Chapter 3 #2
Amanda's hand instinctively moved to her abdomen. “I know you will, Jackson,” she replied softly. “It's just... everything has happened so fast.”
“It has. But staying wouldn’t’ve changed anything. It would only have made things harder on us all.”
The landscape changed as they went, rolling plains giving way to flat farmland.
Tall grass swayed in the breeze, unbroken, save for occasional clusters of wildflowers.
Jackson’s eyes scanned the horizon, his jaw tight, and his mind alert to the many possible dangers, both real and born of the Rebel ghosts his mind conjured.
Please, not now.
His hands gripped the reins, and he concentrated on breathing in and out.
Several times along their journey, he’d felt one of his spells coming on and had to fight it back with the sheer power of will. The fact that the war had left its mark on countless men was no excuse. He’d rather die than let anyone witness him reduced to a shaking, sweating weakling.
Once the bout of anxiety passed, Jackson glanced at Amanda, whose face was slack with awe as she took in the vastness before them.
She said something he couldn’t make out.
He slowed the team some, so he could hear her over the rumble. “What did you say?”
“I said it's so empty.”
“It is. But that emptiness is opportunity. We can shape it, make it our own.”
A crease appeared between her brows as her eyes searched his. “Do you really think we can?”
“I do. It won't be easy, but with some effort, we can make a life for ourselves here. A good life.”
Jackson faced forward and urged the team to resume their original pace.
As the sun climbed higher, Amanda's posture began to slump, her face growing pale and etched with fatigue.
Jackson slowed the team again. “You don’t look well.”
“I’m just tired.” She attempted a smile and failed miserably. “It's been a long journey.”
Jackson stared at the road ahead, debating. Twelve miles was nearly a full day’s ride in a wagon, and he didn’t want to be navigating unfamiliar paths in the dark. But she needed a rest. “Let's take a break, get some food in you.”
He guided the horses off the trail, bringing the wagon to a stop near a small copse of trees.
With practiced ease, he jumped down and circled around to Amanda's side.
“Here, let me help you,” he said, reaching up to support her.
He lowered her to the ground then kept a guiding hand at her waist as she walked.
“I can manage,” she insisted weakly, her pride obviously warring with exhaustion.
Jackson’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “I know you can, but you don't have to.”
As they reached the shade, Amanda leaned against him, seeming grateful for his strength, and whispered, “Thank you.”
He patted her hip reassuringly. “You never have to thank me for being a gentleman. You’re clearly unwell. I’d be a poor excuse for a man if I didn’t help.” He found a soft patch of grass and lowered her onto it. “Now, sit there and rest while I get you something to eat.”
He retrieved his satchel from the wagon and set out a simple spread on a clean cloth. His hands worked methodically, slicing bread and cheese, mindlessly preparing rations from years of military routine while his thoughts ran amok.
Amanda sat with her legs tucked under her skirt, her eyes following his every move and filled with warring emotions—gratitude for his care tinged with guilt so heavy it weighted her slender shoulders. “You don't have to fuss so,” she said, her fingers absently plucking at blades of grass.
“It's no fuss,” he said as he divided an apple between them then handed over her meal in a cloth. “You need to keep up your strength.”
She nibbled on the apple and took a few small bites from her sandwich, her mind clearly elsewhere.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he said, settling beside her with his lunch.
Amanda looked as if she didn’t want to answer. “I was just thinking about home. And the future. I still can’t believe my father didn’t question you when you asked for my hand instead of my sister’s.”
“He seemed a little surprised, but he didn’t challenge my choice. Most of our conversation revolved around my ability to provide for you and my plans to move west.”
“You should have told him I was pregnant.”
“I would’ve, if it had come to that, but I wanted to spare you that shame.”
Amanda looked down and placed a hand on her growing abdomen, which was still hidden by her clothes. “They’ll figure it out as soon as the baby’s born.”
“Not if we wait a few months to send the birth announcement.”
She looked back up at him, obviously conflicted.
“Do you regret your decision?”
“No. It's just...”
Jackson set his meal aside and took hold of her hand. “I know this isn't the life you wanted, but marrying you and bringing you west was the only way I knew to protect your reputation. If we’d stayed–”
“I know.” Her lip quivered, and tears gathered along her lower lids. “I just wish we hadn’t hurt Caroline in the process.”
