Yvonne Jocks Von Jocks EvelynVaughn |
Mariah and Stuart's Lost Scenes |
This is a page for hard-core Stuart and Mariah fans... or maybe for people interested in the writing process. Some writers are short writers, who finish a manuscript and then have to go back and find places to add scenes or descriptions, to flesh it out. Others, however, are like me. I am a loooong writer. I write very, very long books, indulging myself in the characters and their world, and then I have to struggle to cut it down to reasonable length. What's reasonable? Part of it has to do with what the publisher can afford to print--to be economically made, books must fall within a certain range of page-count. Part of it has to do with what makes for a good story, too--in a romance, for example, it's rarely a good idea to have one's hero and heroine separated for more than a chapter or two at a time, at most. Who knows--you might be able to tell JUST why these scenes shouldn't have made it to the book! But it's my website, so here they are, just in case anybody's interested... - A MEMORY FROM YOUNGER YEARS, WANTING TO COURT: - SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT CHAPTER ONE: - END OF CHAPTER TWO -- ALMOST CAUGHT! - CH 4: THE MacCALLUMS GET MARIAH'S INVITATION - THE NIGHT OF THE PARTY, POST-IDAHO JOHNSON" INCIDENT - END OF CH. 7 -- DIFFERENT STUART & DOUGIE SCENE; MARIAH GETS READY FOR CHURCH - NEVER EVER HAPPENED (BUT WOULD'VE BEEN AROUND CH. 10) - CH 11: MAMA LEAVES MARIAH WITH THE MacCALLUMS - STUART SHOWING MARIAH HIS CLAIM - AFTER MARIAH RIDES TO STUART'S CLAIM - END OF CH. 14 |
EARLY CUT SCENES: Most of the cut scenes, for FORGETTING HERSELF, hit during the first half of the story. I am a slow starter, and often have to write a lot of dialogue and bits of scenes that don't need to be in the book, but are just my way of getting to know the characters better. Also, with this book in particular, I hit a terrible block right around Ch. 10. Finally I realized what was wrong--part of me knew that Jacob, as would a great many men of that time, would have Stuart beaten for meeting with Mariah in private. However, I didn't want to write it, because I didn't want him to look bad. Once I made up my mind to live with him looking bad, everything else started flowing very nicely.... A MEMORY FROM YOUNGER YEARS, WANTING TO COURT: Finally Stuart gave into that feeling and walked her and her sisters home -- with dire consequences. Never had a stroll of six blocks felt so magic, even without speaking, even without touching. When Mariah murmured her thank you to him, in front of her grand house, the admiration in her gray eyes made it hard for Stuart to even swallow. The next day, on the way to school, he was ambushed and beaten by three cowboys. He couldn't walk for three days, and Pa had declared, rightly so, that his oldest boy had enough schooling anyway. Even then, Stu might have limped, bruised and near broken, right back to the three-story house where the Garrisons stayed during the winter and demanded the right to call on Mariah. If it had just been him, he would have. But his younger brother and sisters had been with him when he was ambushed. Far more clearly than the blows, Stu could hear Emily screaming, little Jenny sobbing, Douglas shouting at the men to leave his brother alone. One of them had hit Dougie, too, bruising his little cheek. Bonnie'd had nightmares for weeks after. God only knew what the bastards would do to his family, if threatening Stuart himself didn't take. On the second day of Stu's convalescence, Emily had slipped him a folded sheet of paper so that Ma wouldn't see. Mr. McCallum: My papa says that I am not to speak to you again. He did not think to say that I could not write to you. I am sorry to hear of your accident.... SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT CHAPTER ONE: I played with the idea of including Stuart and Mariah's correspondence throughout the story, particularly at the start of each chapter, sort of how I had Rules for Teachers at the start of each chapter for Audra. However, that didn't work for a few reasons, largely because it slowed down the start of the story too much and I usually start too slowly anyway! Still, if you were curious about those letters, here's the part of the chapter one I wrote that included passages of them. Dear Mr. McCallum: You will no doubt be shocked to receive this letter. I have taken the liberty of asking your sister to convey it to you. If she does me this kindness, and if you indeed wish to respond, please post similarly. You see, my father has exiled me to Europe.... Jacob Garrison, owner of the biggest spread in northeastern Wyoming, was no mere man. He had become a force of nature. Stuart McCallum watched the patriarch rein in his buggy team across the street from the depot, in front of the exclusive Sheridan Inn -- watched a hotel doorman hurry out to help hitch his horses -- and felt something dangerously close to hatred. What seemed like half the town had turned out for Miss Mariah Garrison's homecoming, and yet at the appearance of her father, the crowd fell silent enough that Stuart could hear the doorman ask, "Here for the 4:15, Boss?" Garrison jumped stiffly down from the shiny buggy, which likely cost more than Stu's home. "Yep," he said, double-checked the man's work, then turned toward the depot. White-haired and stocky, he walked like an old cowboy. He is not even tall, noted Stuart. But cattle barons didn't need height. They had power. The station master himself crossed the platform to meet him. "Your oldest girl gets home today, isn't that right Boss?" As if he hadn't expected the crowd, thought Stuart sourly, folding his arms. As if he didn't understand why old man Garrison wore his Sunday frock coat on a Thursday. Beneath the shadowy flat brim of his black Stetson, Garrison slid a steely gaze at the railroad man for a long moment of silent consideration. Then he looked firmly away. Almost as an afterthought, he said, "Yep." Stuart looked briefly down at his own work-clothes, clean but otherwise unimpressive, and disapproved of his own resentment. "Howdy, Boss," greeted Heck Ward, the barber. If Stuart remembered right, the man had worked out on the Circle T -- Garrison's spread -- until his marriage to the quiet woman now beside him. Garrison nodded at the barber, touched his hat brim at the woman, then ignored them. Heck was not to be dissuaded, though. "The ... the misses, she surely is lookin' forward to hearin' 'bout your girl's travels abroad. She was wonderin'...." He adjusted his collar, glanced down at his wife, and she stared intently back up at him. He took a deep breath. "She was wonderin' if Miss Mariah will be comin' to the sewin' circle this Thursday?" Slowly, Garrison's attention crept back to the couple, his intense disinterest broken only by a blink. Heck tried to look small. "Why don't I jest have the misses ask your wife?" he suggested quickly. "When they next meet, that is." "That'd be fine," conceded Garrison, his raspy baritone making it clear that it would not only be fine but was expected. He touched his hat brim at Mrs. Ward again. "Ma'am." Dismissed, the couple backed away. Garrison's brows, darker than his white hair and