Rachel awakened to angry voices in the gray morning light. She lay a moment, thinking. She knew that this day was going to be different, but just how didn’t come to her right away. Then she heard her father-in-law swearing at his wife, Edna, in the kitchen below, and the woman’s cry of pain, the thud of her falling body, and everything that had passed yesterday came back to her in an instant.
At first, an almost indescribable gladness surged over her. Her bridegroom of two short hours was dead. An outraged husband had shot him down as he traveled homeward from the church where he’d promised to cherish and protect her all the days of their lives.
Although she’d been married such a short time, she had already learned what kind of life she would have led with Homer Quade. She shuddered as she recalled those short hours of married life.
They had been only a few miles from the church when Homer pulled her down off the palomino mare she was riding. He was unbuckling his wide leather belt before she hit the ground.
As she stared at him, her eyes wide with fright, he said, “Well, Miss High-and-Mighty Rachel, you’re gonna learn right now how to be a good wife. When I tell you to do something, you’d better jump to do it, or you’ll get this.”
With those words he started striking her with the belt. She threw up her arms to protect her face, but soon she had long, angry-looking welts all over her arms and legs and down her back. He hadn’t stopped wielding the belt until she was beaten to the ground, nearly unconscious.
She lay there helplessly, bitter tears soaking the ground beneath her cheek. How could she bear being married to such an animal? She wouldn’t live long, that was for sure. Homer would eventually beat her to death.
But God was with her. Before she could even drag herself to her feet, her husband was dead.
For years, Homer had been avoided by all the women on the mountain. They knew he would force himself upon any unprotected female, married or not. Hearing of his wedding, one of his unfortunate victims had finally found the courage to tell her husband what the new bridegroom had done to her. The man had lit out for the church with his rifle in hand. He’d shot Homer down in plain sight of his battered bride.
Rachel’s mother-in-law was the only one in the family who had shed any tears over the loss of Homer. Her father-in-law, Silas, had only sworn that it wasn’t fair he had another mouth to feed. Her three sisters-in-law had looked at the welts on her arms and legs with satisfaction. One smirkingly said, “He got to give it to you good before he died, didn’t he?”
Rachel wasn’t surprised that Jenny would say such mean things to her. It was well known in the mountains that Jenny had wanted to marry Homer, and that she spent most of her time at night in his bed. Everyone knew that the black eyes she often wore didn’t come from her husband.
The Quade brother Jenny had married was on the dim side. He didn’t know what went on between his wife and brother. As she lay there in bed, Rachel wondered which of the brothers Jenny would go after next.
Rachel painfully dressed herself and was debating about going into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. She was hungry this morning, but she could hear Silas carrying on again about the extra mouth to feed, and she didn’t know if she dared.
A couple minutes later, however, Edna, her mother-in-law, brought her a cup of chicory coffee and a piece of day-old wedding cake. She accepted the offering, thinking that the kind woman didn’t deserve the life she had to live with people like the Quades. She would love to kiss the big bruise on Edna’s thin cheek that had been put there just minutes ago by her husband. She knew, however, if she showed the woman any kindness, it would only make things worse for Edna.
Rachel was barely finished eating the tasteless cake and drinking the bitter chicory coffee when Silas called her down to the kitchen. As she entered, he pulled a chair away from the table and sat down. Frowning at her, he said coldly, “I talked to your pa yesterday. He don’t want you back. In fact he flat-out refused to let you come home. Taig says he has too many mouths to feed as it is.
“And that brings us to the Quades. With Homer not here to provide for you, I can’t feed you either.” Silas paused a moment then continued. “Of course, we can’t just turn you out, so me and my kinfolk had a talk last night and we come to this decision. Homer’s cousin Dylan will have to take you in. He’s got plenty of money and can feed and clothe you real good.”
Rachel stared at Silas a moment, then protested, “But he’s no relative of mine. I hardly know him!”
“You’ll get to know him after a few days.” Silas gave her a stern look. “You just be good to him. Do you know what I mean? If you ain’t, he’ll take you down to the trading post, where you can take care of the trappers’ needs.”
A cold uneasiness swept through Rachel. Did this awful old man know what he was talking about? Could she just be handed over to any man who came along?
Silas rose from the table. “Be ready to catch the coach down at the grocery store in about an hour. We took up a collection to pay for your ticket. You’ll arrive in Jackson Hole somewhere around dark. I’m goin’ to let my nephew know to expect you.”
He laid some coins on the table in front of Rachel, then without another word, left her sitting alone in the kitchen, staring blankly out the window. What was she to do? she asked herself. She remembered seeing Dylan Quade a couple times several years back. He had struck her as being an arrogant man, one who thought he was better than the rest of them because he owned a ranch down in the valley.
He certainly looked better than the mountain men, she remembered. He was clean and handsome, and his hair, though a little long, was neatly trimmed and as black as a crow’s wing.
She recalled how smitten all the girls and young women were with him, twittering and giggling and making eyes at him. She had been taken with him herself, but she hadn’t done any of those things. She hated the way he was so stuck on himself, acting like he was above them. She had ignored him completely.
Her lips twisted wryly. Now she might have to live with him . . . if he would have her. Would he remember how she had snubbed him? If he did let her live with him, what would he demand of her? He couldn’t be worse than Homer.
Thunder began to rumble in the mountains, and Rachel prayed that the rain would hold off until she got to Jackson Hole. She had made up her mind that her clothes were too ragged to be seen by passengers in the coach. She was going to ride her mare to Jackson Hole.
The young mare she had been riding from the church was Rachel’s prize possession, a beautiful animal named Goldie. Rachel had caught and tamed her all by herself.
Neither the Quades nor the Sutters would want her to have the golden palomino, so she would have to take her on the sneak.
She went up to the loft room to get her few clothes together and wait until everyone left the shack to do the chores. When all was quiet, Rachel picked up her small bundle of clothes and slipped softly out of the shack.
Goldie whiffled softly when Rachel entered her stall, and Rachel quickly cupped her palm over the mare’s nostrils. Sounds carried in the clear mountain air.
As she saddled the mare, Rachel thought how much she was going to miss her mother. But, she added as she fastened her bundle of clothes on the cantle, she would not miss any of the Sutters. Nor would she miss most of the other mountain folk, except for her cousin Jassy and Granny Hawkins.
She led Goldie out into the cool, windy morning and climbed into the saddle. No matter what lay ahead, it had to be better than what she was leaving behind.