The Reluctant Bridegroom (36 page)

“I don’t mind keepin’ her while you two study,” he said.

“We’re finished—and she’s hungry.”

“Guess I can’t help with that,” he said, handing her over. Soon Timmy went to bed, and the house was quiet, so he took up the book Rebekah had given him at Christmas. He had already read
The Journal of Gilbert Winslow
through several times, and had found the account fascinating, but a restlessness filled him and caused his attention to wander. Letting the book fall on his lap, Sky glanced over to where Joe was working torturously at his lesson. On the other side of the room, Rebekah nursed the baby, and he wondered how the scene would appear to a stranger who knew nothing of their situation or the tension that existed between them.
Guess we’d look pretty good,
he thought ruefully.
Man and his wife. Children all healthy and happy. Plenty to eat. It would all look almost perfect, I guess, to most folks.

Rebekah lifted her eyes from the baby and looked across the room at him. Caught off guard staring at her, he flushed and got up. “Guess I better go check the pigpen—see if it’ll keep those little fellows up tight,” he said. He waited for Joe to ask to go with him, which was his custom, but the boy was scribbling furiously on his tablet, so Sky left the house.

The air was crisp, and overhead the stars glittered coldly in the sky. The pigs began squealing as he came close, and he murmured, “Reckon you miss your mama, don’t you?” He leaned over and rubbed their wet snouts as they nudged each other to get at him, nibbling at his fingers hungrily. His
thoughts went over the past months, but there was no pleasure in thinking of such things, so he straightened abruptly and moved away from the pigpen, walking across to the path that led through the woods. The tall firs shut off the starlight, but he groped his way through the woods to the small stream that surrounded the house like the crook of an elbow, and came at last to the deep pool where he and Joe had often come to catch the thumping red-ear sun perch that nested underneath a huge fallen log.

Sitting down on the log, he listened to the night sounds and smelled the odors of the woods that crowded in on the house. The peaceful quality of the woods relieved the strife that marked his life in the busy world, and for nearly an hour he absently toyed with a stick, keeping his mind away from the problems that awaited him at home.

Later, he rose and tossed the stick into the stream, watching as something nudged at it—a big bass, he thought, or a snapping turtle. He wrenched his mind away from the peace of the woods to thoughts of Rebekah and their future. He was reminded of a passage from
The Journal of Gilbert Winslow
which he had read so often that he could remember it almost word-for-word. The brief passage had been written by Gilbert Winslow concerning his bride, Humility, shortly after their marriage at Plymouth:

Sky thought of the next line with a smile. The brief note was poignant; from it he had learned that Gilbert Winslow was a lover as well as a fighter:

Why should I be cut off from all that is sweet in this world because of my pride?
Winslow rose and walked back down the path determined to speak to Rebekah, to tell her he’d been a pig-headed fool. Just how he would manage to say it was beyond him, but the thought of the sweetness he’d known in her on the trail was strong.
I’ll just say it right out! It won’t kill me to say I’ve been wrong.

But he got no chance to make the speech that night, for when he entered the house, he found that she had gone to bed. Joe looked up from the table, yawning. “Ma said she was a little tired.” He got up, stretched and said, “You ’bout ready for bed, Pa?”

“Sure.”

The two of them went upstairs, and after they were in bed, Sky said, “I was glad to hear you call Rebekah your ma, Joe. It’s what I wanted for you to have.”

Joe’s voice was a little awkward as he replied, “Aw, she’s sure something, Pa, ain’t she?”

“Sure is.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Pa?”

“Yes, Joe?”

“You reckon—?”

When the boy broke off, Sky rolled over and looked across the room. The moon had come out and he could see Joe’s face faintly. “Do I reckon what?” he prodded gently.

“Do you reckon you’ll ever—ever love her? I mean, like a
real
husband?”

Sky lay there, knowing what the boy was asking. After a long silence, he said quietly, “I reckon you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Joe?”

