Chapter 5
LAUREN
His sharp, piercing gaze stays on me for a minute before he walks off.
When I hear the door shut behind him, I finally take a deep breath.
How does one’s life change this drastically in one day?
He says one thing, but I wonder what he really wants from me.
Am I seeing more in all his kindness than what’s really there?
Have I been so jaded now that every kind word or action makes me leery of the intent behind it?
Has the extreme loneliness of these last few years affected me so severely that I’m now willing to accept any scrap of attention?
He could/can break me in half with those huge beefy hands of his, but why do I feel like … he won’t?
I knew the moment I met Oren that he had a mean streak simply by the way he treated the animals on our farm.
But Grant, he still has Blue even though he knows he’s going to have to fight him every morning.
His actions are unlike any other man’s I’ve seen, and I don’t think I’ve ever been this confused or unsure about the next minute or my next step.
If you had told me yesterday when I got up that my entire world would change by noon, I wouldn’t have believed it. But here I am, so now what??
For my whole life, there have been chores and tasks that had to be done, so I can’t even understand what doing nothing all day means.
A random tear flows down my cheek and I’m not sure why.
I know it’s not because of Oren. A part of me says I should be sad, because that no matter what they did to make it disappear, I was once still his wife.
Although honestly, the thought of never having to guess which version of him I was going to get from day to day is a relief.
Maybe I’m crying for the girl who once believed the fake smiles and random acts of kindness.
More than likely, the tears are from the years of abuse with no way out.
This man, Grant, has spoken more kindly and has treated me with gentler hands than anyone before, including my own parents.
Or I should say, parent … as father and Oren were cast from the same mold.
Mother did her best to shield us girls from father since he only saw us as extra mouths to feed and took every opportunity to remind us of his charity.
When the fever took her from us, I knew it was only a matter of time before he found a reason to rid himself of his “burdens.” Odette was the oldest and the first to escape.
Looking down at the locket in my hand I open it up, staring at my oldest sister’s picture.
She was the one who favored mother the most. When she left with a man from Colorado who had hit gold in the rush, we were envious that she had made it out.
I remember hugging her tightly, crying and knowing in my heart that I might receive a letter from time to time, but the odds of ever seeing and holding her again were slim.
I remember thinking as I held her, that I would never see her face again.
Then came the precious keepsake, a piece of her I could keep forever.
Sent in a simple paper package only days before Father sold me off to Oren, I was able to keep it hidden until the doctor stripped me of all my clothes when I got a fever from the beating Oren had given me.
When I asked Oren about it later, I got another black eye and was told that he sold the locket to cover the cost of my medical bills.
I never thought of looking in the house for it.
Odette’s letters stopped shortly after Oren and I were married.
I couldn’t read them myself, but I could recognize my name on the front.
Now I wonder if Oren kept those from me as well, because if I had no one, then he had complete control.
I push those thoughts away as there’s no good that can come from dwelling on things that have already happened in the past. But how do you escape or overcome the events that molded you?
I take a deep breath to settle my thoughts, then try my best to find something that isn’t hurting right now. I’m not sure what’s worse, my ribs or this new burn on my hand.
The sound of a gate closing pulls me out of my thoughts and I make myself stand up.
Once the pain settles, I gather up the clothes laying on the table only to realize there is also a pair of new boots sitting next to my chair.
Biting my sore lip, I slowly bend down to pick them up, struggling to hold onto the new clothes too.
Small steps later, I finally make it into the bedroom, closing the door behind me.
I sit down on the bed, taking a second to look through everything.
Gently running my hands down the soft material of the new nightgown, I place it aside, and can’t help but gasp when I see the decorative buttons on the blouses and the amount of material used in the skirts.
These gifts, this charity, it’s not something I understand.
Who spends this amount of money on a complete stranger?
It’s not like the seamstress will take these back once worn.
What does he have to gain by giving me all of this?
Hesitantly, I pick up the mirror but I’ve ever seen the person staring back at me.
My face is swollen and both eyes are red and puffy.
My hair looks like a rat’s nest, all fuzzy and sticking out everywhere.
Glancing down, my arms are covered in dark bruises; there isn’t a piece of skin that isn’t marked in one way or another.
I must have made a noise when I lifted my arm trying to comb out my hair because the door cracks open.
“Are you alright? I thought I heard you yell.”
“Forgive me, I didn’t realize I was that loud. I was simply trying to do something with all this hair. Reaching up is slightly harder with the wrap on.”
“Here, let me.” Before I can say no, Grant has already taken the comb out of my hand and is settling behind me. His much larger frame tilts me so close I can feel his breath on the back of my neck.
“Just relax. I may not look like I have this type of skill, but I have a ton of practice.” He gathers my hair up in his large hands, starting from the bottom and working his way up. The gentle tugs have me closing my eyes, simply enjoying his kindness.
“Your hair is so thick it’s still damp from your bath yesterday. Did Beatrice include any hair clasps in the bag that had the mirror in it?”
“I found some pins, but nothing to tie it up with.”
“I’m sure there’s a random ribbon or something in here we can use.
I hate to pin it up on your head until it’s fully dry.
Just leave it down and loose for a while.
You shouldn’t be doing anything that it would get in the way of for the rest of the day anyway.
Your hair is rather beautiful, so many colors all intertwined together. ”
“Thank you. I always thought the color was quite fetching, even if it is rather plain compared to many.”
“There’s nothing plain about you, Lauren. All your bruises are simply hiding the beauty beneath. I will be gone from the house for a few hours. I need to work on loading the extra coal in the wagon to take to town later in the month. Do you need anything before I head out?”
“No, you’ve done so much for me already. I have no way of repaying you for these clothes or the kindness you’ve shown me, … Grant.”
His large hand grasps my shoulder gently before he stands.
“I like the sound of my name on your lips. Lauren. You are mine to take care of, and you owe me, of all people, nothing. Before long, you will be so spoiled that you’ll look back on this time and shake your head, thinking how silly you acted over such minor things. ”
“If I ever act ungrateful, I give you full permission to use that frying pan I’m to use on you when you get out of hand, on the back of my head too.”
My words come out a little more forcefully than I mean them to.
However, I can’t help but smile when his laughter echoes throughout the room.
It’s hard not to appreciate his massive, well-built form as he walks away, but he smells terrible.
I wonder, if there’s been a way to bathe right here in the house the entire time, why hasn’t he used it?
He looks and smells like a beast but has been kind and gentle.
My mind quickly reminds me of what trust usually costs.
The urge to pee has me struggling to get these huge socks off so that I can slide my new boots on.
My naked toes wiggle inside the new, cold leather and a chill runs down my spine.
Pushing myself up off the bed, I walk slowly toward the back of the cabin, only to stop at the door.
Grant is standing under a large oak, his hat in hand, talking to a …
grave. Not wanting to intrude, I wait until he leaves before heading out.
While I quickly take care of business, I realize the outhouse is cleaner than the house.
What are the odds of that? Looking around, I don’t see Grant anywhere, so instead of heading right back in, I amble over to where I see the grave marker.
A name is written clearly on the cross, ‘Eliza’.
I know my letters, but it still takes me a minute to sound them out.
I don’t know him well enough to understand most of his facial expressions, but it was clear to see the heartache in the way he stood above her marker.
I brush my own tears away, my heart mourning their loss.
To love someone that intensely and then lose them, only to be forced to carry on, seems so unfair.
Only the truly evil ones seem to live forever, with the devil making sure they have years to leave scars on the hearts of others.