His chest tightened with the same regret.
He’d tried and failed to meet with her after the engagement was announced, and again on the day of the wedding, to explain why he’d chosen her sister.
Then she’d refused to speak with him when he and Amanda were preparing to leave.
Not wanting to cause her further hurt, he’d abided by her silent rebuff.
Now he wished he’d tried harder. “Your sister’s intelligent.
I’m sure she’s figured it out by now. It’ll take time for her to get over this, but Caroline loves you. She’d want me to rescue you.”
“And what about you? How long will it take for you?”
Jackson swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat, unable to respond.
“You’ve sacrificed too much,” Amanda said, shaking her head. “You must hate me.”
Fury over his brother’s unconscionable behavior freed Jackson’s voice and gave it a hard edge. “I assure you I don’t. You’re not the one to blame.”
Tears spilled down Amanda’s cheeks. “You're a good man, Jackson Maguire,” she croaked, her voice raw.
He wrapped her in his arms. “I’m sorry I spoke so gruffly. I’m angry at Ross, not you.”
“But you should be angry at me,” she uttered against his chest. “I shouldn’t have given in. If I’d stood my ground–”
“No. Ross is the one at fault. You trusted him, and he betrayed you.” Jackson loosened his hold and gave her his handkerchief. “You’re not responsible for his sins. I only wish I’d been there to protect you.”
Amanda dried her face and got her emotions under control. Once she’d had a few minutes of calm, Jackson offered her some water, then picked up his sandwich and gestured for her to do likewise. “Eat as much as you’re able. You need your strength.”
He swallowed his food, but he barely tasted it. Painful memories had his full attention. For Amanda’s sake, he’d kept his feelings to himself, but their marriage bound him to a future he’d never wanted either.
The day Nelson Bennet announced their engagement, Jackson had watched helplessly as Caroline vanished from the room, his heart splintering with each step she took.
He’d longed to chase after her, to take her in his arms and tell her she was the one he loved.
But he’d remained rooted next to her sister and faced his new reality.
Regardless of his brother’s part in it, Jackson had willfully made a choice. He would honor his commitment, no matter the cost to his own happiness.
He shook the crumbs from his napkin and returned it to his satchel. “All done?” he asked when Amanda held hers out with half a sandwich still cradled in the center.
“It's good, but I can’t eat any more.”
“We still have several hours of riding to go. Wrap it up and tuck it in your pocket, in case you want it later.”
Jackson helped her up, and they brushed the dust from their clothes. “I can make room in the back of the wagon if you’d like to lie down and rest.”
“That’s kind of you, but I feel better. I can make it.”
They resumed their journey under the midday sun. The rhythmic creaking of the wagon wheels and the steady clop of hooves drowned out the rustling of grass in the breeze that had lulled them while they ate. The occasional cry of a hawk overhead was the only sound of nature loud enough to be heard.
Amanda shaded her eyes against the glare, her gaze fixed on the horizon.
The vastness of the prairie mesmerized Jackson, too—miles of flat land broken only by the occasional cluster of trees or distant silhouette of a homestead. He nudged her shoulder with his and raised his voice enough to be heard over the din. “Quite a view, isn't it?”
Amanda nodded. “It's beautiful,” she shouted back. “And a little overwhelming.”
“We'll make it our home. It’ll take time, but we will.”
By the time they reached the outskirts of their land, the sun hung low in the sky.
Jackson frowned in concentration as he turned off the main road and guided the horses down an overgrown path, through a tangled mess of weeds and wild grasses that threatened to swallow the wagon wheels whole.
The weeds thinned as they went, and Jackson released a tight breath. “Haw, team. Haw,” he called, steering the horses around a particularly treacherous rut. The wagon lurched, and Amanda gripped the seat tighter.
The setting sun cast long shadows across the neglected fields, painting the scene in hues of gold and amber. As they crested a small rise, the farmhouse came into view, a weathered sentinel against the backdrop of a vivid evening sky.
Jackson’s breath stilled in his chest. “There it is,” he said, more to himself than to Amanda. “Our new beginning.”
“It looks... substantial.”
