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APRIL 10, 1892
Clara held Graham’s jacket against her chest, caring little if anyone had seen her hold it to her face for a moment, taking in the scent of the man standing a short distance away. The breeze blowing in from the west tossed strands of hair across her face and warmed her cheeks. As usual, Graham read the signs correctly. Spring would be arriving early this year.
“Away!” Graham called to the two pups. One cocked his head, listening to the shepherd. But neither he nor his sister obeyed the command.
Stepping through tender shoots of grass, Clara moved closer to Graham and his dog. She whispered, “How long did it take Alec to learn? At the rate they’re taking, they might be more trouble than they’re worth this summer.”
He hitched a shoulder, keeping his eyes trained on the dogs who were now chasing each other around the band of ten sheep a few yards inside the small pasture. “Can’t really say. Alec came to me fully trained. But they’ll get the knowing of it eventually. Just takes time and patience.”
How well she learned that the shepherd had patience. In the months since Christmas, she’d given him many opportunities to test it. While January had been a kind of euphoric month in that first blush of love, February, like the weather, had turned chilly. As much as they’d learned about each other in January, discovering their similarities, February had shown them just how vast were their differences. When March rolled in like a lion, towing in unexpected snow storms, drifts blocked the roads between the ranch and town for two weeks, giving them long lonely hours to think about what life might be like lived apart. Along with April’s brighter skies came clarity for each of them and a greater appreciation for the Christmas gift they’d received last December. That was how they referred to their love story.
“I’ve been told that Rebecca has taken to sleeping with Priscilla.” Clara said, watching Graham’s face as she did. “You didn’t try to stop her? I thought you didn’t believe in making pets of working dogs.”
“The pup’s hers,” he replied, as though that was the end of the matter. “Besides, with a name like Priscilla, she was destined to become a pet.”
“I’d have thought on principle, you’d have said something.” She smiled, recognizing the signs that might take a simple question onto a full battlefield complete with bagpipes and contested with words honed like sword blades. “I seem to recall you voicing some strong opinions on the subject.”
Graham threw her a quick glance, one eyebrow cocked. “Thought this was a free country? Are you telling me that in America only women have the right to change their minds?”
“Rebecca plays outside as much or more than in.” He turned his head to watch the dogs and whistled, receiving not even a glance from the two young dogs.
He turned back to her and studied her for a time, before a smile tipped the corner of his mouth. “Do you suppose, Miss Webster, we’ll be sparring all our lives?”
Clara pursed her lips, thinking about the lovely occasions that usually followed their sparring matches, those involving long, unrushed kisses. “I’m supposing we might, Mr. Kincaid. I rather like our occasions of making up.”
Graham reached over and lifted her chin with one finger, gazing into her eyes for a long moment. The passion she saw flaming there sent shivers rippling along her arms. “Do you know when I first started loving you?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “It was when you were dressed in that oversized coat, wearing my socks on your hands. You were ravishing, you know? And I thought to myself, this lassie might one day make a grand rancher’s wife.” Leaning closer, his eyes shifted from hers, looking over her shoulder. He whispered, “We’ve got an audience.”
Clara looked back to see Rebecca watching them, her toes bouncing on the bottom fence rail. “I don’t think your dogs are herding the sheep, Mr. Kincaid,” she said in her quiet voice. “I think they’re playing tag.”
“What?” Graham followed the direction of her gaze.
Both collies were running at full speed in a circuitous route through the pasture, pursued by the sheep. In fact, the dogs were scarcely able to outdistance them, and the sheep gave no sign of giving up the chase.
Alec began wildly barking. Graham whistled, but to no avail. The sheep kept running after the dogs, the dogs unable to elude them. And Clara burst out laughing in a manner her mother would have disapproved.
“Did you see them?” Rebecca ran up the front porch steps and took Lena’s hand in hers, shaking it. “The sheep were playing tag with the puppies.”
Lena eased herself onto the porch swing and patted the empty place beside her. “I didn’t see it. Why don’t you tell me about it?”
Rebecca climbed up beside her. “It was funny. Angus, the one with the mostly white face, was chasing the sheep first, and then the sheep that was in the back turned around and stopped, looking real angry. Angus stopped and barked something fierce.”
“He did? I can’t imagine Angus sounding fierce.” Lena brushed a tawny curl from the child’s face.
“Oh, but it was.” Rebecca made her own fierce barking sound. “Just like that!”
“That is fierce. And was the sheep frightened?”
“No! Not at all. The sheep took a step towards Angus and Angus took a step back.” Rebecca brought her knees under her, imitating the dog’s stance. “And do you know what?”
“What?”
“Angus took one look at that old ewe and turned and ran! And he kept running. And the sheep started chasing him.” She gestured with her finger as if she were stirring one of Jessie’s pots of soup. “They went round and round and round.” She flopped back onto her seat and folded her arms. “Uncle Bart would have laughed so hard.”
Lena wrapped her arm around the child’s shoulders and drew her close to her side. “Yes, I imagine he would’ve.”
They sat for a time, Lena pushing off from the porch floor with the toes of her boots, setting the swing into a gentle rhythm. She could feel the child’s eyes studying her before she spoke.
Reaching out her hand, Rebecca stroked Lena’s round belly. “He’s quiet today.”
Lena lay her hand on top of Rebecca’s, each of them waiting. “Maybe sleeping, do you think?”
Rebecca lay her head on Lena’s shrinking lap. “Did you see the little sprouts of sweet peas coming up by the well house?” she asked.
“I did. We might have blossoms to put on your Easter bonnet,” Lena said, smiling at the image in her head of Rebecca wearing the white hat and dress she’d ordered from the Sears catalog.
“Will the baby wear a bonnet too?”
“I don’t think the baby will come before Easter.”
“That’s good, because he’d look silly in an Easter bonnet.”
“What if he’s a she?” This had puzzled her for some time, the way Rebecca refused to refer to the baby as anything other than he or him.
“Because he’s a boy!” She said with all the towering confidence of a six-year-old girl.
“Why do you think so?”
She turned her head, looking up at Lena as if she were daft. “Because Aunt Jessie said so.”
Lena laughed. “I see.”
Rebecca sat up straight and turned an earnest face to Lena. “What will the baby call you?”
Lena frowned for a second, then relaxed into a smile. “Why, I suppose, Mama?”
“Like Rowena and Tommy call Aunt Jessie.”
“Yes.” Lena’s heart made a small skip as she considered the child’s question in light of the past few months. Not once had Rebecca ever called her by any name. When the child wanted to talk or ask for something, a story or a snuggle at bedtime, she’d take Lena’s hand or tug at her skirt.
“May I call you Mama, too?” Rebecca said with that same serious expression that she always wore when she struggled to make sense of her new world.
Lena dropped her gaze, biting her lip to keep the tears in check as she struggled to compose herself. Rebecca’s small hand slipped over Lena’s. “I want to call you Mama.”
In the time it takes for a human heart to pump just once, Lena pulled Rebecca into her arms. As strong-willed as Lena thought herself to be, tears sprang to her eyes. Flowing like blessings down her cheeks, they fell onto her daughter’s tawny head. Lena murmured, “I would like that very much, Rebecca. So, very much.”
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The End of the Beginning
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