Blythe would have wanted it,” Granny had insisted, and he’d never had the heart to say no to her. He adored the cantankerous old woman, and he knew she’d been close friends with Ham’s grandmother. With the dear woman gone from this earth, Granny Adelaide felt it her duty to attend.
He couldn’t let her out in these near-blizzard conditions alone, and he’d been unable to convince her to take one of his other brothers—lazy Jordan especially, who had nothing better to do as the youngest and the baby of the family. Gran had thought taking Jordan along with them was a fine idea and made the boy help with the driving.
Not that she needed either of their help. He studied her sideways rather than make eye contact, which would only invite her criticism. His grandmother seemed as fierce as always and attending a funeral did not soften her. The wind blew to him the faint scent of her Irish whiskey. She remained the epitome of a no-nonsense pioneer woman, stoic as the snow began to cloak her in white.
“Stop looking at me, boy, be respectful and mind your manners,” she scolded him in a low, commanding voice, as if he were still a small child. “By the grace of God, that could be you dead in a grave. Life is fleeting.”
Granny, you have no notion how right you are. Re minded of his fate, and of Ham’s, Joshua drew soldier straight and knew that nothing would ever be powerful enough to make him forget this day, this moment.
If he shifted his weight onto his left foot and tilted a bit, he could see past the mourners and over the minister’s shoulder to where the new widow stood, shrouded in white so that the ragged black coat she wore was barely discernible. She could have been a snow angel tipped back against the white earth for the way she stood motionless.
No tears stood on her face, so pale the snow clinging to her eyebrows and eyelashes had more color. The crying that came from those who mourned did not come from her.
Ham’s mother cried, his brother, Reed, choked back tears, but the young widow, who did not look to be a day over twenty, bowed her face toward the ground, as if watching the snow accumulate on the toes of her Sunday-best shoes. She appeared to be in silent grief.
Joshua knew the truth.
She stood before the opened scar in the earth where Hamilton’s casket lay. As the reverend intoned on, his words whipped and battered by the cruel winds, she dipped her head, then covered her face with both slim hands. Rich dark curls tumbled down from beneath her woolen cloak.
“Such a pity,” Granny’s whisky-rough voice could not be disguised by a whisper but rang as loudly as if she’d bellowed. “So young to bury a husband. How long were they wed?”
“Several years, Granny,” he answered in a low whisper while those mourners surrounding them turned to give them scolding, be-quiet looks.
“While none of my grandchildren have yet wed.”
“Not here, Granny.”
“What will become of the poor thing now?”
A good question. Joshua said nothing more as his youngest brother, Jordan, who had no desire to be here as well, gave Joshua a pained, telling look. She always embarrasses us when we take her anywhere.
Jordan was young. He’d had less experience with embarrassment. And since he had his eye on the young Potter girl with whom he’d finished public school last year, his apparent reputation seemed at greater risk. He didn’t realize that if he succeeded in wooing, courting and wedding the fair Felicity Potter, Granny’s behavior would continue to embarrass him after the wedding.
Any woman who would be so bold as to marry into their family may as well know the hazards beforehand.
Felicity, plump and glowing rosy from the cold, offered a shy wave to Jordan across the cemetery, and it made Joshua feel old. Infinitely, accusingly old. Thirty-six was not so ancient, but as he glanced around, he was the only one of an adult age unmarried.
Except for Claire Hamilton. Her heartbreak echoed in great silence that reached him all the way across the cemetery, carried by the persistent wind. The feel of it left him hollow and cold inside.
What have I done?
The minister’s final amen ended the ceremony. At last. Aware of Deputy Logan’s focus on him, he knew he could not leave yet. It would look suspicious if he did not stand in line, but the hell if he could stomach pretending any amount of sorrow.
“Have you no manners, boy?”
He felt a hard tug on his sleeve. His little grandmother looked sweet, but she was nothing of the sort and he liked her for it. Respected her more for it. In her day, Granny had been one of the first pioneer women in this county. Even now, her skirt hung low on one side, her dark woolen hem skimming the snow from the weight in her pocket.
Good old Granny carried a pistol deep in her skirt pocket, as she had since she was a bride of sixteen. Although the land was no longer untamed and wild.
“Come! Hurry along!” she demanded.
He didn’t argue with her and besides, she wouldn’t want to stand in the condolence line alone. For with the way Jordan was smitten with Felicity, he was as good as absent.
That’s why I’m never falling in love.
He wasn’t about to give that much control of his life, his faculties and his freedoms to a woman who, even if kind, would do anything to get exactly what she wanted.
His own dear sister was no exception.
He swore never to hand his life over to a woman, sweet or harsh, pretty or plain, for they were all the same. They wanted utter and complete control over a man.
No, thank you. He’d rather visit the brothel in town and burn in hell. Or, if his mother ever found out she’d likely send him there herself.
“She’s such a lovely thing,” Granny felt it her duty to add as they took their place in line. “Probably will be looking for a husband. You oughta court her.”
“No. And don’t talk about that here of all places.”
“It was just a suggestion.” She leaned around the Potter family to get a better look at the young widow. “She’d make a fine wife. Seems as quiet as a mouse. Not at all like Ham’s mother. All drama, that one.”
“And you’re not?” He couldn’t resist pointing out the obvious, even if it earned him a playful cuff on his ear. The woolen earflap from beneath his hat took most of the blow. “Careful, Granny, I’m no longer five and shorter than you.”
Her face wreathed up into a crinkled network of laugh lines. For all her hardships and her advancing years, Granny had lived. Not merely existed. She’d wrung the most out of her life.
He envied her that. He was likely to spend the rest of his days branding and fencing and tracking and haying and endlessly looking after his family. A man’s duty, even if unmarried, came with responsibilities as it was.
The line shuffled forward, giving him a perfect view of the widow Hamilton.
Now I have one more responsibility.
In no time, he was at the head
