Everything was on his shoulders.
Perhaps he ought to have hightailed it out of town and gone someplace else. San Francisco, maybe, where one didn’t have to rely upon some unknown knowledge of the land to survive. If only Celia hadn’t sidled up to him in town, he could be there now. But one look at her timid eyes and sweet smile, and he was gone. So far gone, he’d now gotten himself tied to her—and to this farm. And all he knew about her was that she’d come from a farm in Mississippi, was a widow, had a sister in town, and could cook. That was it.
And for some reason, she thought he was someone to rely upon.
He was trying. But what if it wasn’t enough? What if he wasn’t enough?
Chapter Ten
Frost coated the dry, brown grasses and gave a shine to the buildings in Last Chance when Celia and Jack arrived a few mornings later. He needed to speak to Mr. McFarland at the livery about the livestock. Celia had the suspicion it was something she knew the answer to, but he seemed so confident and interested in talking with Mr. McFarland that she simply agreed and requested to come along so that she might bring some salt pork to Faith.
It was a particularly blustery day, and not many people were out and about. As they came through town, Celia spotted a few men she’d never seen before. They were likely there in answer to the town’s advertisement. She couldn’t wait to get to Faith’s to get the latest news. Perhaps some of the other ladies had since married. Perhaps Faith had received more letters—maybe one that intrigued her this time.
Celia glanced down the Stage Coach Road before crossing from the livery. The nearby butcher’s shop was closed up now that there was no more meat to butcher—and no butcher to do the work even if there was. She wondered if Linda, the sheriff’s wife, was running his office at the end of the road. Their home was immediately next door to the livery, and Celia pondered a quick visit if she had time after seeing Faith. Sheriff Applebee had perished in the second blizzard. His last prisoner had been his own wife. Celia smiled sadly at the thought of Linda shut up in jail. She’d always been one of the most interesting ladies Celia had known in town, and now she, along with many of the other women, were mourning their husbands while having to look for new ones. In a strange way, it made Celia thankful that Ned had never been much of a husband to her. He hadn’t been a bad person, just cold and distant. At first, she’d felt guilty for not feeling as sad as she thought she ought to have felt upon his death. What kind of person did that make her?
But Faith had understood. As much as her sister grieved her own husband, she reminded Celia that it was hard to muster grief for someone who had never really shown her love. At that moment, Celia had stopped feeling guilty. She chose instead to see the pair of terrible storms and their uncertain aftermath as a fresh start. And perhaps that was how she’d been so bold as to be the one to suggest the ladies of the town place an advertisement in The Matrimonial Times.
Celia pushed gratefully through the door to Faith’s post and telegraph office, still lost in thought at memories of how the other women in town had reacted when she’d spoken up. Most of them couldn’t believe she had been the one to make such a suggestion. Even Faith had momentarily forgotten her grief and had gaped at Celia for several seconds.
Just as she was doing now.
“You look frozen solid!” Faith bustled over to Celia and took her coat and hat. “Come sit by the fire. What possessed you to come to town on such a windy, cold day?”
“Faith, it isn’t that cold out. Winter hasn’t even truly set in yet.” Celia gave her sister an appraising look. No wonder Faith thought it freezing outside—she was so thin. In fact, it seemed she’d lost even more weight since Celia had left to return to the farm just a few days ago. “Here, I’ve brought you some salt pork.” She handed the package to Faith.
“Thank you, but you didn’t have to.”
“Would you like me to fix you something?” Celia asked.
Faith raised her eyebrows. “You’re a guest in my home. I’ll make something for you.”
Celia knew better than to argue with her little sister about this fact. So she settled in by the fireplace and waited while Faith started tea and scrounged up food Celia wished Faith wouldn’t waste on her.
“Hollie showed me how to make these little scones. They don’t take much flour, and you can add anything to them that you happen to have on hand.” Faith set a tray on the little table.
“It’s a wonder Hollie has time to do much of anything now that she’s caring for all of those children,” Celia said. Hollie Dawson’s diner was her pride and joy, and she’d gleefully agreed to take in a number of children left orphaned from the blizzard.
“It’s a veritable madhouse over there,” Faith said, “but it keeps her occupied.” Faith stared at the tray, seemingly lost in thought for a moment.
Celia took one scone to make her sister happy, but intended to leave the others for Faith—who had yet to