whiskers, furrowed into a scowl. He stared down the tracks as if he could bring the train by force of will. Likely thought he could, decided Stuart. Despite everyone calling him Boss, the man didn't own the town. Not literally. But Stuart had little doubt where sympathies would lie between Garrison and himself. If anyone guessed that sheepherder McCallum wasn't just waiting for a telegram, as he'd put out.... McCallum, Stu thought to himself, you are four kinds of fool. What are you risking your neck for here? Today? But he knew what he was here for -- the same thing that brought so many others, the cattle baron foremost. Mariah. He reached into his coat pocket; found reassurance in the faint crackle of paper against his fingertips. He did not need to see it, her fourth and last letter in their astonishing half-year correspondence, to know what it said. He'd memorized them all. He'd read and reread her letters at night, by lamplight, in his sheep wagon. "... though I miss everyone terribly, the time away from home may prove beneficial. I have a stronger faith in my own judgement. You wrote that you admire clear judgement, did you not...?" Sometimes he'd flattered himself to imagine her there, sharing his claim, his home, his life. Seduced by the chance she'd created for them to finally speak their hearts, he'd even dared hint at such. "... May I be so bold as to answer, ma'am, that your judgement is not all I admire about you...." Now, watching the townsfolk bow and scrape to her father, Stuart fought a dizzying surge of self-recrimination. They had been rash to admit such things to each other, much less in writing. Four years had passed since that one fearless, life-changing kiss under the bridge, four years of an almost tangible awareness of her -- of briefly meeting her eyes at church, of startling when someone mentioned her name, of leaving meager tokens near the bridge and wondering if she were truly the one finding them. For four years, they had hidden the secret of that afternoon, a secret far greater than the mere return of a lamb. And now that they had admitted such things to one another, now the fantasy must either die at her hands, or .... "... your admiration, sir, is warmly met and returned ...." Or, no matter the consequences, it must soon be made known. Stuart might have three more years before he proved up his quarter-section government claim. He might not be able to afford buggies or fine dresses for some time, if ever. Even should he achieve financial success, as a sheepman in cattle country he would never be called "Boss" by people not of his employ. He would never be met on the depot platform by the station manager. But he was honest, proud, and responsible. He would not write such intimacies to a woman and then not court her, not.... Well, to Stuart, courting had but one honorable end. He caught his breath at the distant wail of the approaching train. She was coming home. After a half year away, he would see her again. Jacob Garrison's hat come up, alert. Impatient to have his daughter back under his rein, perhaps. The train bore down on them. With a great gusting of steam and clanging of bell, the Burlington and Missouri locomotive came to a stop beside the Sheridan depot. Stuart realized that he, himself, was scowling. He also realized he'd taken several steps nearer the passenger cars. Old man Garrison, he noticed, had not moved. Stu didn't like standing so near -- but he'd be damned if he backed up. Suddenly, with a laugh and a swoop of pale-blue cloak, she was there. Before the conductor had even set the last step onto the platform, much less helped her down, Mariah Garrison leapt from the first-class car and launched herself, wide-armed -- -- at her father. "Papa!" she exclaimed, muffling any more words in an effusive hug. From his position to the side and slightly behind of the reunion, Stuart stared in shock at the beauty of the woman who had written him such letters. He understood neither fashion nor hairstyling -- as his sisters would surely agree -- but on a gut-level he recognized that Miss Mariah Garrison's golden curls and blue travelling coat were the height of style. She looked so neatly put together. So clean, and sleek, and WORLDLY. She was as far from his reality of fleece worms and hoof rot as ... as Europe, and expensive buggies. Seven kinds of fool, McCallum. Her father, who even yet had not properly embraced her back, put his hands on her shoulders and studied her. "Well ain't that fine behavior for a lady." Aye, what Stuart felt toward the man was hatred, after all. Mariah simply laughed, kissed her father's bearded cheek, then hugged him again. She called friendly hello's to acquaintances in the crowd who stepped forward to greet her, playfully alternating her languages. She still hadn't seen Stuart. He began to back away. Another passenger -- a tall, dark-haired gentleman with a young lady on his arm -- approached Mariah and her father as if he belonged with them. Mariah took his arm. Apparently he did. Stuart felt ill. Her father nodded at her enthusiastic introduction, touched his hat brim at the lady and firmly shook hands with the gentleman. He even spoke to them. Ten kinds of fool. Mariah's letters had been earnest; Stuart could not doubt that -- as earnest as his own in response. But they had both been fools. A four-year-old kiss and a few unbridled letters did not a true relationship make ... and an admiration that a lonely young woman might feel overseas paled beside the reality of range wars and life in a sheep wagon. Time abroad had, indeed, cleared Mariah Garrison's judgement. If only it had done the same for him. Stuart should not have come. He would speak to her, of course -- would somehow acknowledge the precious gift of her brief correspondence, would let her know he did not consider anything she had written binding -- but now would not have been the time, even under different circumstances. To approach her in front of her friends, her father, her -- Who WAS the damned greenhorn, anyhow? -- to expose their indiscretion would be unforgivable. Not to mention suicidal. Likely, this was for the best. END OF CHAPTER TWO -- ALMOST CAUGHT! In my original version, also never submitted, I had Mariah and Stuart almost caught, when Mariah came out from under the bridge. I think I changed it for two reasons. One is, I was spending too much time on Mariah and her family--after all, I love her family. But as a romance, there were plot points to get to. Also, Stuart quickly became a man who would not have hidden for this long. Fortunately, Papa was not close enough to have seen anything -- Mama and Elise were with him, commanding his attention. He did not even seem to hear Mariah's exclamation. Instead, he was focused on his wife, beside him. It was hard to tell at this distance, but ... was Papa SMILING? The double surprise stilled Mariah for a panicked moment of indecision. In that moment, little Elise let out a squeal of recognition and ran toward her, trailing a jumping-rope. Mama and Papa looked away from one another and spotted her too. Mama waved. Elise ran closer. Frozen, Mariah tried to wrench her thoughts -- her every sensations -- from the single awareness of Stuart, still hidden. PLEASE LET HIM