Nineteen

As Harry had galloped away from the church, plagued by recollections of his all too frequent nightmares, remorse ate at him. He cursed himself. He should never have tried to deceive Harriet about having feelings for Abigail. How could he have used another person as he had that young girl? The eighteen-year-old actually thought he was smitten, and disentangling himself was going to be a real problem. He knew it. Now their parson was talking about wedding plans with that woman. What a foul turn of events and could it be undone?

Why had he listened to Sue? She was the usual woman. She was nothing like Harriet. He’d known that in his heart of hearts. Why had he been so certain Sue would be better then he at winning the heart of the one he loved? What a ridiculous fool he had been. He was thoroughly miserable.

He’d been impatient, looking for a shortcut—what an idiot. Anything worth doing was worth the time it took to do well. Those had been his bywords throughout life. Why had he failed to hold them dear this time?

Joel Jacobs had told him to be patient, and to take things slow. Joel knew the woman well, and Harry should have heeded his advice. The older man had been successful at love. Why, look at his family. Sue and Ben were fine people, but they lacked the full experience of life Gwen and Joel had offered.

Harry stomped around the homestead. He worried he would never get the chance to share his new spread with the one he truly loved. He could never remain in Two Bits without Harriet at his side. It would be utter misery to see such a woman from a distance and not to be able to make a life with her. He’d not be able to stand such agony.

Then he resolved not to give up. There had to be a way. He’d take the advice of the Jacobs to heart and slow down and think. He’d prove his affection. He’d undo the harm done. He’d apologize to Abigail and make her see the way things were, and he’d somehow win back Harriet’s trust. Why had he ever lost it? He wailed in anguish. Howler began to howl, clearly upset at the unfamiliar sound of his master.

“I’m sorry, boy. Come here,” Harry motioned. The dog crouched, coming warily, with one paw forward at a time. “I didn’t mean to scare you, boy,” Harry coaxed. He scratched the dog behind his ears as he liked, and stroked his back. “I’m done crying now. Doesn’t do any good anyway. I never cared for anyone who whined, and I know better. Really sorry, Howler.”

His words seemed to comfort the dog who'd, apparently having already forgotten the sounds of anguish, rolled onto his back for attention to his belly. The sight made Harry laugh, which set the tail wagging. “If you can adapt that quickly, so can I. On to more important things, boy.” He stood up and paced.

The really tough work had been completed with Ben at his side, and now he stood gazing around in admiration at the progress, relieved to know the hardest work was done. Now, he could turn his attention to building a house—one with a view of the river, just as Harriet had described. He thought about his advisor who’d suggested he show the woman he loved he’d paid attention to her preferences and built a home intended to please her. Such actions could go a long way in courtship. He set out to do just that.

Harry marched over to the site, already cleared, and stared at the large pile of logs, prepared for use. He set to work frenzied and impatient to complete the main living area. He'd erect the walls, build a sturdy roof, put in a secure front door, along with windows, and a fireplace to make it habitable, as he pursued grander plans. Maybe if Harriet saw he had done just as she described, she would forgive him for his shameful act that morning. “In church, of all places,” he mumbled, in disgust. He hoped forgiveness possible. Guilt lay heavy on his mind as he tried to shake it through hard labor.

Days passed, and the progress on the house was nothing short of miraculous. He made the one area spacious, which would allow for entertainment. He built a bed big enough for a man his size to share with a woman to match, placing it under an east-facing window because Harriet had said she liked the dawn. From the Jacobs, he bought a large ticking-bag and stuffed it with clean, fresh-smelling hay to use as a mattress. Gwen, with a sly smile, gave him two embroidered and lace-trimmed pillows to put on the bed.

The fireplace covered most of one wall. In the hotel where he had worked, he had seen how a fireplace could be designed to hold an oven over the fire, as well as a cooking pot, and still reserve a piece of the space for just sitting and admiring the flames. The size of the fire could also be controlled, so it did not overcome the room in warmer weather. He had paid attention at the time, because he’d found the design’s novelty and practicality most impressive. Next, he built a dry sink and some cupboards under one of the three windows to create an area for food preparation, then, when he’d completed what he could of this one-room masterpiece, he built a stool and sat by each window, ensuring the view was uncluttered. In this way, he discovered he needed to fell two more trees and did so. He still had plenty of logs for expansion.

