My Sassy Settler (Willamette Wives Book 2) (3 page)

Chapter Two

Not a sound could be heard in the barn after the door closed. Agatha didn't know what to do. Memories of her childhood flooded through her. She desperately wished she could talk to her Pa, but he'd died two years ago in a hunting accident. His death had left her heartbroken, and her Ma a shell of the woman she'd known her whole life. With her mother unable to truly give her only child the attention she needed, Agatha had begun to find attention elsewhere. Determined to find the love she'd witnessed between her parents, she'd begun to flirt with any man she thought could make her feel cherished. Unfortunately, any man who remotely resembled her memories of her Pa were usually already taken. Despite her desperation for affection, she couldn't bring herself to consort with a married man.

Turning to the younger men, she'd suffered through boys pretending to be mature; boys whose sloppy kisses reminded her of the puppy she'd had as a child. Their groping hands on her breasts or bottom had done nothing but make her feel ashamed. At the tender age of seventeen, she'd fallen in love. Edward Cartwright had come into town. His uncle owned the mercantile and had brought his favorite nephew to Pinefork to learn the trade in preparation of taking it over. They'd met when she'd gone to the store to deliver the wash. Her Ma had begun taking in laundry to help make ends meet.

She and Edward had gone on long walks and Agatha had finally begun to feel that she might have found the man of her dreams. He was three years older than she and yet seemed far more mature than that. He didn't whimper or beg permission to touch her, whether that meant simply taking her hand or kissing her. Her heart had pounded when he'd first taken her face between his palms and bent forward, pressing his lips against hers. Every time they met, he kissed her until she was breathless. She'd begun to have dreams of not only becoming his wife, but to be able to convince him to leave their small town. Every time she broached her belief that he'd fare better in a larger town or even the city back East where he'd come from, he'd smile and silence her with kisses. She'd continued to fantasize about her blissfully happy future until reality slapped her in the face.

They'd been discovered in a small grove of trees behind the mercantile. Life might have been different if it hadn't been Wallace Thompson who had found them, or if Edward hadn't had a hand on her bare breast and her leg hooked over his arm as his other hand slid over her bottom.

The preacher was, in his own words, 'A Man of God'. He felt it was his divine duty to make sure his flock walked the proper path.

"Fornication and adultery is a sin!" he had roared. The couple had jumped apart. Agatha had waited for her love to defend their actions and to explain that though it was indeed wrong to be behaving improperly in public, they'd been carried away by love, not lust. Instead, she'd stood in shock when all Edward did was smile and shrug as he turned and walked away.

Wallace had looked at her, disgust clearly written on his face. "For God's sake, cover up! Even a slut should have some shame!"

Her hands had been shaking as she'd attempted to push the buttons of her blouse through the impossibly tiny holes. She'd gasped when he grunted and reached out to pull her skirt down from where it had been pushed up. After she was covered, he'd grabbed her by her earlobe and dragged her from the grove. She couldn't push the shouted words from her mind. They hadn't done more than kiss and touch each other—was that truly fornication? Suddenly another word had caused her face to lose all color and her stomach to become sick. Adultery? How could Reverend Wallace accuse them of such a sin when they weren't wed?

By the time Agatha had been delivered to her own home, the delicious feelings she'd felt as Edward had kissed her and fondled her breasts had disappeared. Instead, her stomach churned every time the preacher leered at her. Her Ma had stood in shock as the older man had railed about her sin.

"Your daughter is a harlot! I caught her using her naked flesh to tempt a married man into the sins of fornication and adultery."

"Adultery? Edward's not wed." Agatha's heart pounded in her chest as she'd clung to the thin thread of hope that she had been more than a mere dalliance.

Her hope had shattered when Wallace had laughed. The sound made her skin crawl.

"You aren't only a whore, you are a fool. Mr. Cartwright's wife arrives on the stage tomorrow." He ignored her cry of horror. "Is there any man in town who has escaped your pathetic attempt to offer your flesh to his touch? How many men have you lain beneath? How many cocks have sheathed themselves in your cunt?"

The shock and vulgarity of the question had her gasping, and only her mother's cry allowed her to find enough breath to answer. "I haven't lain with any!"

"From what I've seen as you flounce around town, I rather doubt that."