HAVE HEARD ME! Somehow she forced herself to take a step onto the bridge, then another, leaving Stuart behind her, continuing toward her family. The next step came more easily, the next easier yet, until she had crossed the bridge and was all but running along the road herself. She intercepted Elise, swept her up into the air and then hid her own flushed face in the child's windblown curls. The balm of Elise's delighted laughter gave her a chance to gather her composure clumsily around her before actually facing their parents. Guilt chewed at Mariah's heart when she did lean back from her sister, far enough back to risk her parents seeing her face, to see theirs. Papa was no longer smiling, but even at this moment, fearful of Stuart's discover -- HER discovery -- Mariah read nothing dark into that. Papa's smiles were rare, usually reserved for Mama, just as Mama reserved most of her respect for him, even above the mayor or pastor. Mariah could not remember a time when that was not so, when her disparate parents did not somehow combine into one single and separate unit. She had never once doubted their devotion to each other, nor their firm love for her and her siblings. She had missed that certainty, the security of her place in the world, while she toured Europe with the Westleighs. Now that she had it back, did she truly want to risk it? Was it even possible? And what of her place with Stuart, his place with her? Now, her arms full the most recent smiling, innocent addition to the warm, wonderful whole that was her family, Mariah felt her throat tightening, her breath falling shallow. Surely she would not be forced to choose! Elise gave her a big, wet, four-year-old kiss, and beamed at her. Mariah released an unsteady breath and made herself smile back. Nobody who loved her would ever force her to limit that love. She was sure of it. Better, though, to head her family away from the bridge. "Elise wondered where you had gotten to," greeted Mama as she and Papa reached their oldest and youngest daughters at a more leisurely pace. She slanted her gaze teasingly up to meet Papa's complete lack of amusement. "So naturally we had to drop everything to take her to you." "Uh huh!" agreed Elise happily, deaf to her parents' sarcasm. Unsure what to say, Mariah just stood there and held her baby sister. Papa glanced meaningfully at the bridge, then back at Mariah, and everything inside of her went still. Was he wondering for what nefarious motive she had descended the creek bank? Had he seen or heard Stuart? Her head began to spin, to match her churning stomach. Could Papa see how thoroughly she had just been kissed, and by a full-grown man? Worse, could he see how thoroughly she had kissed Stuart back?! But no -- even as she felt the world beginning to fade at the corners, Papa nodded. It was his "fine job" nod; he was pleased she had gone no farther than the bridge. He still thought she was the good daughter. "I didn't mean to dawdle," she apologized quickly, realizing even as she said it that she spoke a lie. She had known Stuart waited for her even as she suggested accompanying her sisters. She was NOT the good daughter. She wasn't quite sure WHAT she was. "I wanted to show your Papa off while he's dressed like something other than a cowboy, anyway," assured Mama. "Not that there's anything wrong with cowboys," she then reassured her stone-faced husband. "I'm partial to them, myself." He raised an eyebrow and challenged, "Them." "Mmhm." Elise said, "Me too!" "See that," their mother continued to tease, even as Mariah started back toward the house, praying they would follow. "We've raised a whole passel of cowboy-loving women." Except Mariah loved a sheep-man. "Nothin' wrong with your feet," grumbled Papa, presumably to Elise. Whenever Mama got too silly, he simply changed the subject. But he seemed to be following. Mariah obediently put her sister down. To her relief, Elise scrambled for home. Stuart didn't know what to do -- it all depended on how much Mariah's father had seen. If they had not yet been discovered, he would be a fool to emerge and steal from Mariah the time she had so eloquently pleaded for. But it ate at his gut, his self-respect, to stay hidden. You promised, he told himself silently. You promised not to rush things. He heard Mariah cross the bridge over his head, then heard nothing else, and not for any lack of effort on his part. Had he heard one indication that she needed him -- shouts, or pleading, or, God forbid, the sound of her being struck -- he would join her in a heartbeat, no matter that her father was more often armed than not. But he heard nothing but the creek water, a distant crow, and then, after many long minutes, the croaking of a frog. Stuart shifted positions, to relieve a cramping in his leg, and with a splash the frog vanished. Finally he decided it must be safe. But he followed the creek for some distance before he risked emerging. CH 4: THE MacCALLUMS GET MARIAH'S INVITATION This is another "cut because I'm taking too long" scene The dogs noticed the approaching visitor before Stuart did. Buster stopped his circle of the herd with a slight "whuff" sound at the same time that Beauty spun away from her sheep, alert. Waiting, Stuart became uncomfortably aware of the weight on his right hip -- the pistol he carried against the threat of predators -- but stayed his hand. He was no gun-happy cowboy, drawing on every snake and rabbit he saw. And neither collie appeared threatened. Likely they knew whoever was raising the faint cloud of dust that Stuart now saw over the ridge. So why did he have such a sense of impending trouble? His visitor, bareback astride one of Pa's wagon team, resolved itself to be his younger brother Dougie. The boy slowed the big horse to a walk as he neared the flock -- not that they'd taken notice of him yet, sheep not being the most observant of beasts. Only the two goats and the burro earned their keep by even lifting wary heads; the rest of the flock, dotting the dry, rolling plain like clumps of blown cotton, continued their blissful grazing. Stuart made himself relax. Were something truly wrong, Dougie would not have hesitated to scatter a few animals. He was, after all, only twelve. "Can I sit here with you some, Stu?" the boy called, swinging a leg over the horse's neck and hopping to the scrubby ground. "I'd not be home this afternoon for a dollar!" His freckled face showed more relief at his freedom than worry at whatever he'd escaped. So it was with reluctance that Stuart asked, "What is at home?" It was with even more reluctance that, leaving Dougie in charge of the flock, he headed there himself. "We never get invited anywhere!" his redheaded sister Emily was wailing upon his arrival, clutching the invitation -- which Ma had apparently threatened to tear up -- to her chest. "Stuart!" cried Bonny of the raven black curls, launching herself at her brother as if he were her salvation. "Say you'll take us!" And Jenny, who of his sisters most resembled himself, echoed it: "Say you will!" As a norm, Stu's sisters showed no such passions. Nobody in Stuart's family did. Their teary explanation, though, clarified the matter, especially since they retold the story upon Pa's unwary arrival