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RUSH

By Jayme H. Mansfield

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Chapter 1
Mary ~ Alone, Missouri, July 14, 1893
Ican’t stop shivering when I sleep alone.
As I pulled the threadbare quilt higher, daybreak peeked in the window. Morning already, and he didn’t come home again last night. Disappointment and relief played tug-of-war in my mind. But what kind of wife did that make me, relieved my husband didn’t come home?
My eyes followed a crack in the ceiling that ran like a river going nowhere. My hands rested on my flat belly, wishing for it to swell again with a baby. But that was nonsense. There was no new life in me. How could there be when I felt as though I were dying inside? Besides, having another child wouldn’t make things better.
Tossing the quilt aside, I slid out of bed. The floorboards creaked beneath my feet. Despite the heat, I still wore Tuck’s grayed wool socks, slipped on last night before crawling into bed. When darkness fell on Adair County, Missouri, my hope was that my husband would come home—at least for our son’s sake. But it was to be another lonely night.
I pulled my shawl from the iron hook and wrapped it tightly around my bare shoulders and thin, cotton nightdress. The logs from last night’s cooking had burned down hours ago. Only a faint glimmer of red pulsed from the ashes, determined to gain a last breath. I used the poker to rustle the fragile remains, urging them to life once again. A small flame darted, then receded as quickly as it had lashed out, reminding me of my own hurt and anger that was squelching the love I once had for my husband. But love was a requirement, wasn’t it? Especially for our son, six-year-old Wesley, who lay sleeping in the other room.
I, Aaron “Tuck” Roberts, take you, Mary Louisa Johnston, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for
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richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; until death do us part.
The promises were made nearly ten years earlier when the leaves were brilliant, and I was twenty-two. Like so many others, my husband’s sights—as well as my own—were focused on eventually heading west for a chance at a better life. Now, the words he promised played over and over in my mind, slowly losing momentum like the record on the phonograph, winding down, then silent.
The window felt cool as my head rested against the glass. “He’ll be home soon,” I whispered, wiping away tears that lately came too easily. Outside, the dirt road took on an auburn haze—the mid-July sun promising a new day.
*****
I must have dozed from the combination of reading William Blake’s poetry and the incessant ticking of the clock that perched on the ledge near the kitchen table. The book, a gift from my mother, lay open across my lap. Most evenings, after tucking Wesley in bed, I enjoyed the company of my books, especially Pride and Prejudice. Elizabeth Bennet’s quick wit and intelligence made me smile and realize, deep down, she and I were much alike. But it was Alice who gathered me into her wonderland, allowing me to momentarily escape the solitude of Adair.
Occasionally, Tuck would ask me to read aloud. We would journey together to some faraway land. And—if only in my mind—those were the sweet moments with my husband that made me hope he would open the front door at any moment.
“Mrs. Roberts?” A deep voice bellowed behind the door, followed by a loud pounding. “You in there? It’s Sheriff Murphy.”
The chair toppled as I jumped up. “Yes.” The timidity of my reply made me clench my fists.
“Need to talk with you right away.” The voice was one I had heard too many times and not one for a good conversation. The fist pounding repeated, shaking the door.
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Tuck must have gotten in trouble again. Maybe he’s hurt ... or worse. Unlatching the lock, I opened the door.
Sheriff Murphy peered from under the wide brim of his hat, his
eyes moving from my face down the length of my body, pausing too long in obvious places. “Ma’am, it looks as though I’ve intruded.” His bushy mustache couldn’t hide the smirk.
I gathered my shawl around my body, disgusted with myself for being caught off guard and indecent.
“Excuse me.” Tangled hair fell across my face. “Must have fallen back asleep. Hard to sleep last night.” I averted my eyes, feeling foolish for being barely dressed in front of the man who claimed to uphold the law in our small town but had gained a reputation for desiring nothing more than to break it for his own benefit.
“Must be hard to get a good night’s sleep when you’re here all alone, taking care of that boy by yourself. Downright lonely, to be sure.” His left cheek twitched.
“Where’s my husband?” I straightened my back and forced myself to hold the door open instead of slamming it in his face. “Is he all right?”
“That’s why I’m here.” He stepped back and paced the warped, wooden planks of the porch. With each moan of the boards, he paused, clearly enjoying a game of cat and mouse.
“Sheriff ...” The words caught in my throat like a fish in a net. “What have you come to tell me? What’s your business here?”
He stopped mid-pace, then walked toward me. His broad shoulders and muscular frame blocked the morning sun, but I forced myself to meet him eye to eye.
“Tell me where my husband is.”
His ice-blue eyes, alluring to some, sent a chill down my spine. “He’s in the jail.”
Relief washed over me that it wasn’t what I often feared when Tuck went missing for a few days. “Whatever he did, it was surely a misunderstanding.”
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“No such luck for that man. Got caught stealing one of Sam Taylor’s finest horses.” He chuckled. “Didn’t work out too well for him though.” His fingers caressed the Colt poised on his hip. “Nope, got beat up pretty bad by Taylor’s men.”
“What’d they do to him?”
“Nothing he won’t get over. But he’ll be sure to feel it when the booze wears off.” He glanced at the sun. “Which ought to be about now.”
My stomach twisted at the thought of Tuck drinking again. He had promised. But he had made a lot of promises. “Tuck wouldn’t steal anything, especially a horse.”
“That’s not what folks are saying. And quite frankly, your husband doesn’t have the best reputation around here.”
And neither do you. “That’s not proof he did anything wrong. You should know the law.”
“I know the law, all right. And a horse thief too.” The sheriff adjusted his hat and walked toward his gelding, its reins lopped over the rickety fence. “A pretty woman like you deserves something better. It’s a shame your husband’s chance at claiming some land in the Rush is over. Hard to participate if he’s locked up in jail.”
“Tuck will be out in time, especially since he’s innocent.” I set my jaw and swallowed hard. Surely he wouldn’t have tried to steal a horse to make the race for the new territory. Or would he?
Sheriff Murphy hoisted himself onto the saddle. “You better get inside. Put some proper clothes on.” He stared me down again, and this time my bareness felt complete. “You’re too vulnerable, being such a pretty little thing.”

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