Maggie Meets Her Match Read online

  “I just came down to make sure you’re… doin’ alright.”

  My brow furrowed as I looked at him. I could see that he wasn’t saying what he meant to, but I couldn’t figure out what he was going on about. “I’m fine, thank you.” The lie came easily, because no one wanted to hear the truth, no matter if they said otherwise.

  He bowed his head as he drew a line in the dirt with the toe of his boot. “It’s been a long time. Do you ever think about… we used to play together a bunch when we was youngsters. Do you remember that time I told you there was a snake behind Old Pemberton’s place?”

  The memory wrung a reluctant smile from me. “How could I forgot? You ‘bout frightened me to death.”

  “You were worse than a cat in a roomful of rockers,” he recalled with a chuckle.

  “For ‘bout three days after,” I agreed with a giggle. “I haven’t thought of that in… why, I can’t remember when!”

  Patrick ducked his head again, but I could still make out the smile on his lips. “You know why I did it?”

  “Did what?”

  “There was no snake, see. But I thought… well, I guess I reckoned you’d need me there to protect you.”

  I screwed my face up in confusion. “Whatever for?”

  “Aw, Mags, can’t you figure it out?”

  I studied him quizzically until his neck reddened and he looked away.

  “You haven’t changed a bit. Quick as a whip until… listen, I know Joshua was your fella, but I can’t help but hopin’… with things as they are and all that you might like it if I came to call on you.”

  I’d about laughed him off the farm. My mama would have been ashamed of me if she’d ever heard of it. Patrick had insisted that he was sorry for what had happened, but it didn’t matter. I was too stubborn to forgive such a transgression. Even so, he’d insisted on walking me back to the house and my pa had seemed surprised to see me back so soon, and alone.

  “Where’d Pat get off to?”

  “He had to go home,” I lied quietly, hoping I could slip off to my room.

  “Should we expect him round this way again?”

  “No,” I answered, meeting his brown eyes. “No, I don’t ‘spect so.”

  * * *

  There were a few other callers, through the years, but I politely turned each of them down in the same way. I’d meant what I’d told Wesley all those years ago—there’d never be another man for me. I was never going to let there be, because I couldn’t stand to lose anything ever again. My heart just couldn’t take it.

  Time marched on whether or not I wanted it to, and even at home things had changed. My pa had just passed and things sure weren’t the same without him. Mama tried to pretend everything was alright, but I knew that was just what she was doing: pretending. It wasn’t easy to get on with life when the one you loved was gone. I could have told her so.

  And things were changing even more still, faster than I cared to deal with, for Wesley would be getting married soon. Oh, he hadn’t said anything to me, but I knew it was around the corner. It was the look in his eyes and the sudden spring in his step that confirmed my worst suspicions. Hard as I tried to deny it, I was jealous of my own brother, that he had found happiness when mine was stolen from me.

  If anyone was more surprised than I was when my brother Wesley began courting Libby Park, it was my mother. Not that she said so, of course; she was too much the proper lady for that. No, she invited Libby in for tea every time Wes brought her by and took out the fancy sugar and fresh cream. She always seemed to have a sweet, like cookies or pie to serve alongside it, though I never saw her bake them, so God only knew when she found the time. Libby always received it gratefully; never mind that her pa owned a store full of fine treats she could have at any time.

  Not that she’d always had the manners to feign graciousness. Why, the very first time I’d met her, she’d shown herself to be nothing more than a spoiled only child. My mind wandered back to the day I’d first laid eyes on Libby: it had been a warm spring day and the entire family was eager to get to town to see the new mercantile. I’d been so excited I could hardly sit still, which my mother never failed to notice and scold me for with her gentle blue eyes.

  I remembered that Wesley had been sitting up front with my pa, as he’d begun to do. Even serious, stoic Wesley had been grinning ear-to-ear in anticipation. Trent had just been a baby then, hardly a year old. When I pictured that day, I could still see him perfectly in my mind’s eye as a red-faced, squalling infant, which was often hard to reconcile with the strapping man he was today.