from his own band. A PARTY? It was a bad idea, Stuart felt sure. Mariah did not want him talking to her father in private -- so instead she invited his family to attend a party at the finest hotel between Chicago and San Francisco? Half the town would be in attendance. It made no sense. But, to judge by Emily's suddenly strong-willed behavior, girls valued sense less -- and parties more -- than men. "It's not fair!" she sobbed. "How will Bonny and I ever find husbands if we never meet folk?" "The only men you'll be meeting there will be cowfolk," Ma warned, her very tone reminding them what poor reputations such men had. If the cowboys would only give the town over to the shopkeepers and homesteaders, morality in Sheridan would rise drastically. Likely church attendance would, too. But when Ma sent a meaningful glance to where Stuart stood, hunched only slightly under the ranch-house's low roof, he felt a niggling sense of guilt. Part of her hatred of cowboys stemmed from an incident better forgotten.... And this WAS Mariah's party. "It's for decent young ladies," Stuart ventured reluctantly. "Folks will likely behave." "You think 'twould be harmless, then?" asked Pa. When Ma began to protest, Pa said "Hush now. Stuart gets to town more than we do; he'd be the one taking the risk with his sisters. Well, son?" Well. Stuart did not like this position at all. Emily's eyes pleaded with him; little Bonny's lips even whispered what looked like "please, please, please." His mother's eyes narrowed by increments, silently instructing him to support her denial. Remember what they did to you, her gaze seemed to say. Only his father, a slim man with a long, thick moustache, waited with what seemed like inhuman patience. Stuart never quite knew what Pa was thinking ... but the older he got, the more he admired the man's evenness. What clinched his answer was glancing back to Emily and seeing the too-familiar handwriting on the invitation she clutched. Emily could have tried to extort him into supporting her -- she knew of Stu's mysterious missives, because she had acted as the middleman between him and another of Mariah's school friends. But his sister was above such manipulations. Why should it be that Mariah Garrison go to Europe while his sisters might not even attend a party? "Harmless as any outing, I'd think," Stu admitted. "The girls ought to be safe, anyhow." And he would accept the risk. He'd been accepting more of it than his family knew, for years now. "Their bodies, perhaps. But what of their souls?" demanded Ma now. Her voice had taken on the shrill quality it got when Pa contradicted her. "What if there's dancing?" Pa said, "I doubt God will lock Heaven against our lassies for Schottische or two." Eyes alight with mischief, he winked at them. "Not if they say particularly fine prayers that night." When his two oldest daughters launched themselves at him with squeals of thanks, he laughed. Ma huffed and spun back to her stove, visibly rejecting all responsibility for both the decision and the blasphemy. And Stuart thought again: This is a bad idea. But at least he would see Mariah. THE NIGHT OF THE PARTY, POST-IDAHO JOHNSON" INCIDENT: I actually liked this part, but I was taking waaaay too long to get to the engagement. Defeated, Mariah said, "Yessir," and kissed his cheek, and left the sitting room where they'd spoken. She paused in the hallway at the sight of Victoria sitting comfortably on the stairs, obviously listening. Victoria stared back up at Mariah, her own gaze troubled. Evangeline had told her, then. Mariah did not know what to say--assuming she could manage anything. Then they heard movement in the room beyond them, and their mother's soft voice. "Let nobody say the Garrisons fail to entertain, hmm?" "I reckon this is your doing," accused Papa. Although he allowed his wife her involvement in charities, social reforms, even some politics, he'd never hidden his discomfort at what he referred to as "meddling," nor the example it set. Mama said, "I'll take that as a compliment," and Papa--Mariah assumed it was Papa--sigh a long, tired sigh. They said nothing for a long moment. Then Papa said, clearly, "We do breed 'em light-footed, don't we?" Which meant he knew full well that Mariah, at least, had not yet gone upstairs. Mariah and Victoria tried to prove him right, in that assessment, as they sneaked quickly up to their room before he could catch them for true. "Stuart MacCallum?" whispered Victoria, once they got there. Laurel, already in bed, said, "Don't talk about those sheepherders in my room." Any other night, Mariah might have challenged her--her claim of the room all three of them shared, her bigotry toward the MacCallums, her rudeness. Tonight.... She'd failed at talking to her father. Anything else seemed inconsequential. So she only shook her head at Victoria, then dressed for bed. Not that she would manage sleep. The next morning found her exhausted, with no appetite for breakfast. The prospect of Stuart finally speaking for her--TODAY--made her head swim. She'd dreamed of this for so long.... But in her dreams, she'd not felt such a sense of foreboding. Panicked, she sat at her writing desk and jotted a quick note: S--, TODAY IS NO GOOD. ANOTHER WEEK, PLEASE. M--. She folded it with the ink still wet, lest anyone oversee her, and tucked it up the sleeve of her Sunday dress. She would greet Emily MacCallum at church, give her the note to pass on to her brother, and Stuart would bide by her wishes and.... And.... But, imagining how Stuart might receive such a note, Mariah finally admitted that another week would no longer matter. They could wait another month, even another year, and the confrontation with her father would get no easier. Stuart had been right all along. Papa disliked him and would continue to dislike him, for no better reason than sheep. She could not choose Stuart without choosing against Papa. And yet she had promised to choose Stuart. Mariah burned the note in the stove and tried to wash the ink stains from her fingers. As badly as she wanted to do something, there was little left for her to do. END OF CH. 7 -- DIFFERENT STUART & DOUGIE SCENE; MARIAH GETS READY FOR CHURCH "I don't see why you have to marry HER," groused Douglas MacCallum. As Stuart's younger brother by almost four years, the red-headed youth would not normally take it on himself to criticize Stu's decisions. But as his partner, who did almost half the work on Stuart's claim, Dougie sometimes took on airs. "Of all the women in town...." Stuart continued to squint out across the rolling grasslands, dotted with the gray-white cotton-balls he knew to be sheep. HIS sheep. His sweat and aches and sunburn. The core of every insult in his life. The strongest bond between himself and his father, his ancestors. His and Mariah's future--and Douglas's. He did not deign comment. Dougie leaned more heavily on his walking stick. "Farmers' daughters wouldn't be so likely to look down their noses at us." Yes, they would. Almost everyone in the state reviled sheepherders. Stuart said, "Mariah Garrison does not look down her nose at us." "Could be she doesn't know us well enough." Finally, Stuart slanted his gaze toward his younger brother. Dougie grinned wide, his