Sixteen Brides by Stephanie Grace Whitson Read Free Book Online

that what we see as destruction, nature looks upon as a gift. Look carefully and you’ll see green shoots pushing their way through the charred grass.” He gestured toward the landscape. “This, dear ladies, is renewal. ”
    “That’s all well and good,” one of the sisters said. “But I think I speak for us all—” She glanced at the others, who nodded agreement. “I speak for us all when I say, Mr. Drake, that if Cayote has been similarly renewed this spring, we won’t be staying.”
    “That is of course your right,” Drake said as he gave a little bow. “But I think you’ll find that Cayote holds many unexpected charms that will entice you to remain.” And with that, he exited the car. Again.
    Something about the way Drake said the words unexpected and charms made Ruth uncomfortable. She glanced around the car at the other women and then stared back out the window. Perhaps it was the landscape. Perhaps it was loneliness. Whatever the cause, Mrs. General George Washington Jackson Dow felt small and bereft and foolish and, once again, a little afraid.

    Neither witnessing the greening of the landscape nor finally coming out of the vast area that had been burned helped Ruth feel better. Western train stations were little more than unpainted shacks plopped down every ten miles or so at nondescript places marked by names painted with black letters on white boards. In some cases, the only sign of civilization was the station and the house the railroad provided for the stationmaster and his family—if he had one. Ruth comforted herself with the idea that at least she and Jackson would not be living that kind of life—alone in the only house on a desolate piece of land. They would settle near town. She would see to it.
    Jackson had finished Texan Joe long ago and now sat peering out the window. When she patted his arm, he leaned close and rested his head on her shoulder in an uncharacteristic display of affection. “It’s . . . big land—isn’t it, Mother?” He sighed.
    When tears threatened, Ruth took herself in hand. For Jackson’s sake, she must be brave. And so she reached across with her free arm and laid her gloved hand on his. “Yes,” she said. “ Big is certainly one word for it. It will be . . . interesting . . . to see more of the west than train tracks and stations. At least we have a nice supper awaiting us in Plum Creek.”
    “Plum Grove ,” Jackson corrected her.
    “It was nice of Mr. Gray to invite you to visit, wasn’t it? Think how amazed your aunt Margaret will be when you write about your adventures.” She hadn’t changed her mind about Lucas Gray, and even if Jackson did write his aunt Margaret, it was impossible to know whether she would be amazed or horrified, but right now it was important that Jackson feel better.
    Mention of Lucas Gray and a ranch accomplished great things. Jackson lifted his head from her shoulder and turned to look up at her. “You mean you really would let me visit? I thought you were just being polite.”
    Oh dear. She’d done it now. Backed herself into a corner from which there would be no escape. “Of course I was being polite,” Ruth said. “Good manners is part of being a lady—or a gentleman, I might add.” She forced the most sincere smile she could manage. “But just because I was being polite doesn’t mean I don’t really want to see Mr. Gray’s cows. I’m sure it will be very informative.”
    Jackson hugged her so hard she had to straighten her hat when he finally let go. “Do you think we could get a horse?”
    Ruth worded her reply as carefully as possible. “I think we could definitely entertain the idea of a horse.” Ruth smiled to herself. If a general’s wife knew anything, she knew to choose her battles carefully, and Jackson’s wanting a horse was not one to be fought today. They couldn’t afford a horse, and even if they could, she wasn’t about to let her son risk his neck trying to be a cowboy. But Jackson could