Chapter 7
Three years later
A gentle, fair breeze wafted through the open window, carrying the scent of fresh-cut hay, as Jackson leaned against the doorframe, soaking in the scene before him.
Amanda nudged the rocking chair back and forth with a slippered foot, cradling their newborn daughter, Jewel, to her breast. Across the room, Noah played quietly with wooden blocks Jackson had made, occasionally glancing up at his mother and sister with curiosity.
His chest swelled with pride and a joy he'd never felt before, even though watching his family always brought a pang of guilt.
“She's got your eyes,” Amanda said softly, looking up at him with a sweet smile.
Jackson crossed the room and squatted beside her chair. “And your nose, thank goodness.”
“I don't know about that. I'm rather fond of your nose.”
As Jackson gazed at his daughter, a wave of emotion nearly overtook him. He’d adopted Noah, but Jewel was his by blood. He reached out and gently stroked his daughter’s wispy blonde hair.
“Papa?” Noah's small voice said from behind him. “May I see?”
Jackson turned, scooping up his son and bringing him closer. “Of course, you may. What do you think about your new baby sister?”
Noah peered at Jewel, his brow furrowed in concentration. “She's awful small.”
Amanda gently tugged on a lock of his hair, which was so badly in need of a trim it had started curling up at his collar. “You were that small once.”
Noah studied his sister a few moments more then squirmed to be put down. “I want to go outside.”
Amanda looked to Jackson with a tightening brow.
“Please, Papa.”
Jackson debated how he should answer. “You can go out in the yard. But,” he added, grabbing hold of Noah’s sleeve so the eager little scamp couldn’t take off before he’d finished giving instructions, “you must stay where you can see the porch at all times. If you encounter any wild animals or people, run to the house and come inside immediately. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir!”
Jackson held on long enough for his stern-father glare to get the point across, in case his words hadn’t. “Go,” he said, releasing Noah and sending him off with a playful swat to his backside.
“I worry about him,” Amanda remarked as his little booted feet clomped their way down the front steps.
“I do, too, but he needs to learn to take care of himself and not depend on us to watch for danger.”
Jackson slid an ottoman over and sat on it. “I dropped off the laundry at Celia’s while I was in town.”
“Oh, Jackson... I appreciate the thoughtfulness, but I’m capable of doing my own wash.”
“I know you are, but you’re still healing. And, frankly, Celia needs the work. I persuaded her to move here. The least I can do is help her succeed.”
Celia was a former slave who’d attached herself to his regiment and functioned as a cook and laundress, in hopes of earning enough to make a life separate from the plantation where she’d been raised.
Amanda planted a kiss on Jewel’s forehead as she slept. “I suppose we can spare a few cents for a good cause.”
“I also sent a telegram to your family, announcing Jewel’s birth.” Sagebrush Springs didn’t have a telegraph station, but messages could be sent and received by relay to Fort Kearney. “I’ll make another trip to town in a few days, in case your mother sends a reply.”
“I hope she sends an update on Father.” Amanda looked up at him with moist eyes. “I wish Caroline would write. It’s been four years.”
Jackson did, too, for Amada’s sake. He’d risk gouging the wound in his heart wide open if it meant his wife could reconnect with her sister.
He’d hurt Caroline deeply—that wasn’t in question—but he didn’t know what to make of her silence when it came to Amanda. Caroline had always been perceptive beyond her years, and she’d had plenty of time to mull the situation over.
He’d truly thought, once she got over the shock, she’d figure it out.
His shoulders sagged with indecision and regret. “It upsets me that I’ve come between you. I’ll write to her if that’s what you want.” He’d offer to tell Caroline in person, but it would leave his family unprotected. And, even if Caroline consented to see him, he doubted he could face her.
Amanda’s eyes searched his, reflecting the ambivalence. Explaining the reasons they married in writing would expose shameful secrets if the letter fell into the wrong hands. She knew it as well as he.
“It’s up to you, Mandy,” he said gently. “You're married now. Even if the truth got out, it wouldn't be the scandal that it would've been then.”
She blinked back tears and shook her head. “But it would still upset my parents. And it could harm the reputation of the family business—something that they don't need with Father incapacitated as he is. I’ll keep praying for God to soften her heart.”
Jackson stood on the porch that night, staring out at the vast Nebraska sky, his mind wandering to thoughts of Caroline, as it often did in quiet moments. He could almost see her standing in the moonlight, her face glowing with the love they once shared.
He closed his eyes and relished the image, allowing himself a moment of weakness. “I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I hope you've found happiness.”
The door creaked behind him.