“Sure would!”

“Well—I guess I would, too,” Sky admitted. Neither of them spoke again, but a determination formed in Winslow’s mind.

Maybe she won’t want me as a “real” husband—but I’m blamed well going to give it a try!

In the morning he rose and went downstairs determined to speak with Rebekah alone, but his plans were spoiled at breakfast when a cloudburst produced a heavy rain that did not let up until nearly ten. Joe sat down to read a book, while Timmy followed Sky all over the house, clamoring for attention, and Mary cried incessantly, cutting a new tooth. Seeing that there was not likely to be any privacy for a while, Sky left to do the chores.

When he came back at noon, Joe asked, “Pa, can I go squirrel hunting after we eat?”

“I guess so,” Sky nodded as they sat down to the dinner of bear steak. Joe bolted his food, then grabbed his rifle and disappeared into the woods. After dinner Sky pushed back his chair, saying, “Bear steak’s not as good as buff’lo, but it’s nice for a change.”

“It’s too strong for me,” Rebekah said. She started clearing the table, but Mary began to cry.

“I’ll do this,” Sky offered, picking up his plate. “You see if you can get Mary to sleep.”

She looked at him in surprise. “That would be a help.”

As she rocked the baby, Sky washed the dishes, noting that
the stepping stool that Rebekah used in the kitchen was broken, tilted on three legs against the wall.
Guess I have time to fix it for her ’fore the kids fall down,
he thought.
Maybe that’ll sweeten her up a little.

Hoisting the broken stool, Sky went outside, calling over his shoulder, “Be right back, Rebekah.” Moving to the barn, Winslow settled at his workbench and began to hammer busily, so intent on his work and the thought of what he would say to Rebekah when he got back that he did not hear the sound of O’Malley’s horse approaching.

Pulling up to the house, O’Malley dismounted, tied his horse to the rail, and stepped up on the porch.

Rebekah had put Timmy and Mary down for their naps and opened a window to let in the rain-washed breeze. Hearing his knock, she ran to the door and opened it. “Why, hello, Jim. Come on in. Sky should be back in a minute.”

“Hello, Rebekah. Actually, it was you I’ve come to see.” He took off his rain-soaked hat and coat and went to stand in front of the fireplace, making small talk. “Sure was a toad-strangler of a rain, wasn’t she now?”

“Yes,” Rebekah agreed, then paused. “Did you say you wanted to tell me something?”

O’Malley took a deep breath, brought his hands out and lifted them in a plaintive gesture. “Becky, I know how unhappy you are. It ain’t no secret—everybody who knows you talks about it.” He lifted his hand as she tried to speak. “Wait now, let me have my say—then you can answer me.”

“Becky, you wasn’t meant to be a servant. You’re a healthy young woman, pretty enough for any man—and straight enough to do them proud. Sky done wrong to bring you here—and you done wrong to agree to it.”

“I needed a home for my children,” Rebekah whispered. His charge had stirred her guilt, for she had been telling herself for days the same thing O’Malley said. She
had
been wrong to marry Sky!

“That ain’t good enough, Becky, and I think you know it.”

Just then Sky returned from the barn, repaired bench in hand, and overheard O’Malley’s next words through the open window.

“I’ve got my own mill now, and can take care of you and the kids. This mountain man is ready to settle down.” He paused and took her hand. “Becky, I want you to marry me.”

Outside, Sky could barely contain himself, but somehow he managed to hold himself in check long enough to hear her answer. Inside, Rebekah withdrew her hand and stammered in confusion. “B-but, Jim! I
am
married!”

“I’ve been talking to the judge and to a lawyer,” O’Malley said evenly, his eyes steady on hers. “They say that since your marriage ain’t never been a
real
marriage—ain’t never been what they call
consummated
—why, you won’t even have to have a divorce. It can be annulled. Be just like it never took place.”

