, then sank into the chair and dropped her face into her hands. She’d tried everything else. She might as well pray. God had never cared for her, but didn’t He have a special love for children? Maybe He’d help for Jo’s sake.

I don’t know what to do, Lord. She’s clinging to her anger like a mother clings to her child.

Mother. Child.

Somehow, that was the source. Except it didn’t make sense. Jo’s mother hadn’t abandoned her. Something had happened on that trip, and no one knew what. How could she find out?

Show her your own pain .

The still, small voice echoed in her mind.

She wanted to pretend she hadn’t heard it, but she’d tried everything else.

Kaitlyn made two cups of tea, liberally dosed one with honey, then carried them to the dining room. She placed the sweetened tea next to Jo, then sat next to her. “Tea sometimes makes talking easier.”

Jo sat up and pushed the cup away. “I’m not allowed tea. If you was my ma, you’d know that.”

“I’d like to help you, Jo. I know what it feels like to lose a mother.”

Jo scoffed. “You think ’cause your ma died, I should be your friend?”

“I was younger than you when I stood beside her coffin. Even breathing hurt.” Kaitlyn’s chest tightened.

Jo looked down at her hands. “How did she die?”

Jo’s voice had softened. Kaitlyn’s hand twitched, but she restrained herself from taking Jo’s. Too soon for such a move. She cleared her throat. “Her saddle girth failed. She fell badly. A stupid accident.” She took a sip of tea. The warmth didn’t touch the frozen lump in the pit of her stomach. “My father wanted me to learn about pressing flowers and managing a dinner party. My mother had always been my champion, insisting that everyone needed an education.”

Jo rolled her eyes. “Why?”

Because you never know when your brother might force you to marry the man who holds his gambling debts. Kaitlyn placed her cup on the table. The tea sloshed but stayed inside the cup. The details were too much for an eleven-year-old. Maybe just the essence? “It’s a hard world out there. No one gets through it without getting knocked down a time or two. An education gives you tools to get back up.”

Jo folded her arms over her chest, a sure sign that Kaitlyn wouldn’t like her next comments. “I’m gonna run a ranch. This ranch. I don’t need fancy handwriting to do that.”

“Doesn’t your father keep notes about what works and what doesn’t? What good will they do him if he can’t read them later?”

“What happened after your ma died?”

Kaitlyn took a sip of tea to hide any hint of a smile she hadn’t managed to suppress. Jo didn’t have an answer, so she’d changed the subject. Best to go along with the change. “My mother left her assets to me in a trust. My half-brother hated me for that, even though he wasn’t her son. Things got hard at home. He liked to lock me into places I couldn’t get out of. Never the same place, so my father couldn’t find me.” Not that he looked over hard. “But I was safe at school.”

Jo’s mouth dropped, and she looked away.

Too much truth? Maybe. Maybe not. “And that schooling meant I could answer your pa’s ad. Before I saw it, I was planning to be a teacher.”

Jo looked back at her. “What education did your ma have?”

“Much like my father wanted for me. Society rules. Dressing nice.” Kaitlyn smiled. “My mother was so beautiful, and she had the prettiest dresses.”

Jo’s eyes turned wistful. “My ma had pretty dresses.”

“You remember seeing them?”

“No. They’re in my closet. They’re not like the calico dresses she wore on the ranch. The ones Pa gave to you.” Something flashed through the little girl’s eyes too fast for Kaitlyn to categorize it. Then her expression settled into longing. “Maybe I could try one on?”

Kaitlyn glanced at the penmanship lesson. But this was the longest conversation she’d had with Jo since they’d met. Maybe that was a bigger step than a lesson.

Besides, one of Amanda’s dresses might be made over to fit her daughter.

“That sounds like a good idea.”

Jo pounded up the steps. Kaitlyn followed more slowly. Had God really told her to share her history with Jo? By the time she’d entered Jo’s room, the little girl had spread a rainbow of dresses onto her bed. She came back out of her closet and added a black skirt and lace-covered shirtwaist to the collection. “They’re beautiful, Jo. Which would you like to try on?”

“The one that’s still in the closet. Can you get it? It’s kind of heavy.”

Heavy? Maybe it had a lot of beadwork.

Kaitlyn crossed to the closet and peeked inside. “I don’t see anything else in there.”

Jo spoke from behind her. “You have to look in the very back. I think it was her wedding dress.”

Kaitlyn stepped into the closet. A whoosh of air warned her, but too late. The door slammed closed, the noise echoing through her chest.

Please, no. Not this.

She turned the handle, rattled it. No use. Locked. The spacious closet shrank around her, the walls closing in.

“Jo, this isn’t funny. Open the door.”