  It felt like it took forever to get there. I’d gotten so bored I’d nearly fallen asleep, but every time I’d begun to drift off, the buggy would jostle, jarring me awake.

  “Two whoops and a holler and we’ll be there, Mags!” Wesley had said, turning his head to look at me. His brown eyes were bright with excitement and I couldn’t help smiling back at him. By the time he was five, Wesley had begun to act as though he were the elder. He didn’t say much at all to me, unless it was to be high and mighty about one thing or another. So that morning I’d smiled extra-wide at him, happy for any time he remembered he was my brother and not my boss.

  Sure enough, we’d gotten there quick after that and had all gone in to have a look around. Wesley had stayed by my father’s side and I’d gone with my mother to look over the bolts of cloth. We’d been examining a pretty cherry calico when I’d been distracted by a little girl who ran past me, her reddish-brown curls streaming behind her like a flag.

  Mama had seen her, too, and caught my gaze. “Go on over and say hello.”

  I hadn’t needed to be told twice and wasted no time following her over to the penny candy jars, standing beside her as both of us looked up at the peppermint and butterscotch. “Howdy.”

  When she’d turned toward me, the first thing I noticed was her bright blue eyes. They were almost too pretty to be real. “Hi.” She sniffed and turned her back on me.

  “What’s your name? Mine’s Maggie.”

  The girl turned toward me again, her mouth set in a frown. “What an interesting name,” she replied, in a way that said that wasn’t what she would call it at all. “Mine’s Libby.”

  “Nice to meet you, Libby.” The words came out little more than a whisper. Libby’s manners were off-putting, especially the way she looked me up and down, making a face that told me plainly that my Sunday best was no match for her store-bought dress. Even so, I was determined to be polite, just like my mama had taught me. “That’s my family over there.”

  Hey eyes followed where I’d pointed and when she turned to face me again she put her pretty nose straight into the air. “That baby is uglier than mud,” she announced, her smile gleefully mean.

  I furrowed my brow, narrowing my eyes. Nobody, but nobody talked about my brother like that! “You better take it back!”

  “What for? I was just tellin’ the truth!” she’d insisted.

  I could still feel my face burn up with anger at the memory. Without realizing I was doing it, I balled my hands into fists at my sides. “You’re just jealous you don’t have a baby brother!”

  Libby’s eyes had gone wide for a moment, but then she sneered at me. “If that’s what they come out lookin’ like, I’m hopin’ I don’t ever have one. Now why don’t y’all get him out of here, a’fore he scares our customers?”

  Before I could think better of it, I’d stepped closer to Libby and brought the heel of my boot crashing down on her pretty pink slipper. As soon as I’d done it, I was horrified. I’d never done such a thing in all my life. I watched with wide eyes as Libby’s berry-red lips quivered, just before she screwed up her pretty face and began to holler, tears running down her cheeks.

  That had done it. Before I was quite sure what had happened, Libby was telling her father what I’d done and my pa had shooed us out of the store, after promising Mr. Park that he would see to me when we got home. I still could remember the look of disappoi
ntment on my mother’s face, which had almost been too much to bear. Libby had been making my life miserable ever since.

  I had to give Libby her due though, she put on a good show. When she came ‘round she was all simpering smiles and “yes, ma’am” and “that would be lovely.” It made me sick to watch, though Wesley didn’t seem to notice. No, he looked rather proud of himself for having such a prize. There was nobody that could deny Libby’s beauty—she’d grown from a pretty little girl into an even prettier woman, with the same reddish-brown hair, fair skin, and eyes bluer than the sky that I’d always envied.

  “Pretty is as pretty does,” Mama reminded me whenever she saw me staring wistfully, but it was little use. I couldn’t stop envying Libby any more than she could stop being snide and puttin’ on airs.

  Wesley had brought Libby by the house for a visit that afternoon and even now she was in the kitchen under the guise of helping Mama when really, she was sizing the place up and dreaming it hers, if you asked me. Not that anyone ever did.