At length, as he sat on his new porch gazing toward the river, he felt rightfully proud of his progress. The only breaks he had taken were to milk the cow, tend to the crops, collect eggs, feed his animals, and seek nourishment. He had sworn off even attending church these past three weeks until he was done.

Now he wondered how best to show his remorse and start afresh with Harriet. He would ask for no further advice from others. He knew his actions had been wrong. Sue had meant no harm—indeed, she’d intended to help—but he knew in his soul he’d been wrong to follow her plan. Deceit was never the answer. He had always known better. Why he had failed to follow his instincts this time was inexplicable. He blamed the unknown territory of romance.

Then, as he sat on his porch, he suddenly knew what he had to do. He had to catch a mustang. It had to be a beautiful horse. He had to break the horse, and then he had to bring Harriet to his homestead to train it. She was a woman of her word. No matter how furious she might be at him, she would not break her commitment to help in training the mustang for the Jacobs. He could count on that fact. Her character would never permit her to renege on any promise.

Rejuvenated by his decision, he picked up some rope, slipped his rifle into the saddle, and climbed onto the back of his horse. “Come on, Howler. You won’t want to miss out on this adventure. We’re off to catch our first mustang.” The dog barked as though he fully understood the importance of their mission.

Riding to where Harriet had mentioned she had often spotted wild horses, Harry hoped he’d be successful sooner than later. He had a vital need to atone, to prove himself trustworthy. It wasn’t long before the sound of hooves attracted his attention. A herd of mustangs was just off to the west of him. He studied the horses, looking for that one worthy of being the first trainee and payment to the Jacobs.

He knew at once which it would be. The black animal, with white stockings and a white diamond on his forehead was not the leader of the herd, but it was majestic.

Harry readied his rope and slowly approached where they grazed. Howler somehow sensed he should be quiet. Just as they reached the range needed for throwing a lasso, a neigh rang out, and hooves erupted in sound. Harry did not waste a minute. He threw the lasso, and his aim hit its regal mark. It was nothing short of amazing. He had the stallion, and his horse helped to hold the taut rope, laced around the horn of the saddle. The strong wild horse tugged and reared over and over again. Harry managed to stay on Sidekick and hold tight, as the wild one ran in circles, lowered his head, and tried every possible means of breaking free. It was to no avail. Harry knew his trade, as did his mount. The mustang was his.

The herd vanished. Only the lone mustang’s complaints could be heard. Hours passed, as Harry waited out the black horse’s resistance. A tired mustang would be easier to lead back home. Thankfully, his mare was both strong and well rested, unlike her rider.

Sensibly, Howler stayed clear as Harry and the mare worked the mustang stallion, which took up considerable range as he reared, stomped, jumped, and battled to get free, evincing impressive spirit and fight, his ebony coat shiny with sweat.

Eventually, the fine horse calmed. He still was most resistant to being led by a rope, but he seemed resigned for the time being.

Harry rode back home, pleased he had accomplished the first task toward making things up to Harriet. He would show her he was a man of his word. He had caught the horse for the Jacobs. Now, all he had to do was break him in preparation for training. He sensed working alongside Harriet was the best way he could convince her he was worthy of her love and devotion.

He’d intentionally made the corral by the barn small to help with the breaking process. Once home, he locked the horse in it then, physically and emotionally exhausted, took care of his mare and staggered to the house to get some rest.

Lying on his bed in the completed one-room dwelling, Harry attempted sleep. The wild horse made that none too easy. It screamed and sounded a bugle as to its fury, and smashed the wooden rails with its hooves so hard Harry worried the horse might hurt himself. But, far too spent to do anything but sleep fitfully, Harry fell off time and again. He first dreamed about breaking the mustang. But every so often, the nightmare of Abigail snaring his leg returned. Then he would awaken, sigh in relief at being out of the snare, and try to turn his subconscious to only the mustang and its promise.