"Ma, please—"

Wallace had not given her mother a chance to speak. "You should be on your knees praying for forgiveness, girl! Who in town will let your poor Ma take in the very cloth that clothes them when the knowledge spreads that her daughter is an unrepentant Jezebel?"

Agatha had watched as her Ma sank down into a chair, her face drained of all color. "Ma, I swear—"

"Swearing is another sin!" Wallace continued his rant until she couldn't think straight. He'd persuaded her Ma that the meager living she made taking in wash would disappear when the townspeople learned of her daughter's sin. She heard him grant forgiveness to Edward, as he'd simply had a moment of weakness in the presence of a 'daughter of Eve'. After an hour, the man had offered the only ray of hope out of the untenable situation: he had explained that, as a righteous man, he was willing to sacrifice himself to provide guidance and protection. Accepting God's challenge to set both Agatha's and her Ma's feet back onto the proper path, he'd give them his name. By nightfall, he'd become her stepfather, and that hell he'd told her she was headed for was, in fact, subsequently to be found in the very house her Pa had built with his own hands.

Night after night, she'd lain in her bed, her pillow over her head to block out her Ma's cries and his grunts and groans that were easily heard through the thin wall. His lectures on the sins of the flesh evidently did not pertain to him, nor to the bastard named Edward Cartwright.

Wallace had grinned when he'd pointed out Mrs. Cartwright one day. Seeing the couple with their arms around each other had made Agatha feel physically sick, but she was not allowed to wallow in self-pity. Instead, she'd been forced to memorize endless bible verses about obedience, and warnings of damnation for the sinner she was told she was. She had to listen to him as he practiced his sermons, his ranting and yelling causing her head to ache.

While the rest of his flock was subjected to his fire and brimstone sermons for hours, they only had to sit and squirm for one day a week. For the 'daughter of Jezebel', it seemed as if the lectures never stopped. She became a prisoner in her own home and was no longer allowed to step foot off their small farm unless it was to go into the drafty one-room schoolhouse every Sunday. As she caught him watching her every move, as if waiting to pounce, Agatha became more and more withdrawn. The only place she found any solace was at her father's grave, and even then she felt empty inside, knowing that she had disappointed him.

When dropping attendance proved that the townspeople were more willing to face the possibility of damnation rather than spend another Sunday listening to him rant and rave, Wallace had sold the farm, pocketed the money, and informed them that they were moving. He'd explained that God had come to him in a vision and instructed him to spread the good word amongst the heathen Indians. They'd use the money from the sale to buy a wagon and oxen, and would spend the next several months on the Oregon Trail.

Begging to be allowed to remain behind, stating she'd seek a teaching position, earned Agatha an hour kneeling in the corner begging forgiveness for failure to honor her father. Though the time spent on her knees was painful, it was nothing compared to the pain of being forced to think of this monster as her Pa. If that wasn't bad enough, a day didn't pass where he didn't lecture her. If she heard it once, she heard it a thousand times—about how the townspeople would never suffer a harlot for a teacher to their innocent children. He'd leered at her until her skin crawled as he informed her that the only profession she was suited for was to be found in a bawdy house where men didn't care that the whore they spewed their seed into was a sinner.

She'd spent over a year being beaten down and yet somehow, she hadn't quite broken. Though they had joined a wagon train with strict rules of conduct, she'd witnessed happiness. People helped each other, and out on the wild open spaces, she'd begun to feel as if she could breathe. Despite Wallace's indoctrination on her sins of the flesh, Agatha found her heart opening.

Meeting Wyatt during the long trek west had given her hope. Though she'd truly tried to stay away from him, too frightened to trust herself, she always knew when he was nearby. It had taken everything she had to manage to avoid her stepfather as she discovered that she was falling for the quiet, tall, incredibly handsome cowboy. The dimples in his cheeks were prominent when he smiled, causing her blood to race. He'd bring her a bouquet of wildflowers and tuck one single bloom in her hair. He'd talk with pleasure about the animals he was in charge of keeping safe. She'd stood on the bank of the river and seen him ride across it with a calf draped across his saddle. She'd laughed with abandon for the first time in months when Wyatt set the small animal onto the ground and wound up on his rump when the calf showed its appreciation by kicking both feet into Wyatt's midsection. He'd heard her laughing, tipped his hat, and given her a smile that lit up his entire face… and her soul.

