High Plains Promise

Chapter 1-1

Chapter 1Four Years Later

“Melissa, I'm home!” Wesley called.

His beautiful, three-year-old daughter ran to the front parlor, golden pigtails bouncing with every step.

He glanced up the room and sighed. Like the rest of the house, a thick layer of dust lay on every surface. A threadbare sofa with scarred arms had been shoved against the wall. An overturned side table rested on the floor, with the remains of a broken oil lamp strewn in a wide circle around it. One of the panes in the big bay window was also broken, and chilly air funneled into the room, as well as the odd leaf from the messy, untrimmed shrubs outside. His stomach turned when the wind stilled, allowing the stench of rotten food and dirty house to rise up.

“Daddy!” the little girl squealed, jumping into his arms. He cradled her against his side with one arm and planted a loud kiss on her cheek. She responded in kind. The uncomplicated love of a child makes up for a multitude of other, less pleasant aspects of life.

“Hello, Wes,” his wife said, entering the room.

Oh, good. She looks fairly lucid today, he noted with relief. “Samantha.” He hugged her gently with his free arm around her shoulder and pressed a quick kiss to her lips, twirling a strand of golden hair around his finger. “Did you have a good day?”

“I guess,” she replied. “What about you? How was your meeting?” Her voice hardened as she spoke the question.

Uh oh. “Fine. We're getting a new pastor.”

Samantha shrugged. “Another two-faced hypocrite?” she asked, an ugly note in her voice.

“I doubt it,” Wesley replied. “He's young. Younger than me. Maybe he'll be nice.”

“Church people are never nice,” Samantha said.

The tone in her voice warned him. Wrong again. We're heading into dangerous territory. Wesley changed the subject immediately. “So, what did you do today?”

“We went to the store. I bought some ribbons and a dolly for Melissa.”

“That's good,” he replied, relieved she'd taken the bait.

“We saw a few people there. Your lover was there.”

“I don't have a lover,” he replied mildly, his pulse increasing as he struggled not to go into full defensive mode. “I don't need one. I have the most arousing woman in town for my wife.” He ran his hand over her backside.

She shoved him away. “Don't lie to me, Wesley. I know you're still with that little w***e. The look she gave me… and then talking to me all sweet.”

Wesley took a step away from his wife. There was no truth in what she was saying. Since the day she'd come to him and told him she was pregnant, up to this very day, he'd been faithful to her. He knew full well she didn't return the favor. He knew what those pitying, knowing looks from the men around town meant. It doesn't matter. I have to try and keep my family functioning as best I can, for Melissa's sake.

“Is that where you really were, after work today?” Samantha snarled, working herself further into a tirade. “Did you go to your w***e? Did you bring her back to that farmhouse and take her on the floor, in the dirt, the way you always wanted?”

And there we go, Wesley thought, suppressing a sigh. Melissa doesn't need to hear this. “Princess, why don't you go run and play,” he murmured in his daughter's ear, but she clutched tighter around his neck. Her mother's unstable mood frightened her, as usual. He patted the child's back. “Samantha,” he said soothingly, “that farmhouse was torn down years ago. It's not there anymore. Besides, I was with James Heitschmidt and the other elders and deacons for a meeting. Nothing more, I swear.”

“Liar!” she shrieked.

“Mommy,” Melissa said softly, “Daddy loves you.”

Samantha snapped. Her arm flew towards her daughter with the full force of her enraged adult strength.

Wesley shifted Melissa to his hip and turned his body to shield her, using his free hand to catch his wife's wrist in a crushing grip. All his attempts to placate Samantha ended where Melissa's safety was concerned. “Don't,” he hissed, tightening his grip on her arm, “hit,” he went on, almost spitting now, “the baby!”

“Ow! Wes, you're hurting me!” Samantha wriggled in his grip.

He tightened his hand further, unwilling to take the risk. Once, he'd let go and she'd shot out a second blow. “Stop struggling. I'll let you go when I know you've calmed down. Melissa, I think we should go over to Lydia's. See if she has anything to eat. Mommy needs some time to herself today.”

That set Samantha off again. Wrenching her arm futilely, she began screaming. “I know where you're really going! You can play house with your w***e all you want, but she'll never have you! Not really. She can only be your slut.”

“There's only one s**t in this town,” Wesley replied. He released her arm with a sharp backwards shove, which sent her stumbling. He sailed out the door, slamming it shut behind him and praying she wouldn't follow.

As Wesley reached the street, Samantha clattered on the porch, screaming a***e towards them at the top of her lungs, for all to hear.

He kept walking. There's no reasoning with her when she's in one of her moods. The best thing to do is stay away until she calms down, he told himself as he made a sharp turn onto Main Street.

Curtains fluttered at windows and doors creaked open. Wesley sighed. If only she didn't feel compelled to play out our family drama in public. Everyone knows. Everyone.

Once out of earshot of the house, he set Melissa on the ground and took her little hand, though his thoughts remained on his marriage. I knew from the beginning I was taking on a woman of easy virtue, and a rather unintelligent one at that, but I didn't realize the depth of her problems.

A fragment of memory floated up, of the day not long after his wedding when he first realized just how much trouble he was in.

When the familiar, shabby door of Lydia's opened, heads turned to take in the new arrivals, small-town idleness at work again. This time, however, the good folks of Garden City had more to see than they'd bargained for.