“Sorry. I got chores to do.” Her footsteps faded away as she ran down the stairs.

“Jo! Josephine McGraw! Don’t you leave me here!” She expelled the air in her lungs, struggled to draw in another breath.

Don’t be silly. There is air here. Plenty of air.

Then why did her chest feel so tight?

“Help!” She banged on the door. No one was inside the house to hear her. She’d be here for hours.

Her pulse pounded in her ears.

Think, Kaitlyn. Think .

She dropped to her knees and ran her hands along the floor. No luck. Not that she’d expected to find a wire, since this room had only ever held clothing.

She stood up and beat her fists against the door. Pain exploded in her hands, ran up her arms, but she had to be loud. Everyone was outside. Someone would miss her eventually, but she wanted out of here now. Needed out now.

Her chest expanded, trying to find more air. She stepped back. Only one step to the back wall. She’d never build enough momentum to pop the lock. If it could even be popped.

She tried anyway. Her shoulder crashed into the door and she bounced backward. The door stood.

“Help me!” She kicked the door, her boots offering little protection from the pain.

Some answer to prayer this had turned out to be.

* * *

They’d need to buy more seed if Kaitlyn was planning a garden this big.

Drew paced off the area his wife had marked halfway between the barn and house. The back door slammed, and Jo ran across the yard toward the barn like something was chasing her. She must have finished her schoolwork.

A thump sounded from the upstairs corner of the house. Then another.

Drew cocked his head. Was Kaitlyn moving furniture up there? He stripped his gloves from his hands and stuffed them into a back pocket. Maybe she could use a hand. When he opened the back door, the muffled thumping got louder. What was she doing up there?

“Help me!”

A chill raced through his veins and raised bumps on his skin. That was Kaitlyn’s voice. Drew dashed for the stairs. “I’m coming!”

More thumps and a crash. What on earth?

He rushed into the girls’ room and looked around. “Kaitlyn?”

“In here.”

The choked voice came from the closet. He turned the knob, but it didn’t move. How had it gotten locked?

Her voice wavered. How long had she been in there?

When the kids were young, they’d frequently locked doors that shouldn’t be locked. Which casing had he used to hide a key in this room? Door, probably. He crossed the room, his heels thumping on the wooden floor.

The door to the closet rattled. “Please don’t leave me!” Terror weighed her voice down.

Drew paused. “I have to find a key.”

“Find one?” Her voice jumped an octave higher.

“It won’t take a minute.” He lowered his voice in response to her higher pitch. “Just a matter of finding the right door.”

“Okay.” Her voice sounded a bit steadier.

He brushed his hand across the top of the door and knocked something to the floor. It clinked and bounced toward the hallway. He snatched it up. “There. I’ve got it.”

He turned the key in the lock, and the closet door swung open. Kaitlyn flew out, lost her footing, and stumbled. He took her arm. She was so slight that it took no effort to keep her from falling. Steadying her emotions, on the other hand? His stomach clenched. He’d never been good with emotions.

“Are you all right?”

She shook her head. A tear slipped down her ashen cheek. Her hands were red and swollen. How long had she pounded on that door? Her breath rasped in and out, and her lips quivered.

What should he do? He couldn’t remember everything from their wedding, but hadn’t he promised to comfort her? Except he didn’t know how.

He wiped a tear from her face. Her cheek felt like wet velvet against his calloused finger. She hiccuped, swallowing a sob. Not the right move.

Her voice had steadied when he’d used a low, soothing tone. Just like he’d use with a frightened filly.

Maybe.

He ran his hand along her back, slowly, the same as he’d touched Solomon when he first arrived.

She crumpled, buried her face in the center of his chest. Sobs shook her shoulders. His heart froze mid-beat. He’d blown it again.

Unless…

His ma had always claimed a woman sometimes needed a good cry. Maybe he shouldn’t try to stop the tears. He pulled her closer. Wrapped his arms around her and rubbed a hand along her back. His shirt dampened.

He must be a cad for noticing how right she felt in his arms while she was so distressed. But how could he ignore her floral scent, the soft fabric of her dress under his hand, her tiny frame that still somehow filled his arms?

“I’m s-sorry.”

The quiver in her voice arrowed its way into his heart.

“Shhh. It’s okay. I won’t melt.” Though each of her tears felt like a brand. He rested his chin on the top of her head. Her warmth soaked into him. He continued rubbing his hand up and down her back.

When was the last time he’d held a woman in his arms? Amanda had turned her nose up at his honest calluses. Kaitlyn wouldn’t be able to feel them through the calico she wore, but she hadn’t moved away from him when he’d touched her cheek.

