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Chapter One
Waco, Texas 1872
Becky Hamilton clutched the package of white linen to her chest as she hurried away from her aunt's boardinghouse and tried to get back to her job at the sheriff's house before the rainstorm came. She could smell the hint of it in the air, and the grumble coming up from the south sounded fierce. She was running late today, because her aunt was feeling poorly this morning and Becky had helped her prepare breakfast for the five paying guests they had this week.
As she hurried along the boardwalk, the things she needed to do today were paramount in her mind. The sheriff loved roast and potatoes, and Becky knew exactly how long it would take to get the meat as tender as he liked it. She also needed to find the time to apply the intricate stitching to the white linen she was protecting against her chest from the rain. Mrs. Sloan was impressed with Becky's needlework, and had begun paying her to help with the finishing touches to the fine blouses that would be put up for sale at the mercantile.
Becky desperately needed the extra money. The amount she earned housekeeping for the sheriff was only pin money really, and she needed a new avenue of income. It seemed that she worried about money constantly these days, ever since finding out that her Aunt Beth was having financial problems. Oh, it was true that her aunt would never tell her what was going on, but she knew that Aunt Beth needed Becky's bedroom to let to customers. The missed income from that room had put a strain on the older woman's already meager earnings. Becky had used the bedroom for three full years now, ever since she had moved to Texas from Boston. When her parents had died, her aunt had rescued her from God only knew what, and brought her to live with her in Texas. She was thankful to the sweet woman every day.
But now, at seventeen, Becky was old enough to start thinking about taking the burden from her aunt. And she had a way. It wasn't ideal, far from it, but she did have an option for moving out of her aunt's boardinghouse. Many girls her age were already married, and Becky knew it would be expected of her, too. The problem was that the wrong man kept asking her to marry him. Not that he wasn't a good catch, because truly, he was. Kyle Bolton was from a good family, he was nice and kind and even good-looking. But Becky felt a slight nauseous feeling every time he picked up her hand and focused his attention on her. Oh God, there had to be another way. She couldn't marry him. She really couldn't.
The idea of moving back to Boston had come slowly to her. There were no jobs for girls her age in Waco. But there were plenty of jobs back East. Her mind worked on an alternative to a bleak life spent with a man she didn't love. As scary as moving away from Waco was, it seemed infinitely more preferable than marrying someone that made her skin crawl. And all because her friend Miranda Cox broke down and told her what happened after marriage. Miranda's father owned the dry goods store in town, and she had gotten married the year before. She had described to Becky in detail what happened when a man and woman shared the same bed. And that was precisely why Becky could never, ever marry Kyle. Why, oh why, had she pestered Miranda so much about it? Now apprehension and uneasiness dominated her every waking thought.
Before, Kyle never really bothered her much. She saw him as a friend, and never really thought about him with an eye toward romance. But finding out the truth about the marital bed had been so shocking that she knew she was hearing the truth. At about the same time Kyle started becoming amorous, she started becoming nauseous.
Suddenly, the world around her tipped with the new knowledge she held. She began to see things differently, with a new eye. It was like holding the key to a door. Before, she hadn't even realized the door was there. But the last few months, she began noticing all kinds of things. She began observing the guests at the boardinghouse. Some married couples slept in the same room. They were the same guests that ate their breakfast together, smiled at each other, and strolled down the boardwalk hand in hand. Other married guests stayed in separate rooms. She never saw those couples smile at each other or even accidentally touch. Coincidence? She thought not. Her brain began putting two and two together.
She also noticed the saloon girls, when they were out and about town. And she noticed the way the men looked at them. A shiver ran down her spine.
A mortified feeling of unease went through her. She also began to notice how certain men looked at her. Were they thinking about that? Did they look at her and think of the things that people did in the marriage bed? Anxiety rose within her at an alarming rate.
It all seemed perfectly uncivilized to her, and the thought of having to take part in any of it seemed awkward at the least and downright petrifying at the worst.
