Rescuing The Runaway Bride

“Birthday. The day you were born?”

“Sí, birthday. I have birthday in six weeks. I get nineteen.”

His gaze skimmed her from her messy hair, still tangled and dirty in places, to her smooth forehead and dark eyes, following the line of her straight flat nose to her lips and then down to that enormous-looking shirt Nana Ruth had put on her, now only half covered by her woolen sweater. The shirt had been too small for him to wear for a few years now. The heavy work of clearing land and then keeping wood chopped for the fire, feeding horses and general farming had bulked up his shoulders and arms to the point that all of his clothes from South Carolina no longer fit him. Returning his gaze to her eyes, he wondered how she could possibly be nineteen.

“You’ll turn nineteen, Vicky. We don’t ‘get’ an age, we are an age in English.”

“I no understand.”

“You say, ‘I will turn nineteen on my birthday.’” To his surprise she repeated his words perfectly.

“And you turn how many on you birthday?” she asked innocently.

“I will be twenty-eight in August.”

The answer gave him pause. How differently his life had turned out from what he had envisioned when he turned nineteen. Most of his schoolmates were married and starting to take over the reins of their family plantations back home now. Even his younger sister, Nelly, had two children already. In fact, Nelly had married at age eighteen after a two-year courtship that had started on her sixteenth birthday when their family had presented her to society. The ball had taken months of preparation, rivaling the effort that went into putting the wedding together two years later. Matthew had swept Nelly off her feet despite his Yankee upbringing. It had taken two years to wear Father down to the point of consenting to the marriage, but they were happy. Chris had seen true affection reflected in Nelly’s and Matt’s eyes. His brother-in-law had been supportive about Chris’s decision to sell the plantation, taking their mother in to live with them. Mother would never have survived the primitive surroundings of the ranch, and Chris could never have left her if Matt hadn’t opened their home to her.

Thinking back to his interactions with Hacienda Ruiz, he suddenly remembered the first year he had sold them four horses from his stock. Goldenrod had been chosen by the foreman who ran the stables for Don Ruiz’s daughter’s birthday party. The girl had been turning fifteen at the time, and they had invited him to come for a celebration. Had that been Vicky’s birthday party?

“Vicky, how did you get Goldenrod?”

A glance at her face forced him to look for another way to ask the question. “Your horse, ca-bey-o?”

She lifted her left hand to her hair and winced. “It need clean.”

“Your horse needs to be cleaned?” Chris was puzzled. He had been taking care of Goldenrod himself and knew that she was well groomed and bedded down for the night in the barn.

“Mi ca-bey-o.” She pulled at her hair. “I need say-pi-yo.” She pantomimed brushing her hair.

“I do declare, watchin’ you young folk sure does make me smile.” Nana Ruth chuckled. “Somehow you got her talkin’ hair instead of horse.”

“We can get you a brush as soon as we clean up from dinner.”

“Brush?”

“Brush. To brush your hair. Ca-bey-yo?”

“Sí, ca-bey-yo.”

“If ca-bey-yo is hair, what is horse?”

“Horse? Ca-buy-yo. Neigh.” She blew air out her cheeks like a horse would.

“She done a right fine imitation, Master Chris. She’s one smart gal if ya ask me.”

“Ca-bey-yo is hair, ca-buy-yo is horse. Well, they are close.” Too close. How was he ever going to keep these new words straight, much less learn more?

“How did you get your horse? Neigh.” He mimicked her, and she giggled. Her laughter made him smile and made all this tedious and sometimes frustrating communication suddenly worth it.

“Tesoro is mi horse. Mi papá y Berto say ‘Feliz birthday’ and give me Tesoro.”

“I sold Goldenrod to Berto. I raised her.”

“What Goldenrod?”

“Goldenrod is Tesoro. I call her Goldenrod and you call her Tesoro.”

“I see Tesoro?” She leaned forward in her chair as if by straining in her seat she would be able to see the horse out the window.

“Tesoro is in the barn for the night.” Chris shook his head. Already Vicky had been up at the table for the better part of an hour. Any more excitement would slow down her recovery.

“When see Tesoro? She eat? She...?” Her words fell away, and he saw the affection the girl had for her horse. He understood. Golden had been one of his favorites, and it was only because he could tell Berto would treat all the animals well that he had been willing to sell her to the hacienda. Now he could see that girl and horse were well matched—kindred spirits.

“Tesoro is good. She’s in the barn with my horses. I fed her and took care of her earlier. As soon as you are able to stand up on your own without too much pain, we can make a visit to the barn to see her.” The blank look on Vicky’s face told him that his words had not been understood. He was about to try again when a yawn caught the girl unaware, and she grimaced when she accidentally tried to move her right arm in an attempt to cover her mouth.

As Nana Ruth stood and picked up the empty bowls, Chris bent to pick up Vicky. “But for now, I think you’ve been out of bed long enough today. Let’s get you tucked back in.”

Lifting Vicky up in his arms, he couldn’t help but notice how little she weighed. She settled against his chest as if trusting him not to hurt her.

Did she feel safe? He suddenly realized he wanted to protect her. The thought materialized with a force that nearly halted his steps. He needed to get her back to her people. His cabin in the middle of the woods could be safe for only so long before someone else showed up and tried to run him off or take what was his. He’d already failed at keeping Jeb safe here. What made him think he could take care of Vicky?

Quickly he set her back on the bed and left the room, feeling the cold air steal her warmth away when he let go of her. The cold felt even colder than it had a few minutes before, penetrating not only his clothing but his skin as well, almost as if it were seeping into his heart. He shut the door behind him and headed off to check the corrals while the women prepared for bed. As he stared up at the night sky, it seemed that he would always be alone with just his land and his horses. For the longest time that had been all he had wanted. Was it still?

* * *

As Nana Ruth adjusted Vicky’s bedclothes, Vicky tried to run her fingers through her tangled hair, which made her wince.

“Nana Ruth?” she asked. “Can you hair? Brush?”

“Do you want me to brush your hair, child?”

“Si! Yes.” She nodded, showing Nana the tangles in her hair.

Nana nodded and shuffled over to the cabinet near the sink and came back with an ornate brush. “Turn to face the wall, girl.” The kind woman pointed, and Vicky moved carefully. Nana pulled all Vicky’s hair over her shoulder, but when she tried to pull the brush through, it snagged and then fell to the floor. With a groan the woman bent and then attempted brushing again. After four failed attempts, she sat back. “These here hands don’t serve me for diddly-squat.”

“Diddly-squat?” That was a word the British teacher had never taught her.

“Nothing.”

“No...thing?”

“Not a thing.”

“Hmm...” Before she could confirm the meaning of all the strange words, the door opened and closed with a creak. Cool air drifted across the room as if announcing Chris and his return.

“Master Chris.” The older woman stood up, the chair squeaking as she moved. The two conferred over by the table, but Vicky couldn’t turn enough to see what they were doing. Heavy footsteps crossed the room, and a shiver ran down her body from her head to her toes. She couldn’t imagine what Chris might want with her. Nana had said she was going to help her with her hair. Had he been angered when he saw his slave doing extra work for Vicky?

A hand lifted her hair away from her neck, and she held her breath. She had heard of some men pulling a woman’s hair in a fit of rage, but she had seen no evidence of rage in Chris. He had been nothing but kind to her, and because of her injuries, he treated her like she could break at any second. She told herself to relax.