Wesley Fulton, dressed in his brown work suit, tugged uncomfortably on his collar and glanced at the woman on his arm. Samantha, clad in a figure-hugging pink dress she'd stitched together that hung crookedly on her voluptuous frame preened at the attention. She shot flirtatious glances at every man in the room.

“Stop it,” he hissed under his breath. “You're a married woman now.”

She turned innocent eyes on him. “Stop what?”

Wesley shook his head. “Just remember who you belong to,” he said at last.

Subtlety, apparently, meant nothing to her. Shrugging her shoulders, she let him lead her to a table.

Every eye in the room watched them go. And then the whispers began.

“He married that one?”

“If he got anyone in a family way, I would have expected the Spencer girl.”

“This one's nothing but a tramp. He'll regret this.”

“Stop that. The girl can't help being simple.”

Wesley ground his teeth. Simple is right. I knew she wasn't smart before we married, but until a few minutes ago when I took her to buy a ribbon at the general store—and didn't old man Heitschmidt frown at me then, though I can't blame him—I never realized she couldn't even count or handle money. Ironic, for a banker's wife.

“Cup of coffee?” A slurred voice cut into his dark ruminations. He looked up into the plump, tilty-eyed face of his cousin.

“Yes, please, Billy,” Wesley concurred. “That sounds great.”

Samantha scrutinized the young man and apparently decided his disabilities made him less than interesting. “No, thank you. None for me.”

“But, say, Billy,” Wesley continued, “I didn't know Miss Lydia was having you serve too.”

“A bit,” Billy replied, smoothing his wispy blond hair into place with large, sausage-like fingers. Though strangers sometimes had difficulty understanding the lad, with his thickened tongue muddling his speech, Wesley had no such trouble. The youth grinned, showing a missing front tooth. “She says I can start with coffee, and if I do good, I can serve lunch too, and even maybe run the till from time to time.”

“That's great!” Wesley exclaimed, and his cousin giggled quietly at the sincere compliment. “I'm so glad you're getting a promotion.”

Billy's grin widened until it almost split his face, and then his expression turned serious. “Can't I get you anything, Ms. Fulton?”

Samantha regarded Billy again. “Just a glass of water,” she decided at last. “My stomach is feeling a bit poorly. The baby, you know.”

Billy blushed and shuffled off to the kitchen.

“Do you have to say that so loudly?” Wesley demanded.

“What?”

Wesley couldn't restrain his sigh this time. “About the…” he looked around and hissed, “the baby.”

“Why not? It's not a secret, Wes. In just a few short months, we'll be parents.” She patted her burgeoning abdomen.

Wesley frowned but said nothing.

Into the silence, the whispers began again. “So it is true. I almost couldn't believe it.”

“I wonder if this means she'll give up her whorish ways?”

“I wonder if it's even his…”

Wesley tripped on the edge of one of the bricks that made up Main Street, jarring him back to the present as they arrived at the café, a two-story red brick building with a wooden shingle over the door. It was rather too cold, now in late November, to be out without a coat, and Melissa had begun to shiver. Wesley scooped her up again and snuggled her. In the crisis of the moment, he hadn't thought ahead too well.

He tried the door. Locked.

Damn it, can I never get even the smallest break? It's too soon to go home and too cold to stay out, so what can I do?

“Wesley, so glad I found you.” James Heitschmidt said, interrupting Wesley's angry mental rant.

He turned to face the tall, freckle-faced head of the elder board and owner of Garden City's general store. “Hello, James. What can I do for you?” he asked, struggling to appear normal. If my life fell apart every time my wife threw a fit, I'd be unable to function at all.

“I need some help at the vicarage. It hasn't been lived in for three years, and the new pastor arrives soon. He needs a place to stay.”

“I'd be glad to help, but I have Melissa here.” He indicated his little girl, who clung tighter to his neck.

“Gentlemen?” A soft, soothing voice broke over Wesley, making him smile. Allison's sister Becky approached, her lovely face set in a serene half-smile.

If anyone knows how to handle adversity with grace, it's Rebecca Spencer. Maybe someday I can learn to face my problems with a sad smile… or maybe not.

James turned to her. “Miss Spencer, how are you today?”

She flushed a little, in the bite of a sudden, icy gust. “I'm just fine, Mr. Heitschmidt,” she replied. “Did I overhear you're going to air out the vicarage?”

“Yes,” James replied. He seemed about to elaborate, but nothing came out.

“Well, then,” the petite, golden-haired woman continued, “why don't I take Melissa with me for a while? I have some cookies fresh from the oven, and I'd like someone to taste them to be sure they're good.”

Wesley looked at his little daughter, gauging whether she would be okay parting from him. The child wriggled in his arms. It's awfully close to dinner time, but how can I say no? She has so little, compared to other children.

He set Melissa down, and she ran to Becky, who scooped her up. “Thank you, Miss Rebecca,” Melissa said, giving her a big hug. “I'm really hungry.”

Wesley closed his eyes. It wouldn't be the first time Samantha had refused to feed Melissa when she was in one of her precarious moods.

Becky didn't bat an eyelash. “Well then, sweetheart, let's have a sandwich and then a cookie, what do you say? I wouldn't want you to get a stomachache.”

Melissa cheered.

“Thank you, Miss Spencer,” Wesley said softly.

“Any time, Mr. Fulton,” she replied. Then she turned and carried Melissa away down the chilly street to the Spencer house, a white two-story with lots of gingerbread trim painted black and matching shutters on all the windows.