Amanda stepped out, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders. “The children are asleep,” she said as she came and stood beside him. “Is everything all right?”
He’d spent so much time out here wrestling with the demons of his nightmares, she likely thought memories of the war were plaguing him again.
He didn’t disabuse her of the notion.
“Just thinking,” he replied, burying the guilt of his duplicity. “We've come a long way, haven't we?”
“We have. I never thought I'd feel this content again.”
Jackson wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close.
As they stood, gazing out at their land blanketed by a clear starry sky, he acutely felt the weight of duty that had forced him down this path. But also the unexpected blessing. This was his life, his family. Despite the lingering ache in his heart, he would cherish every moment.
Caroline strolled alongside Walsh through Greenvale's bustling market square, inhaling the cool autumn air scented with spiced apples, trying her best to enjoy the first real outing they’d had since her father fell ill. How she wished she could travel back in time...
“What do you think of these?” Walsh asked, holding up a pair of pale-blue gloves with ecru stitching. “Winter's coming, and I recall you saying yours were wearing thin.”
“They're lovely, and you’re kind to remember, but mine will last another year.”
“Are you sure?” He leaned down, close to her ear. “Simon is doing a splendid job.”
Walsh meant well, bless him. “I know he is, but the purchase can wait.” So far, her family’s bills were paid with money to spare, but she couldn’t assume they would always be.
Her father had recovered the ability to eat, but not to speak clearly or walk.
He would never work again. And he’d require care for years to come, possibly decades.
“I wish you wouldn’t deprive yourself of something that is arguably necessary,” Walsh said, laying the women’s pair aside and sorting through the men’s, “but I have to admire your self-control.”
“Your moral rudder is slipping if that’s you not arguing with a lady,” she tossed back with a smirk.
He let out a chuckle then paused and turned serious. “I want you to have the best of everything. On that topic, I might have to break my own rule.”
Walsh went back to perusing the gloves on offer. He pulled a lovely brown pair from the stack and tried them on.
Watching his fair, blemish-free fingers tug the first glove on, Caroline imagined Jackson’s hands and how different they must look, tanned by the sun and roughened from farm work. She gave her head a tiny shake and forced the thought away.
Walsh returned the gloves to the table and indicated they should walk on.
“Those looked as if they fit you perfectly. Why did you put them back?”
“Your frugality inspired me. There are things I desire more than a new pair of gloves.”
Caroline held her tongue and kept walking, even though his answer left her curious. The desires he referred to might be as simple as a new hat or repairs to his carriage, but if it involved taking a wife, she’d just as soon avoid the conversation.
“You’re unusually quiet,” Walsh remarked as they meandered through the market.
“Sorry. Just lost in thought.”
“About your father?”
She nodded and let him assume that was her only concern.
“I think about him, too. It’s hard on a man’s pride to lose his ability to work. Harder still to accept assistance with the most basic of needs.” Another duty that had fallen largely on Simon.
“Are you hungry?” Caroline asked to change the subject, and because the scent of meat pies wafting by was making her mouth water. “Malvinia can’t have gone far. I’m sure she’d love to picnic at one of these benches.”
“I would enjoy that, too. But first, I’d like to have a few more moments alone.” He gestured to a stone bench that sat apart from the crowd.
She went along, despite the twinge of panic gripping her chest, making her want to turn tail and run.
The topic of discussion could be something exceedingly minor, or Walsh could be working up to a full-blown proposal.
As often as he’d been in her house over the last few months, lending help with the ledgers, he could have sought permission from her father—or even Simon—and she wouldn’t be the wiser.
“Walsh,” she said as they sat, hoping to steer the conversation, “I want you to know how grateful I am for you. You’ve been such a help to my family, so selfless in this difficult time, most especially to Simon.”
“I have great respect for your father, and, frankly, I adore your entire family. I don’t view time spent helping as work.”
“I know you don’t. And that’s why I can’t let another day go by without telling you how much I appreciate your friendship.”
Some of the light left his eyes. “That's all you feel for me, isn't it, Caroline? Friendship.”
Caroline's heart ached for Walsh almost as much as it ached for Jackson. He was a good man who’d done nothing wrong. “I...” How could she explain why she still longed for a man who’d abandoned her? She wanted—needed—to get on with her life and allow herself to love someone else, but... “Yes.”
He looked down, a sad smile playing on his lips. “I understand.”
“I’m sorry,” Caroline said in a pained whisper.
Walsh lifted his head and peered into her eyes. “I want you, regardless. We suit, and friendship is more than many couples have. I love you, Caroline. I want to spend my life with you, even if you can never love me back.”