She slipped one arm around his waist, then the other. He drew a deeper breath than he had been able to moments before. She wouldn’t do that if he’d made things worse. He felt taller somehow. She’d turned to him as an anchor while the storm raged through her, and he’d offered her a place of security.

Eventually, her sobs quieted, but she didn’t move away for some minutes after. He rubbed his cheek against the top of her head, her hair as soft as a newborn kitten. His eyes slid shut for a moment as he memorized the sensation. Then he pulled back.

“I got your shirt wet,” she mumbled into his chest.

He dropped his arms from around her. “I reckon you did. You want to tell me what this was all about?”

He thought her arms dropped from his waist slowly, but that might be wishful thinking. She stepped back, glanced around the room, moved the dresses piled on Jo’s bed, then took a seat there. Should he sit beside her? No, he’d draw up the chair. He put it across from her. She’d responded to his hand on her back. He reached over and took her hand. It felt so tiny in his grasp, but she didn’t pull away, didn’t object to the work-roughened texture.

“I don’t like closed spaces.”

Her tears had made that plenty clear. He’d meant to question how she’d gotten into this closet today, but if she wanted to build up to it, he’d go along.

“It all goes back to Michael. Always.”

“Your brother?”

“Yes. He locked me in places many times, but it didn’t usually scare me. At least not much. Not like…” She gestured toward the closet. “I knew Father would find me before long.”

His skin crawled as tiny hairs shot to attention. How many was many ? Ten times? A hundred? How long before her father found her? Minutes? Hours?

She remained quiet for a few moments. He ran his thumb across the back of her hand. She worked hard, but her skin felt so soft.

“Then my father died. I went to boarding school for a while, but Michael was old enough to be my guardian when I turned sixteen.”

Ice flowed through his veins. Sixteen. A vulnerable age.

“My brother’s friend stayed around the house a lot that summer.” She shuddered. “I didn’t like him. His eyes followed my every move, and his reputation was questionable. I tried to tell Michael, but he didn’t care.”

A growl built in Drew’s chest, but he suppressed it. She might think it aimed at her instead of her worthless brother. What good was a man who didn’t protect his family?

Soothing voice , he chanted to himself. “What happened next?”

“One day Brian found me alone.”

She ran her hand along her wrist.

“He was so strong. I couldn’t get away.”

His pulse pounded in his ears. Had the man…He shook his head, forced his rage to a back corner of his mind. He’d release it later. Every fence post he pounded would wear the man’s face. Kaitlyn needed gentle now. He tightened his grip on her hands, just enough to let her know he’d heard her.

Her unfocused gaze sharpened, flew to his face. Her cheeks flushed. “He only kissed me. That’s all, I promise. You’d want to know…I mean, I’m your wife. You’d have the right to know?—”

“Shhh.” He dropped her hand and moved to sit beside her. Put his arm around her, drew her into his shoulder. She fit so well against him. “I’m glad you got away, but for your sake, not mine.” He ran his hand along her arm. Touch seemed to comfort her. “How’d you do it?”

She made a sound too close to a sob for his comfort. “I locked myself in that time. But Brian didn’t tell my brother where I was, or maybe Michael didn’t care. I was in that closet for hours, wondering if anyone would ever find me, afraid it would be Brian who did.”

Drew’s eyes slid shut. Rage burned in his gut. He wasn’t a violent man, but if either of those men had been here now, he’d gladly make an exception. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Who found you?”

“Our cook. She started looking when I was late for breakfast the next day. Took me to the kitchen and gave me some cookies.” Kaitlyn shook her head sadly. “Michael fired her that afternoon. Said he wasn’t going to have me rewarded for being rude to our guests. It wasn’t the first time someone paid a high price for helping me. I’ve always wondered if Michael didn’t know or just didn’t care what Brian had done.”

Drew’s teeth ached, and he carefully relaxed his clenched jaw. He’d thought society women were bad. Turned out the men were even worse. “He’s worthless either way.”

He wiped a new tear from her cheek. She smiled at him, her lips quivering a bit at the corners—but a smile nonetheless. Warmth that had nothing to do with anger spread through him. Maybe, just maybe, he’d handled this okay.

A bump sounded from downstairs. He looked that direction, then back to Kaitlyn. “Jo did this, didn’t she?”

Kaitlyn looked at her hands in her lap. “I’d rather not say.”

His eyes squeezed shut. She hadn’t denied it. “I’ll have a word with her.”

Drew left to find his daughter. From the stairs, he looked into the parlor, where Tillie had first told him a princess had come to visit. He’d looked at Kaitlyn’s fancy dress and thought she’d had an easy life. How little he’d known.

She was made of strong stuff, his wife. He admired that. Living here required it.

Maybe Kaitlyn would fit in here after all.