Wagon Rolled Into Town With a Scarred Widow, Cowboy Said Your Journey Ends With Me Tonight

…

What had brought her to Nebraska City, and what had put that look of haunted determination in her eyes? Jim Fletcher was in the livery working on shoeing a mayor.

He looked up as Isaac led the horses in.

Those are not yours, Jim observed.

They belong to a woman who just arrived.

She looks like she has been traveling for weeks.

These horses need some extra care.

Jim nodded, wiping his hands on his leather apron.

I will take good care of them.

She planning to stay.

I do not know, Isaac admitted.

But I hope so, Jim gave him a knowing look.

Like that is it.

I do not know what you mean, Isaac said.

but he could feel heat creeping up his neck.

“Sure you do not,” Jim said with a grin.

“Get out of here.

I have got this handled.

” Isaac walked back to the boarding house, but Penelope had already been taken upstairs.

He stood in the front hall for a moment, feeling foolish, then headed back to his small room at the ranch.

He had work to do tomorrow, cattle to check on, fences to mend.

But as he lay in his narrow bed that night, he found himself thinking about green eyes and a scar that spoke of pain survived.

The next morning, Isaac was back in town earlier than he needed to be, making excuses to himself about needing supplies.

The truth was he wanted to see if Penelope was all right.

He found her sitting on the porch of the boarding house, a cup of coffee in her hands, staring out at the street with an expression he could not quite raid.

“Good morning, Mrs.

Eastston,” he said, climbing the steps.

She looked up at him, and he saw that some of the exhaustion had faded from her face.

“The bath and rest had done her good.

” “Mr.

Zimmerman, I wanted to thank you for your help yesterday, and to apologize for my suspicion.

No apology needed, Isaac said, settling onto the porch railing.

A woman traveling alone has every right to be cautious.

Where did you come from, if you do not mind my asking? She was quiet for a long moment, and he thought she might not answer.

Then she said, Kansas, a small town you have probably never heard of.

My husband died 6 months ago and his family made it very clear that I was not welcome to stay.

I am sorry for your loss, Isaac said and meant it.

Do not be, Penelopey replied, her voice flat.

It was not a love match, and he was not a kind man.

His death freed me in more ways than one.

The honesty of her statement took Isaac by surprise.

Most widows he knew clung to the pretense of mourning even when everyone knew the truth of their marriages.

“What brought you to Nebraska City?” he asked.

“I had to go somewhere,” she said simply.

“I had a little money saved, enough for the wagon and horses, and to get me started somewhere new.

I picked a direction and kept going until I found a place that felt right.

” “And does this feel right?” She looked at him then really looked at him and Isaac felt something shift in his chest.

I do not know yet, she said, but it feels like maybe it could be.

Over the next few weeks, Isaac found himself spending more and more time in town.

He helped Penelope find work at the general store, where her neat handwriting and skill with numbers made her invaluable to old Mr.

Peterson, who ran the place.

He watched as she slowly began to relax, the hard edges of her weariness softening just a bit as she realized that Nebraska City was not the hostile place she had left behind.

They fell into an easy friendship.

Isaac would stop by the store when he came to town for supplies, and they would talk about small things, the weather, the latest gossip, the books she was reading.

She had a sharp wit that delighted him and a quiet strength that he admired more with each passing day.

One evening in late August, Isaac gathered his courage and asked her to have dinner with him at the hotel restaurant.

It was the fanciest place in town, and he saw her eyes widened slightly at the invitation.

“Is that proper?” she asked.

“I am still in mourning.

” “Are you?” Isaac asked gently.

Truly, Penelopey looked down at her black dress, then back up at him.

No, she admitted.

I suppose I am not.

The black dress is armor more than mourning.

Then have dinner with me, Isaac said.

Just two friends sharing a meal.

Just two friends, she repeated.

And there was something in her voice that made him think she wanted it to be more, even if she was not ready to admit it yet.

The dinner was a success.

They talked for hours long after their plates had been cleared away.