freckles standing out on his wrinkled nose. Stuart looked back to the sheep, dividing his attention between them, the dogs, and the burro who protected the sheep almost as well as the dogs did. If sheep needed anything to survive out here on the Wyoming range, it was protection. They needed protection against the elements, against predators like wolves and coyotes and cattlemen. If ever they were allowed to wander into the foothills of the mountain range, his sheep even needed protection against the wild, bighorn sheep that would steal his ewes away. And they needed protection against themselves. They produced fine wool and good mutton. But even Stuart would admit that sheep were not the brightest of God's creatures. Not, he thought darkly, that cows had a great deal of intelligence on them. And just because cowboys worked from horseback and made more noise hardly validated their abilities over those of a good sheepherder. Dougie said, "Why would you want to marry anyone anyhow?" Stuart had intended to marry Mariah for so long, the question took him by surprise. BECAUSE MARIAH'S HEART IS PURE AND KIND BEYOND IMAGINATION, AND ONLY A FOOL WOULD REJECT IT. BECAUSE SHE LOOKS AT ME LIKE I'M THE SUNRISE. BECAUSE SHE DESERVES BETTER THAN THE KIND OF MATCH HER OVERBEARING FATHER WILL LIKELY WANT FOR HER. BECAUSE I'VE TAKEN FAVORS THAT ONLY MARRIAGE WILL MAKE RIGHT ... AND BECAUSE I ACHE FOR RIGHTS EVEN MORE CLEARLY RESERVED FOR A HUSBAND. But even if Stuart could form his mouth around such words and ideas, Dougie would not understand. Douglas would think Stuart meant the physical aches that any young man had for particularly pretty women. But it wasn't just that. Only Mariah made Stuart feel things so deeply. Only Mariah. Dougie said, "And a Garrison!" "You sound like Ma," Stuart accused, annoyed. He noticed Beauty--one of their two dogs--watching him and Dougie instead of the sheep. The brothers rarely spent time in each other's company, herding being a solitary profession. He half-imagined Beauty wondered what had changed. Stuart whistled sharply to the border collie, and she obediently began to circle the flock again, alert for trouble. Dougie said, "You don't think Ma has cause to worry for you?" Stuart remembered the shots fired to scare him. He hadn't told anybody except Douglas about that, but his mother had reacted to the news of his engagement as if he'd signed his death warrant, all the same. It did not help that his younger brothers and sisters were being teased mercilessly at school. But Stuart had been teased at school too, before anybody knew of the bond between him and Mariah. He'd survived, stronger for it even. They would too. He said, "Ma didn't protest us taking up sheep." Were his safety her only concern, that would have been the wiser protest. Not that he would have listened to her there, either. Stuart did not make decisions based on fear. "That would disrespect Da," Dougie reminded him. "Instead, she disrespects me." Stuart set his jaw. "I do not need her permission--or Gram's ring, either." Their mother had withheld the ring, despite his grandmother's bequest. "I gave my word." "She'll change her mind," Dougie warned. And he did not mean their mother. Stuart imagined Mariah had more than enough reasons to do just that--except for one thing. "Mariah Garrison gave her word, too." Dougie said, "I never knew you for a fool, is all." And it was not that Stuart had no worries. Worse even than the whole town seeing him rejected was the continued possibility of Mariah's rejection itself. But she'd given her word, he reminded himself firmly, and began to hike across a stretch of grass to see what Beauty seemed anxious to show him. Very possibly, a fall lamb had rolled playfully onto its back and couldn't get up again. That happened with a fair regularity--and made for easier thoughts than concern over things he could do nothing about. "I'm no fool," he said, low. If he could not trust Mariah, then he could not trust himself either. Some days, Stuart felt he had little more than that. But it was enough. For the first time ever, Mariah did not have to hide that she meant to meet with Stuart MacCallum. She'd always thought she would enjoy her open anticipation far more than she now did. Now, as she chose just the right dress--respectable for church and pretty for Stuart--and had Victoria tighten her corset, she imagined her sisters watching every choice... ...and WONDERING. Wondering if Mariah really meant to meet, much less marry "that sheepherder." Wondering what had gone on between them in secret, that they'd committed to so much already. Wondering what they would say, or do, once they met again. At least Victoria asked her questions flat out. "Will he take you driving, do you think?" "I don't know," Mariah admitted, untying the rags that had held her hair all night. She brushed carefully, to preserve the resulting sausage curls. "I imagine so." "Not if Papa has anything to do with it," predicted Laurel, content to simply braid her dark hair away from her face and pin the braids. "NOBODY can face down Papa, when he's set against something. ESPECIALLY not a sheepherder." There lay the worst of Mariah's continued unease--not Stuart's courage, which needed no defense, but her father's unwavering resistance. Papa was no more resigned to their engagement than when Stuart had proposed, the week before. At least, she assumed so. He'd barely spoken to her since. She missed him. Living under his roof, painfully conscious of his disapproval, Mariah missed her father more than she had while travelling Europe with the Wrights. She could not remember him ever being less than loving or fair, even at his most stern. She could not imagine, could not conceive that he thought himself anything less than loving or fair in this, either. And yet... STUART! Papa did not know the strong, hard-working, honorable man that was Stuart MacCallum, and Mariah did. She not only knew Stuart; she loved him, with all the loyalty and good sense her parents had instilled in her. Blasphemous as the thought seemed, Mariah's father MUST be wrong. Fair as he was, he would sooner or later realize as much. But in the meantime, he'd taught his girls to do what was right, no matter the consequences. So despite a horrible week of feeling like a traitor within her own home, Mariah tied ribbons into her hair, and put on Italian ear-bobs, and pinched her cheeks to give them color. She had accepted Stuart's proposal, and looking pretty for one's future husband, especially with the whole town watching, was the right thing to do. It was what she WANTED to do. It did not make going downstairs with her sisters to face her father she meant to disobey any easier, though. Mama said, "Put on proper shoes for church, Laurel." Laurel turned and stomped back up the stairs until Papa said, "Laurel Lee," at which point she softened her gait. Other than that, Papa said nothing at all as he waited for his womenfolk to finish readying for church. Papa never had been talkative. Yet Mariah feared his silence focused on her, this morning, even though she could not catch his gaze on her. Mama checked the younger girls' fingernails and hair, buttoned a missed button on Kitty's dress, retied one of Audra's