Free Sixty Acres and a Bride by Regina Jennings

me.”
    Weston looked straight ahead, bracing himself for what was to come. Did they rail at him, curse him, threaten him? He’d entertained all those scenarios over the weeks she’d been gone but knew they couldn’t blame him any more than he blamed himself.
    “In a way, they didn’t act as I anticipated. When I got there, Mrs. Smock greeted me warmly, just as she used to when Cora and I were at the academy. We visited about my journey, took tea. Mr. Smock was there also, but I could tell they were troubled. They didn’t know what to say. When I handed Mrs. Smock the valise, she began to weep, and Mr. Smock thanked me for coming all that way.” Eliza dared a glance at her brother.
    “Go on,” Weston said.
    “Then the conversation grew very puzzling. I don’t think they meant to be hurtful, I really don’t. They just had questions. And you can’t blame them. They must have agonized all this time, wondering but afraid to ask.”
    Eliza looked to Jake. He nodded, and she continued.
    “They wanted to know her state of mind, naturally. I assured them you’d done everything you could. You’d consulted a doctor, a parson. You’d tried medicine and prayer. I thought it important for them to know that Cora wasn’t alone in her struggle.”
    Weston shifted in the saddle. “And?”
    “I’m sorry, Wes. I wish it were otherwise. I wish . . . I wish I didn’t have to tell you. . . . They asked about you, if you’d been cruel or unfaithful, if you’d started drinking.” Eliza blinked up at him. “And then they asked if you had any reason to want her dead.”
    Weston closed his eyes, one hand gripping the saddle horn. He wanted to put the spurs to his horse and race to the horizon. He wanted to run to a land where no one knew his awful tragedy, but he’d already tried that, both figuratively and literally, and it had brought him no peace. He was staying to see this through. God had placed him there. Until He told him to leave, he would stand his ground. Eliza had spent the last three months setting things right so that he could heal. He would hear her out.
    He looked at her worried face, already filling out because of the new life she carried. She’d done this for him.
    “Please don’t despise them, Wes. If you could’ve seen them . . . They didn’t want to ask, but they needed a resolution. My answers satisfied them, relieved them even. They never wanted to think poorly of you.”
    He swallowed hard. “I’m not guilty of what they accuse me of, but I’m responsible nonetheless.”
    “And that’s the problem,” she said. “They told me about your letters. You placed all the blame on your shoulders. What were they supposed to think? It’s no wonder they’ve had suspicions. You’ve acted like her blood was on your hands. Why would you tell them that, Wes? You don’t really believe it, do you?”
    Weston removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair. Would Eliza and Jake despise him for his weakness? He had never let them see behind his mask before. During Cora’s sickness he took care of every detail. He supervised her meals, threw brave soirees to entertain her, even when she showed no interest, planned daily outings—all the while refusing to show anyone, even Eliza, how worried he was. He’d kept up that act until the day he stoically chose the songs for Cora’s funeral, and from then on the mask of indifference never slipped. Only to Cora’s parents did he share his fears over his culpability.
    “I guess I do. She relied on me, and I let her down. I’d hoped her folks might offer me forgiveness.”
    “You don’t need forgiveness for her death, but you might for the way you’ve been carrying on since then. Just think of Mr. and Mrs. Smock. How were they supposed to heal, thinking they’d allowed their daughter to marry a beast?” She fanned herself with her handkerchief. “At least they know the truth now. As far as I can tell, they were relieved to hear that you might be