With a roar, Winslow crashed open the door, took two steps forward, grasped O’Malley’s arm, and threw him toward the door. Jim, who had not expected the attack, nearly fell down, but caught himself in time.
“I ought to shoot you!”
Sky bellowed. “What kind of a man are you, O’Malley? Coming into my house and talking like that to
my wife!
”

“Sky,” Jim said, his huge shoulders tense as he faced the smaller man, “Becky
ain’t
your wife!” He raised his voice and asked, “Can you tell me you’ve been a
husband
to her?”

“That’s none of your affair!”

“Sky, if you loved her—if you was a real husband to her—I’d kill any man that tried to come between you two. But this is different.” He turned to Rebekah, who looked as white as a sheet and had backed up against the wall closest to the bedroom. “Rebekah, I’m telling you that I’ll make a good home for you and your kids. I’ve never seen a woman I admired more than you—and if you’ll marry me, I’ve got my mind set to be a
real
husband. Don’t aim to brag, but most men who know me would tell you that when I set out to do
a thing, it gets done! I’ll love you and take care of you—
and you’ll be more than just a servant—
”

His words were cut off by Sky’s fist. The blow caught him in the mouth, driving him backward. He bounced off the wall and raised his hands to catch Sky, who attacked him with a fury Rebekah had not seen since the days of the wagon train when Sky had confronted Tom Lake. She knew the man was capable of this kind of battle, but had never actually seen him fight. She stood by helplessly as Sky rocked O’Malley’s head with a series of blows so rapidly that he could not defend himself at first. Then with a muffled roar, he shoved Sky backward, shouting, “Wait a minute—!”

But Winslow was in a red battle rage and came roaring back, striking Jim in the stomach with a terrific blow that brought a gust from the big man’s lips and drove him to a sitting position. Winslow dove at him, and in an instant the two were rolling across the floor, locked in a fierce embrace. At first O’Malley tried simply pinning Sky’s arms to stop the fuselage of blows that rained on his face, but failed, so he threw one arm around Winslow’s neck. Holding him there, O’Malley struck him in the temple.

The blow sent red spots to Sky’s eyes, but it had no other effect on him except to enrage him further. With a mighty wrench, he tore free from O’Malley’s grip and tried to get to his feet, but Jim caught him in the chest with a numbing right hand, and he fell over backward. Instantly O’Malley was on him; it was like being grabbed by a grizzly, and only when Sky landed a series of blows against O’Malley’s throat did the grip loosen enough for Winslow to slip free.

Both men were now totally unaware of Rebekah, who was crying out for them to stop as the furniture was splintered by their violent thrashing. O’Malley was easily the stronger of the two, but Winslow’s slashing blows were like lightning, and both men’s faces were marked and bloody as they careened into the wall and fell to the floor, striking and kicking wildly.

Rebekah tried to pull them apart, but she was like a feather
in a whirlwind until her eyes fell on a bucket filled with the dirty water she’d used for scrubbing the floor. She ran and picked it up, then carefully brought it to where the two men were rolling on the floor. Sky was on top, but as she approached, Jim threw him to one side, so that for one moment they lay side by side. She dumped the contents of the bucket right in their faces.

Immediately both men fell away from each other, sputtering and coughing, for the dirty water had caught them with their mouths open. Sky struggled to his feet, and O’Malley rolled over on his face, gagging horribly.

“Get out of here!” Rebekah cried. Sky coughed and wiped his eyes, which were burning from the lye soap. To his amazement, he saw that she was weeping. “I hate you both! I won’t be fought for like—like . . . !” She whirled and ran to the wall. Pulling down the rifle, she pointed it wildly in their direction.

Jim had struggled to his feet by that time and now found himself looking down the barrel of the weapon. “Now, hold on, Becky—!”

“Get out! Get out!” she shrieked.

Sky lurched backward, yelling, “Rebekah—you’re going to kill somebody with that thing!”