Her heart had actually stopped beating when her Ma had found her in Wyatt's arms, his lips hovering over hers, about to share their first kiss. She'd been terrified that she'd find herself dragged before the entire train and informed that she had returned to her harlot ways. Instead, her Ma had simply told them to be very careful and walked away.

That night, when Wallace went to the nightly meeting, her mother had quietly talked to her for the first time in years.

"I don't care what Wallace says. I know you are a good girl. Agatha, Wyatt is a good man. I have no doubt that he loves you and that he'll treasure the wonderful woman you will become once you're away from here. Wyatt isn't the type of man to blame you for every bad thing that happens simply because you were born female. Trust your heart, my darling daughter. Allow yourself to discover true love. I found it with your father and it is only that memory that keeps me alive."

"Why did you marry Wallace? You can't love him."

Her mother hadn't answered, simply apologized for being a fool and begged forgiveness for not being strong enough to stand up to the man whose name she'd taken. Agatha had begged her to find the strength to leave Wallace, but her Ma refused. She'd stated that she'd made the choice to wed him and it was her duty to stand beside him. Nothing Agatha could say swayed her. Instead of being angry, Agatha suddenly was terrified that she knew the reason. Her Ma had wed him to keep him from destroying her daughter. The depth of love that sacrifice entailed had left her speechless. Guilt consumed her for ever having doubted that her mother loved her.

As the weeks passed, Agatha fell in love. The moment Wyatt had taken her into his arms and twirled her around one night during an impromptu dance, she was lost. When he'd asked Wallace for permission to wed her, she had been horribly afraid that Wyatt wouldn't be able to withstand the coming explosion. However, just as her Ma had urged, she'd found a man who was everything her stepfather hated. In other words, a man who would not be intimated or cowed by threats of fire and brimstone. When Wallace warned Wyatt that he'd chosen a harlot who gave her body to any man who looked at her, she'd heard Wyatt speak.

"You'll apologize."

"Now look here, son…"

"Not to me," Wyatt said, his voice soft and yet reminding her of steel. "To Agatha."

Instead of apologizing, Wallace accused her of already giving herself to a common ranch hand.

Her love's presence had given her back the strength she'd thought lost forever. "I'd rather sleep with the devil than spend another moment under your thumb. Wyatt is a man, while you are nothing more than a monster! You don't bring God's love to anyone. All you bring is hate and fear!"

The reverend had sputtered as he accused her of blasphemy, stepped forward, and slapped her across her face. Before she could blink, the preacher was on his back lying on the ground, and Wyatt was being held back by his friends. Her Ma had looked at her.

"Go, you have my blessing. For God's sake, please go!"

With that, Wyatt's friends released him and he proposed. Agatha had instantly accepted. They'd been wed that evening by Mr. Morgan, the wagon master. Her Ma hadn't attended the ceremony, as the moment Wallace managed to regain his feet, he'd announced that he wouldn't stay with a train that was full of sinners. Their wagon had cleared the horizon by the time Agatha was wed and led to the wagon her new husband shared with two other ranch hands.

Roger and Matthew had disappeared, allowing the newlyweds some privacy. Agatha had been absolutely terrified. The joy of being away from Wallace was overshadowed by the absence of her mother, and the fear of the retribution she'd pay for supporting her daughter. The embarrassing scene had been seen by so many fellow travelers, and Agatha had just known that all eyes were waiting for the wagon to begin rocking, proving that she was a whore. She'd burst into tears the moment Wyatt had reached for her. He'd been calm, while she'd been hysterical. Memories of nights spent hearing the sounds of forced coupling had consumed her.

Wyatt had tried to console her. "Shh, it's going to be okay." It had taken a half hour for her to calm, and it was only his assurance that he'd sleep beneath the wagon that allowed her to sleep at all. If his friends wondered why he joined them on the ground every night, they didn't ask. By the time they'd driven into the Willamette Valley and onto what was to become the Double R, or was less formally named, The Rose Ranch, Agatha had become familiar with Wyatt taking her hand, slipping an arm about her waist, and giving her tender kisses. She'd watched their cabin being built, knowing that his patience was ebbing. After all, they'd been wed for weeks, if in name only.