  Even Mama wouldn’t hear a word against her, even though I saw the way that her lips pursed tight whenever she saw Libby step down from the buggy.

  “She’s going to be family one day, most like,” she told me gently, patting my hand. “You always wanted a sister.”

  I screwed my face up in a mixture of horror and disgust. “Mama, you can’t—”

  “Enough of that, Maggie. She makes your brother happy.”

  Depends on how you see it, I thought uncharitably. Maybe he seemed happy now, but what use would a woman like her be on a farm? Could she even identify vegetables, much less tend to growing them?

  “You could do it too, you know,” Mama said, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Hmm?” I turned my head to look at her.

  “You could get married.”

  It was the first time she’d mentioned me courting in the seven long years since I’d lost Joshua. In that time, the pain had dulled to an ache that I carried with me everywhere I went, almost unaware of its presence beside my heart, making my chest all the heavier. Her words knocked the breath clean out of me. I stared at her, my mouth ajar, and tried to suck in enough breath to gasp.

  “Oh, you’re being foolish,” she scoffed. “Stop lookin’ at me like you just ate a toad.”

  I turned away from her, hoping she hadn’t seen the anguish that I was sure was on my face. How could I still feel so betrayed, so disappointed in life after all this time? I knew Mama only wanted what was best for me; I knew they all wanted me to move on. I just didn’t think I could. If it wasn’t for Joshua himself, then the fact that I’d feel like a ninny courting at my age when most women had a child on her hip and one at her breast.

  “I’m sorry, Maggie, I didn’t mean to upset you, child. I just thought that… well, that maybe you wouldn’t be so jealous if you had your own beau.”

  “I’m not jealous of Libby Park!” I declared, spinning around to scowl at her. “How could you even think…” I trailed off, because it was plain to see in her eyes that she didn’t believe me.

  We dropped the subject, but even though we didn’t speak of it, it still lay between us. Across our knees, more like, in the form of the quilt we’d been sewing that I suspected Mama meant to be a wedding present. The knowledge made me feel ill.

  I didn’t know what I’d expected. That we’d all be unmarried forever? The truth was, I did my best not to think on it at all. At least I still had Trent who, at twenty, still hardly noticed women, even though they certainly seemed to cotton to him.

  We hadn’t made much progress on the quilt when the door opened and Libby herself sailed in. When her eyes landed on me, however briefly, I saw the corners of her mouth slide up in a smirk.

  “Howdy, Libby,” my mother said, sliding the quilt over and standing to greet the girl.

  “Hello, Mrs. Swift,” she returned, her eyes particularly bright.

  “You don’t have to call her ‘Mrs. Swift’ anymore,” Wesley chided with a smile. “You’ll be calling her Mama soon enough.”

  The words reached my ears seeming very far away and my heart stilled in my chest. I looked at Libby, to see her looking back at me. Her eyes looked gleaming and triumphant.

  “What… what wonderful news!” my mother stuttered. “How… how lovely.” My mother stepped toward Libby and folded her in a hug. “I’m sure you’re very excited, dear.”

  “Maggie?” Wesley asked, lifting a brow expectantly.

  “I’m very happy for you,” I retorted, not even feeling my lips move as I said what was expected. How could he do this to me? How could he bring this shrew into our home? How could my mother allow it?

  Their eager chatter seemed like nothing more than the buzzing of bees for all the notice I took. I tried to continue working on the guilt, but my eyes were blurring with tears. When I heard my name, I looked up.

  “These are mighty pretty buttons,” Libby said, looking irritated for having to repeat herself.

  “Why, I’d forgotten those were there!” Mama exclaimed. “They were to be… Maggie’s.”

  I didn’t have to look closer to know what they were talking about—the buttons we’d chosen so carefully for the dress that never would be sewn. My throat closed up just thinking about them. Mama had hunted them down and when she’d shown them to me, I’d drawn my breath in sharply, stunned by the white, delicate buttons that were surely meant for a wedding dress.