Jackson nodded at her attempt to say something kind, all the while scanning the property with a critical eye as they drew closer.
Some of the fence rails had fallen loose, but the barn looked sturdy enough.
He halted the wagon in front of the house and sat for a moment, taking in the peeling paint and sagging porch with determination firming his jaw.
“It'll need work, no doubt about that, but the bones are good. We can make something of this. I know we can.”
Amanda didn’t respond, just stared at the house, bewildered.
“Well,” he said, turning to her with a hint of a smile, “shall we?”
Without waiting for an answer, Jackson swung down from the wagon with renewed vigor. He set Amanda on the ground and began unloading. “I'll get the supplies put away and the horses fed and stabled,” he called over his shoulder. “Then we can see about making this place livable.”
Amanda stood beside the wagon, staring at their new home as Jackson carried a bag of feed to the barn. The weathered wood was shadowed and dulled in the fading sunlight, yet she could see the grand house it used to be.
Her hand drifted to her abdomen, fingers splaying protectively over her growing child. “It needs a lot of work,” she whispered, “but you’ll have a home.”
Thanks to Jackson, she would, too.
He paused on his way back. “You all right?”
Amanda nodded. “Just taking it all in.” She looked at him, suddenly aware of how unprepared she was. “I’ve never lived on a farm. How will I know what to do?”
Jackson’s mouth curved into that easy, amused smile of his, the one she hadn’t seen since before she’d told him about Ross and her pregnancy.
“You grew up around horses and without maids, and you know how to cook and clean and sew—that’s the bulk of it.
You just manage the house. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Amanda exhaled a slow breath. Maybe she could do this after all.
“Let's take a look inside,” Jackson said, helping her navigate the overgrown path to the porch. “The Tiptons left the stove behind. If we can get a fire going, we can have a hot supper.”
The stairs to the porch creaked under their weight as they ascended, and the rusted hinges protested as Jackson pushed the door open. A musty smell wafted out, carrying months of neglect.
“Wait here,” he murmured, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. He paused just inside, with an odd tension in his shoulders, and scanned the space, then went to the nearest window and wiped away a thick layer of grime. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.
“Oh my,” Amanda said as her eyes adjusted to the dim interior.
Scattered about were remnants of the previous occupants' lives—a rocking chair with a faded cushion, a set of coffee cups on a rickety shelf, a child's wooden toy horse lying forgotten in a corner.
Jackson’s brow furrowed. “I wonder what happened to make them abandon so much.”
Amanda's fingers trailed along the dusty dining table that was flanked by chairs on all four sides. “Do you think they'll come back for these things?”
“No. Whatever’s left was included with the property. It’s ours.” He paused, meeting her gaze. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but I'll turn this into a home you can be proud of.”
Amanda nodded, her gaze skimming over the room.
Jackson moved to inspect a sagging cabinet. “We'll need to shore this up. And replace some of these boards.”
“The windows need new curtains,” Amanda added, her fingers brushing over tattered scraps of fabric. “I can make some.”
Jackson glanced at her. “That's the spirit.”
Her stomach rumbled, and her cheeks warmed. “I suppose we should look at the kitchen.”
“Good idea,” he agreed, leading the way.
It was in a similar state of disarray, dust-covered pots and pans scattered about. Amanda's eyes fell on the rust-spotted stove. “Do you think it still works?”
Jackson knelt to examine it. “Might need some repairs, but it's salvageable.” He stood and checked the integrity of the flue, bringing a chorus of chirping from within the vent pipe. “We’ll have to wait to light the stove. I'll get it working, though. Don't you worry.”
As they continued their exploration, what little energy Amanda had deserted her. How would she manage everything that needed to be done? All she wanted to do anymore was sleep.
“Come, sit,” Jackson said, dusting off the rocker. He rummaged in his satchel, producing some matches, and lit a half-melted candle. The wick flickered to life, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow. “I’ll finish up outside, then I’ll build a small campfire and cook some frybread.”
“I can do it,” Amanda said, though she wasn’t sure she could muster the energy.
Jackson squatted down in front of her. “You look as if you’re about to drop, and you’re not even standing. Let me cook for us tonight. You can start being a farmer’s wife in the morning.”