hair ribbons. She complimented Elise's hymn singing--the more enthusiastically Elise sang before they left, it seemed, the better she would behave for the service itself--and she said, "Much better, thank you," when Laurel descended wearing proper, patent-leather shoes. And amidst all this, Mama softly said, "You look lovely," to Mariah--at which point, Mariah wanted to weep with relief. She had not realized until that moment how desperately she wanted reassurance that she would not embarrass Stuart, that he would not regret their engagement. Hearing that she looked "lovely" was not quite that reassurance, but it certainly helped. "Don't spook the horses," Papa warned as he opened the door for the girls--not an unnecessary warning since the first one out was Elise, in mid-verse. Laurel took off after her to cut her off before she reached the carriage, Kitty and Audra and Victoria following closely behind. On her way past her father, through the door he stoically held for her, Mariah could bear the silence no longer. "I do not mean to hurt you, Papa, nor anybody else." Papa frowned, looked away. "Then don't," he said curtly. At least, thought Mariah, hurrying on, he'd spoken to her. NEVER EVER HAPPENED (BUT WOULD'VE BEEN AROUND CH. 10) I nixed this scene long before I got near a final draft, because it just plain didn't work! I was trying to force Jacob into giving Mariah an ultimatum, and you can tell how fake it came out by how much he talks. Jacob Garrison is NOT, in case you hadn't noticed, a talker. It was only later that I realized what he WOULD do--that being having Stuart "taught a lesson,"--and Mariah had an even better reason to move out. Mariah would have felt more delight had the last month--every week, day, hour, minute of it--not crept by slow as molasses in January. At this rate, it seemed they would NEVER be married. As far as her father was concerned, that wasn't so far from the truth. "You're not marrying no sheep herder," Papa told her flat out, three days later, in front of the whole family in the parlor. But surely he did not mean it, because he was not talking just to Mariah. He swung an opened hand toward the lot of them in illustration. "Laurel won't never be no cowboy. Victoria had best quit thinking she's Nelly Bly. Audra--" Audra, unquestionably the good girl of the family, widened her eyes in dismay as she waited for their father's indictment. Papa's angry gaze stumbled on her, and he did not even bother to turn it on Kitty or Elise. Instead he turned away into silence. Their mother said, "Girls, go on upstairs while your father and I discuss how the Cattleman's Association meeting went today." Papa said to her, "And YOU ain't no cattleman, Elizabeth." Which, even beyond his anger, was enough to tell Mariah that things must have gone poorly indeed at the meeting. Her parents rarely mentioned finances in front of them, but even so, Mariah knew the country was in a depression. It had been for four years now, and the cattle business right along with it. Half of the charity work with which she helped her mother concerned feeding and clothing the poor, and finding work for the vagabonds who increasingly migrated West on the trains. Papa would never speak so rudely to his wife, and with so bullish an expression, had the meeting gone well. "I may not be a cattleman," agreed Mama, not cowed in the least. "But last time I checked, I was married to one. Girls--upstairs." Audra had begun herding the youngest girls upstairs the first time. Now Laurel followed, Victoria hanging back as if Mariah's hesitation excused her own. But Mariah hesitated because she felt that, as an engaged woman, she too should do something to help bear the burdens of the family. For confidence, she fingered the ring she wore, proof of her newfound responsibilities. "Is the news bad, Papa?" she asked. "Is there anything I can do to help?" And her father turned on her and her ring both. "You can send that trinket back to the low-down sheepherder what gave it to you." The outright attack stunned Mariah so much that, for a moment, she could not form thoughts, much less words, in response. "Jacob," cautioned her mother, but Papa hadn't finished. "You can quit embarrassing the family by stepping out with him where the whole town can see." He nodded curtly toward the bay window that overlooked the gazeboed corner of the verandah, as if the whole town were watching them even now. "You can remember who you are, and that it's cattle what have fed and clothed and sheltered you all these years. If you're of a mind to help, Mariah Lyn, that would make for a fine start!" "That is enough," warned her mother, taking him by the arm. "Mariah, go upstairs now." But Mariah could not move. Was THIS why her father had avoided her since her engagement? Were THESE the things he would have said, had they spoken? His words shuddered through her, tearing up her composure by the roots with each reverberation, making her stomach cramp, her chest ache. She wanted to throw up. But even more than that, she had to defend Stuart. "Stuart MacCallum is NOT low-down," she said. Were she a stronger woman, perhaps she would have said it more loudly--but they heard her anyway. And her protest gained strength. "And he is NOT an embarrassment." "The man," growled Papa, low, "HERDS SHEEP." "That," said Mother, "is enough." "It is long past enough," agreed Papa. "This foolishness is DONE, Mariah Lyn. You can go back to Europe, or you can go off to school, or you can let some proper fellow like Alden Wright court you. But nobody who lives under my roof is to have anything to do with sheepers. You hear me?" Mariah did not know where the strength came from. Perhaps it was her own breeding, or a carryover from her mother's independence--or even her father's own stubbornness. More likely, the strength flowed up her hand from her engagement ring, a "trinket" which she knew Stuart had sacrificed greatly in order to buy her. Stuart had struggled to do everything right, from the start--and this was what it got him. Wherever the strength came from, it held her spine straight and kept her breathing, despite the way the world seemed to be roaring around her ears. That strength alone helped her say what had to be said. "I hear you, Papa," Mariah stated quietly. But her father did not have a chance to relax into his victory. "And I understand. That is why I will be going to live with the MacCallum family until my marriage." In the silence that followed she turned and climbed the stairs, past a frozen Victoria and Laurel, up to the room that was no longer hers. And she began to pack, even when she could hardly see through her tears to do so. She only hoped that Stuart's offer still stood. CH 11: MAMA LEAVES MARIAH WITH THE MacCALLUMS I went into more detail, originally. This, thought Stuart as he watched the buggy approach down the two ruts that marked his parents' "road," had been a bad idea. So why was he so very glad to see Mariah coming? A glance toward his own mother, his two youngest siblings, and his oldest sister Emily did nothing to encourage him. Having Mariah safely under their roof remained the practical solution for him and her both. But to watch his family ready for her--from his sisters' fear that nothing