Isaac told her about growing up in Nebraska, about losing his parents to Kalera when he was 18, about building a life for himself through hard work and determination.

Penelope shared more about her past, about a father who had sold her to the highest bidder when she was 19, about a husband who had given her the scar on her face in a drunken rage 2 years into their marriage.

“I thought about leaving,” she said quietly.

“But where could I go?” “I had no money, no family who would take me back, so I stayed and learned to make myself small, to avoid his anger when I could, and endure it when I could not.

Isaac’s hands clenched into fists under the table.

He had no right to treat you that way.

No, Penelopey agreed.

But rights and reality are often two different things, especially for women.

When he died, his heart giving out in the middle of the night, I felt nothing but relief.

His mother accused me of poisoning him, even though the doctor said it was natural causes.

She turned the whole town against me, said I was cursed, that the scar on my face was the mark of the devil.

I left before they could drive me out.

“You are not cursed,” Isaac said fiercely.

“You are the bravest person I have ever met.

” She looked at him with tears shining in her eyes.

“You barely know me.

” “I know enough,” he said.

“I know that you survived things that would have broken most people.

I know that you had the courage to leave everything behind and start over.

I know that you are kind and smart and funny and I know that I would very much like to keep spending time with you if you will let me.

Isuk, she whispered and his name on her lips sounded like a prayer.

I am not asking for anything you are not ready to give, he continued.

I just want you to know that I see you, Penelope.

Not the scar, not the widow’s weeds, not the story people will try to write about you.

I see you and I think you are remarkable.

A single tear tracked down her cheek, following the line of her scar.

No one has ever said anything like that to me before.

Then they were fools, Isaac said simply.

After that night, something shifted between them.

The friendship was still there, but underneath it ran a current of something deeper.

Something that made Isaac’s heart race when she smiled at him and made Penelopey blush when their hands accidentally touched.

September brought cooler weather and the start of harvest season.

Isaac was busier at the ranch, but he still made time to see Penelope every few days.

They took walks along the Missouri River, talking about everything and nothing.

He brought her wild flowers that made her laugh, and she baked him cookies that were slightly burnt, but that he ate every crumb of because she had made them for him.

One Sunday in early October, Isaac borrowed a horse and buggy from the ranch and took Penelopey on a picnic.

They drove out to a spot he knew, a clearing on a bluff that overlooked the river valley.

The leaves were turning gold and red, and the air had that crisp quality that came with autumn.

They spread out a blanket and unpacked the basket Mrs.

Walsh had helped him prepare.

Cold chicken and fresh bread, cheese and apples, and a jar of lemonade.

They ate and talked and laughed, and when they were finished, they lay on their backs, looking up at the clouds.

“I never thought I could be this happy,” Penelope said softly.

“I did not know this kind of peace existed.

” Isaac rolled onto his side to look at her.

“You deserve this and so much more.

” She turned her head to meet his gaze.

“Isaac, I need to tell you something.

I need you to understand what you are getting into if you keep courting me because that is what this is, is it not? You are courting me.

I hope so, he said.

If that is all right with you.

More than all right, she said, but you need to know that I cannot have children.

My husband made sure of that with his fists and his boots.

The doctor said my body is too damaged.

Isaac’s heart broke at the matterof fact way she said it as if she were discussing the weather.

“Penelope, I am so sorry.

I know you probably want a family,” she continued, looking back up at the sky.

“Most men do, and I would understand if that changes things between us.

” “Hey,” Isaac said gently, reaching over to take her hand.

“Look at me.

” She did, and he could see the fear in her eyes, the bracing for rejection.

I care about you.

He said you, Penelope.

Not some imaginary future or a house full of children.

You.

If we can have children someday, that would be wonderful.

If we cannot, that would be fine, too.

All I want is you exactly as you are.

You say that now, she whispered.

I will say it tomorrow and next week and next year, Isaac replied.

I will say it for as long as you will listen.

You are enough, Penelope.

You have always been enough.

She sat up suddenly, and for a moment, Isaac thought he had said something wrong.

But then she was leaning toward him, her hand cupping his cheek, and she kissed him.