  Libby clucked her tongue, putting on a face of sympathy for a scant moment before she said, “These would look lovely on my wedding dress. Since Maggie isn’t goin’ to be usin’ them—”

  “Maybe not just yet,” Mama interrupted, reaching her hand out for the buttons. “But who knows what life has in store?” When Libby deposited the buttons in her hand, she closed her fist around them. “Excuse me,” she said to the room at large before heading toward her bedroom.

  “When will you marry?” I heard myself asking.

  Libby opened her mouth, but Wesley beat her to it. “Not for a few years yet,” he remarked, not paying any mind to the disappointment that washed over her pale face.

  I nodded and bent my head back over the quilt. I was undoing a stitch I’d botched when Mama sat down beside me. She folded her half back over her lap and picked up her needle.

  “I put them away for you,” she said softly.

  “Thank you kindly,” I replied, with a dull ache thudding where my heart should be. Not that I’d ever need them—but I’d hang on to them, letting them yellow and collect dust before I would hand them over willingly to Libby Park.

  Chapter Two

  Texas, 1872

  As I approached the Swift farm, I saw a man walking out of the barn, shading his eyes against the sun. I forced myself to stay calm as I reined my horse in and dismounted. When I walked toward him, I could see plainly that it was Wesley Swift. I hadn’t seen him in about six years, and my, if he hadn’t shot up like a weed in all that time. I wondered if he’d remember me, but he saved me from asking.

  “Howdy, Clayborn,” Wesley said, walking up and extending a hand.

  I nodded at him and took his hand, shaking it. “Howdy.”

  “Been a long time,” he observed.

  “I reckon it has.”

  “What brings you back to these parts? I’d heard you moved.”

  “Lotsa fellas were making a fuss about oil and I went over a few counties.”

  “You don’t say. Where abouts?”

  “Jefferson.”

  He nodded with a grin. “I reckon it was worth your while, so why come back?”

  “Ah, well…” I ground my boot into the soft dirt, stalling. I wasn’t sure I was quite ready to talk about that just yet.

  Wesley seemed to pick up on it quickly. “How’d you feel about a strong cup of Arbuckle?”

  “I’d be much obliged,” I told him, and the two of us walked into the house. I looked around—not much had changed since I’d been here last.

  “Have a seat,” he
offered from the kitchen.

  I took myself over to the table and took my hat off. Not long after, Wesley walked over carrying two cups of steaming coffee. When he took a seat across from me, I noted that he looked more like his father than the other son did, by my reckoning. He had the same pale blond hair and the same snapping brown eyes.

  While we sipped our hot drinks, I got caught up on all the things that had happened in the time I’d been away. Seemed like he was married now, his brother soon to follow.

  “I was mighty sorry to hear about your pa. He was a great man.”

  “That he was, Clay. Thank you kindly.”

  “And your mama too,” I added. “She was a mighty fine cook.”

  “Yeah, I reckon Maggie’s had a harder time than the rest o’ us.”

  I schooled my features and hoped my excitement didn’t show at hearing her name mentioned. “Your sister still live with you?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

  “She does,” he remarked, before moving on to talk about planting season.

  I caught myself feeling more than a little disappointed. I’d hoped to talk about her for at least a few moments, find out more about her, but I couldn’t bring her back up without being obvious and it didn’t seem likely that Wesley would say more on the matter without my prodding. I tried to listen politely and focus on what he was saying.

  “I got to thinkin’, you know Pa planted only cotton, but I’ve always liked our vegetable garden better. And I got to thinking that those years of nothing but straight cotton might be part of why the crop started to grow poor.”

  Normally, I would have been interested in what he was saying, but today I was twitchy and anxious, which wasn’t a feeling I was all that used to. I couldn’t say I cared for it; best to lay it all out on the table before I could talk myself out of it. “Eh, listen here, Wes. I’ve come to talk to you about somethin’.”

  Wesley stopped in mid-sentence and gave me a brief grin. “I didn’t reckon you stopped by for my Arbuckle. Maggie’s is better,” he said, by way of an apology, “but I don’t know where she’s run off to this mornin’.”