would be good enough to his mother's veiled resentment--one would imagine they were tenants readying for the landlord. Mariah was special, of course, even refined. But the ranch that had once been his home wasn't so very paltry... was it? The MacCallum house was in fact a long log cabin, U-shaped with several additions, its low roof insulated with sod. Compared to the Garrisons' fine, brick house in town or what he'd heard of their ranch house, perhaps it WOULD seem inferior. How must it look through Mariah's eyes? He reminded himself that Mariah Garrison was above such petty concerns. But he still felt a tension in him ease when her buggy came close enough for him to see her expression--and the smile with which she greeted him. For the moment, he allowed himself to believe the promises of that smile. As soon as the Garrisons' sleek buggy drew to a stop, Stuart stepped forward and helped Mariah down--and right into his arms. He welcomed her into his embrace as instinctively as she fell into it, despite both their mothers watching. For a moment, at least, he thought of nothing but the softness of her in his arms, the sweet scent of her, the tangible proof that she was HERE, safe in HIS world now. Despite their secret trysts, and their engagement, and their cautious courting since then, Stuart had never quite managed to picture Mariah Garrison on MacCallum land. Now he need not tax his poor imagination to do so. SHE'D COME TO HIM, AFTER ALL. SHE TRULY WAS his MARIAH. "Ahem," said the buggy's driver, which startled both Stuart and Mariah apart in a bashful instant. While Rose and Ian giggled, inciting return giggles from Elise Garrison, Mariah stepped quickly toward his mother, startling the older woman by taking her hands. "Mrs. MacCallum! It is an honor to meet Stuart's mother at last." Ma looked her future daughter-in-law up and down. "Miss Garrison." Mariah's smile faltered only briefly. Determined to keep things cordial, Stuart hurried around to the driver's side of the fancy buggy and faced--truly faced--HER mother. Until now, he'd always focused his attention on her husband. The difference surprised him. From conversations with Mariah, he thought Mrs. Garrison was older than his own mother, but she looked younger. Perhaps it was her fashionable coat and hat, or her glossy brown hair, barely any gray lacing the temples. Or perhaps he was misled by her size, smaller than his mother. But there remained something else, something he could not quite grasp. Whatever it was, it involved the liveliness of her blue eyes as she examined him right back, the tilt of her chin... perhaps even the confidence with which she set the buggy's brake, as surely as any male driver might. That, and the surprising fact that her gaze held no malice. "Ma'am," Stuart greeted, wishing he were better schooled at speaking to ladies. "Mr. MacCallum," greeted Mrs. Garrison. "Thank you for meeting us. And thank YOU," she added toward Stu's mother, "for your gracious invitation." "Best that the girl be safe," huffed Ma, less than gracious. Stuart glanced quick protest at her--would they go accusing the ladies' father and husband, in front of them? Mariah, one arm still around Emily in greeting, appeared even more startled than her mother. "Safe, Stuart?" she asked, eyes wide. And her mother, one eyebrow raised, added, "Safe from...?" Stuart looked down at the bare, frozen mud under his boots, where snow had been trodden away. "Settled," he clarified, uncomfortable not to be speaking the whole truth--but determined not to malign Garrison to them. He latched on one of Mariah's words. "Happy." When he dared meet her gaze again, Mariah's pretty eyes had narrowed in thought. Was she remembering that he'd been shot at? That was hardly the kind of danger he meant to guard her from. People in this country simply did not shoot at women... and an outside man for the cattle ranchers would hardly threaten a Garrison. Now HIS mother caught and questioned his word choice. "Happy," she repeated, clearly unimpressed by the concept. Torn, Stuart busied himself with retrieving Mariah's trunk from the buggy--and wondered how long it would be before he could get back to his sheep. He would prefer to take Mariah with him, of course.... But as long as they meant to do this properly, why frustrate himself by dwelling on something that could not happen for months yet? As much as he could HELP dwelling on it, anyway. Mariah hugged her mother and her baby sister several times before they finally turned back toward town and home--without her. Despite her reasons for being here, and the debt of gratitude she owed the MacCallums, she felt more than a little forlorn. She'd promised to tie her life with Stuart's... but at the time she'd thought they would have married when she left her parents' home, and that it would be for her OWN. "Our door is always open," Mama insisted softly, mid-hug. "Know that you can come back if ever you need to." But to go home, Mariah would have to leave Stuart. That was no longer an option, if ever it had been, even if her mother WAS making the best of it. In fact, Mama turned to Stuart. "My daughter speaks highly of you, MacCallum. Do your best to meet her expectations." "Yes, ma'am," said Stuart solemnly--and despite having just taken an order from her mother, Mariah thought he looked more mature and responsible then than she'd ever seen him. That helped ease her concerns considerably. Stuart's presence usually did. This WAS the right thing to do, especially if it kept her... safe? Despite the need to watch her mother's buggy vanish over the nearest rise, Elise waving enthusiastically as she grew smaller, Mariah stole peeks toward Stuart. Did he know something she didn't? In response to her uncertainty, he stepped closer to her, so that she could feel his warmth and solidity against her side, and he put a hand on her shoulder. She smiled up at him, and when she turned her gaze back toward the retreating buggy, she endeavored to lightly brush his knuckles with her cheek in the doing. She DID feel safe. She could trust him. That much, she knew. She could trust Stuart--and she could trust herself to make the best of things. "May we help you unpack, Mariah?" asked Emily, as soon as the buggy vanished from sight. Her baby sister bounced on her toes and added an endearing "Please!" "Of course! Thank you for the generous offer, Emily," Mariah said, accepting their friendship in the spirit with which they gave it. "And Rose," she added quickly, glad to have remembered the child's name as well. Rose, her hair as red as Emily's, laughed her pleasure. Mariah felt Stuart's warm gaze on her again, and gladly met it, savored the link she felt to him more than ever. Everything WOULD be fine. How could either of them let it be otherwise? Then his mother said, "After chores. This is not a holiday, after all, no matter what some of you might think." Which severed the momentary link between Stuart and Mariah as cleanly as a knife might. Emily gasped, then blushed. Even Rose looked startled. "Ma," warned Stuart, his grasp on Mariah's shoulder tightening protectively. "You promised." Which only confused Mariah further. She could not remember her family ever receiving a visitor without putting