It was soft and sweet and tentative, and Isaac felt like his heart might burst from his chest.

He kissed her back carefully, not wanting to push, letting her set the pace.

When she pulled back, she was crying, but she was also smiling.

I love you, she said, the words tumbling out in a rush.

I know it is too soon and maybe you do not feel the same way, but I love you, Isaac Zimmerman.

And I needed you to know.

Too soon? Isaac laughed, pulling her into his arms.

Penelope, I fell in love with you the moment I saw you climb down from that wagon.

I just did not want to scare you off by saying it too fast.

She laughed through her tears, burying her face in his chest.

We are both fools then.

The best kind of fools, Isaac agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

They stayed on that bluff until the sun began to set, wrapped in each other’s arms, talking about a future that had once seemed impossible to Penelope, and that Isaac had stopped believing he would find.

They made no concrete plans, but they did not need to.

The promise was there in every word, every touch, every shared glance.

As Isaac drove them back to town, Penelope leaned against his shoulder, and he thought about how much his life had changed in just three months.

He had gone from being a lonely ranch hand to a man in love, and it was all because a scarred widow had rolled into town in a dusty wagon.

The first frost came in late October, and with it came a problem.

The boarding house was raising its rates for the winter, and Penelope did not make enough at the general store to afford the increase.

She was trying to hide her worry, but Isaac could see it in the tension around her eyes, and the way she counted and recounted her money at night.

He had been thinking about asking her to marry him, but he wanted to do it right.

Wanted to wait until he had something more to offer her than a ranch hands wages and a room in the bunk house.

But when she came to him one evening, her face tight with stress and told him she might have to move into a smaller room with three other women, Isaac knew he could not wait any longer.

“Marry me,” he said.

Penelope stared at him.

“What? Marry me?” Isaac repeated, “I know I do not have much.

I have been saving my wages for years, and I have almost enough for a down payment on a small piece of land.

It will not be much at first, probably just a cabin and a few acres, but we could build something together.

You would not have to worry about where you will live or how you will afford it.

We could build a life, Penelope, together.

” Isaac, I cannot ask you to do that, she said.

But there was hope shining in her eyes.

You are not asking.

I am offering.

I love you and I want to spend my life with you.

I was always going to ask.

I just wanted to wait until I had more to give you.

But if you need me now, then I am here.

Your journey ends with me, Penelope.

Tonight, tomorrow, and every day after.

What do you say? She was crying again, but she was also nodding.

Yes.

Yes, Isaac.

I will marry you.

He swept her into his arms and spun her around, both of them laughing like children.

When he set her down, he kissed her thoroughly, not caring that they were standing in the middle of the street where anyone could see.

They were married a week later in the small church at the edge of town.

Penelope wore a dress the color of cream that Mrs.

Walsh had helped her make and she carried wild flowers that Isaac had picked that morning.

The ceremony was simple with just a handful of people in attendance, but it was perfect.

When the preacher pronounced them man and wife, Isaac kissed his bride and felt like the luckiest man in Nebraska.

Penelope looked at him with such love and trust that he silently vowed to spend every day proving that he was worthy of it.

They spent their wedding night at the hotel, the same place where they had shared their first real dinner together.

Isaac was gentle and patient, mindful of Penelopey’s past, and determined to show her that love did not have to come with pain.

She cried afterward, clinging to him, and told him that she had not known it could be like that, tender and sweet and full of joy.

This is how it is supposed to be, Isaac murmured, holding her close.

This is how it will always be between us.

I will never hurt you, Penelope.

I swear it on my life.

I know, she whispered.

I trust you, Isaac, completely.

They moved into a small house on the edge of town that Isaac rented while they saved for their land.

It was tiny, just two rooms and a lean to kitchen, but it was theirs.

Penelopey made curtains for the windows and rugs for the floor, and Isaac built her shelves for the books she loved.

They furnished it slowly with pieces bought secondhand or made by Isaac’s own hands.

Winter settled in, and they spent the long evenings by the fire, reading aloud to each other, or just talking.

Isaac continued to work at the ranch, and Penelope kept her job at the general store.

They saved every penny they could, dreaming of the day when they could buy their own land.

In January, Isaac came home to find Penelopey sitting at the table with a strange expression on her face.

“What is wrong?” he asked immediately, crossing to her side.

“Nothing is wrong,” she said slowly.

“Isaac, I think I might be pregnant.

” He stared at her.

But I thought you said I know what I said and I was told I could never have children but my courses are late and I have been feeling sick in the mornings and I think maybe the doctor was wrong.

Or maybe she looked up at him with wonder in her eyes.

Maybe this is a miracle.

Isaac dropped to his knees beside her chair and took her hands in his.

Are you sure? Not completely.

But Isaac, I think so.

I really think so.

He pulled her into his arms, feeling tears sting his eyes.

“A baby, Penelope, we are going to have a baby.

” “If I am right,” she said, but she was smiling through her own tears.

“If my body can carry it, if a hundred different things go right instead of wrong.

” “They will,” Isaac said fiercely.

“I know they will.

” He was terrified.

Absolutely terrified.

What if something went wrong? What if she lost the baby? What if her past injuries caused complications? But underneath, the fear was a joy so profound that it made him dizzy.

The doctor confirmed it a week later.

Penelopey was indeed pregnant, about 8 weeks along.

He warned them that given her medical history, the pregnancy would be considered high risk and she would need to be careful.

But he also said that the baby seemed to be growing well and there was no reason to think she could not carry to term.

Isaac became fiercely protective.

He did not want Penelopey working at the store.

Did not want her lifting anything heavier than a teacup.

Did not want her doing anything that might put her or the baby at risk.

Penelope found his hovering both exasperating and endearing.

I am pregnant, not made of glass, she told him one evening after he had insisted on carrying the laundry basket for her.

I know, Isaac said, but you are the most precious thing in my world, and that baby is part of you.

Let me take care of you both.

She softened at that, reaching up to cup his cheek.

We are lucky to have you.

I am the lucky one, Isaac replied, and he meant it with every fiber of his being.

Spring came and with it came the land they had been dreaming of.

A farmer north of town was selling 40 acres and Isaac’s savings combined with a loan from the bank was just enough to buy it.

The land came with a small cabin that needed work and a barn that was more holes than walls, but it was theirs.

They moved in on a bright April morning, and Penelope stood in the doorway of the cabin with her hands on her swelling belly and tears streaming down her face.

“This is really ours,” she asked.

“Every inch of it,” Isaac confirmed.

“We own the land, the cabin, that terrible barn that I am going to have to completely rebuild.

It is all ours, Penelope.

Our home.

” She turned to him and kissed him fiercely.

I love you so much.

I love you, too, he said.

Both of you.

The next few months were a whirlwind of activity.

Isaac worked on fixing up the cabin and rebuilding the barn while Penelopey did what she could to make the inside of the cabin into a home.

Their neighbors helped, bringing food and supplies and offering their labor.

The Chamberlains, who Isaac had worked for, gave them three cows and a dozen chickens as a wedding gift.

Old Mr.

Peterson gave Penelope a rocking chair he said had belonged to his late wife, perfect for a nursery.

In July, during the hottest week of the summer, Penelope went into labor.

It was long and difficult, and there were moments when Isaac thought he might lose her.

But she was strong, stronger than anyone he had ever known.

And when the sun rose on July 20, 1877, their son was born.

They named him Thomas after Isaac’s father.

He was small and red and perfect, with a full head of dark hair and eyes that would eventually turn the same brown as Isac’s.

When the midwife placed him in Penelopey’s arms, Isaac saw a look of pure wonder cross his wife’s face.

“Hello, little one,” she whispered.

“You are my miracle baby.

” “My impossible, wonderful miracle.

” Isaac sat beside her on the bed, one arm around her shoulders, the other gently touching his son’s tiny hand.

“He is perfect,” he said.

“You are perfect.

I cannot believe this is my life.

” our life,” Penelope corrected.

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