aside their chores in favor for the treat of company, no matter how busy. She would have thought that, as unfairly shunned as the MacCallums were, they would be even more excited.... But she caught those unworthy thoughts back. "Your mother is right," she said quickly, tipping her head back to meet Stuart's gaze again. It was a treat to savor his rich brown eyes from so near him, in the middle of the week. She should be feeling gratitude toward his mother, not resentment. "I hope I won't be merely a visitor, but can help with the household chores, as surely as... as any of your sisters would." When she glanced toward his mother, she could not force herself to add her hope that someday Mrs. MacCallum would accept HER as a daughter as well. Mrs. MacCallum looked as cold and gray as the Wyoming November. But that was only because she hadn't proved herself to Stuart's family yet, Mariah reminded herself firmly. It was no cause to lose cheer. Everything would be fine. She had Stuart beside her, his oldest sister as her friend... ... and a trunk of her most precious belongings sitting on the cold, bare ground in front of the rambling, uneven cabin where she would live until spring. After all that she'd given up, everything HAD to be fine. She did not know how she could bear it, otherwise. STUART SHOWING MARIAH HIS CLAIM: In changing this to the version now in Ch. 14, I increased Stuart's pride in his claim--because it really should have been there But now, looking at it through Mariah's eyes, the incessant bleating of sheep rattling through his head, he saw his land in a far less attractive light than ever he'd seen it before: a hundred and sixty acres of near nothingness. And what WAS here was hardly built to impress. "Is that your claim... cabin?" asked Mariah, her tone neutral, but Stuart knew what she must be thinking as she eyed the 9 x 12 frame shack, covered with black tarpaper in and out and roofed in flattened tin cans. "That's just to satisfy the government," he told her quickly. "I have to build a cabin with a stove on the land. But Dougie and I live in the wagon--you can't see it yet, but it's past that next rise." Mariah said, "Of course. I'd forgotten." Not for the first time, Stuart wondered at the wisdom of asking her to live in a sheep wagon with him. EVER. He'd been proud to acquire it, bought cheaply from a Montana herder who could not handle going against the cattlemen any longer. A beginning sheepherder lived out of a wagon for a REASON. It gave him the chance to relocate every few weeks to different parts of his claim--or occasionally off it, as long as he did not in fact abandon the claim--to keep from overgrazing any particular area of range. "I'll be building a proper cabin, once I can afford to hire extra herders to stay in the wagon and guard the sheep," he told Mariah--and realized as he said it that he'd told her this before. "Perhaps even Dougie could do that... but it will still be several years before we can afford to build anything proper. If you wanted to wait...." He dared glance at her, and her eyes had widened. She did not want to wait until SPRING to marry; what had made him imagine she would want to wait several more years? "If the wagon is good enough for you, then I am sure it will be good enough for me," she declared. "Your mother lived in a sheep wagon until Bonnie was born, didn't she?" But Stuart did not feel the relief he would have liked. His mother's people had been sheepers, too, but Mariah had never been in a sheep wagon. She was likely imagining something better than it was... though even he admitted it was far better than the claim shack. "Once I've sunk a proper well, I'll build a windmill," he continued, disliking the uncertainty in his tone. "And Dougie and I hope to dig a diversion off the creek, to dip the sheep after shearing them, in the spring. We thought... we would do that first...." Well, Spring shearing would arrive no matter what else happened. "I'm sure it will be the best sheep ranch in the state," declared Mariah firmly--which only showed her ignorance. Stuart's father had been raising sheep his entire life, and doing it here for well over ten years, so of course Stuart's ranch would not be better than his for years, if ever. He wondered what her family's Circle-T ranch looked like--and with relief, saw Dougie riding toward them. He could leave his part of the band with his brother, now, tell him about the ugly "message" left for them in the form of the antelope corspe, and take Mariah back to his father's sturdy, warm ranch house. He wasn't sure why it felt so important to get her back before she saw any more of the claim, including his wagon home... but it did feel important, crucial in fact. So he went with his instincts. To his relief, she let him. But she seemed to think that she would be riding back, perhaps even soon, to visit the claim again. "I will get my sidesaddle, next time I visit town," she declared in her usual, optimistic way. "After all, we don't want anyone thinking that I sold it!" The way she said that, Stuart sensed she'd made some kind of a joke. He didn't get it. Did she mean... was she worried people would think him so poor that she had to sell her old belongings, which her father had given her, just to survive? "That's a cowboy joke," she explained quickly, suddenly uncomfortable herself. "The one thing of value that cowboys own is their saddle. If you sell your saddle, it means you've quit working cattle...." It wasn't a funny joke. Not that Mariah DID work with cattle... but she'd given them up all the same. Hadn't she? The ease with which she sat big old Jughead, directing him with her knees and the rope hackamore she'd so easily fashioned, reminded Stuart that she was a rancher's daughter, even so. They rode back to the MacCallum ranch in relative silence, AFTER MARIAH RIDES TO STUART'S CLAIM - END OF CH. 14 Mariah and Stuart walked the rest of the way to the MacCallum ranch together, her holding his arm and him holding the horses. It wasn't something a cowboy would have done, she thought as she readjusted her legs to the solidity of the frosty ground beneath her. Cowboys disparaged almost anything that could not be done from a saddle, ESPECIALLY walking. But she wasn't marrying a cowboy. She did not need Mrs. MacCallum reminding her of it. "This is not some CATTLE ranch where ye can gallivant hither and yon," scolded Stuart's mother, before Mariah and Stuart could even take off their coats. "We are god-fearing sheep farmers, and if ye mean to live under our roof, ye'll conduct yourself more like the lady my son deserves!" "I apologize for worrying you," said Mariah quickly, before Stuart could say anything. Despite that she'd gotten Mr. MacCallum's permission to take the horse, and despite that she'd been safely with Stuart, and despite that she was in fact an adult woman... despite all that, she did not wish to come between Stuart and his family. Though it soothed her to feel him tensing beside her in her defense. At least, she HOPED it was in her defense that Stuart stood even straighter, drew a sharp breath. "Worried?" exclaimed Stuart's mother. "'Tis my son I worry for. He doesna' know enough of women to truly understand--" "MOTHER," warned Stuart.... |
