A Bounty of Blessings

Whenever the rest of her life started falling apart, riding her favorite mare brought Beth a much needed semblance of control. Serenity transitioned to a gallop with only the slightest of encouragement. She seemed to understand Beth's desire to have the wind whip through her long hair. Focusing on the horizon, she let her thoughts roam. As she saw the flat landscape join with the blue, cloudless sky in the distance, she envied the mirage. She had no connections, yet she felt bound—tied down by an unseen captor. At nineteen years old, Beth Cochran had already been engaged for seven years. At least that's how William Johnson-McKenzie and the congregants at First Assembly viewed it, insisting Beth and William made a perfect couple. Beth didn't see it that way. She'd traveled the world; William never left the city limits of Crafton. She'd had a heart for righting injustices; he turned a blind eye and deaf ear to the heartbreak she'd witnessed. Beth thought of William as self-centered, and she'd never been afforded that luxury. They didn't have the same taste in music, books, movies or TV shows. To be fair, Beth discussed with him what a marriage should entail. They never agreed on any part of it. Beth looked at his marital views as caveman-esque. She half expected him to hit her over the head with a club and drag her off to the mountains. Okay, so there were no mountains in Nebraska, but her vision didn't seem nearly as dramatic being dragged into the dunes of the Sandhills. Wanting to get married someday, Beth knew it would never be to William. He'd tried to make a marriage between them sound inevitable. Over the past year, his insistence intensified, almost as though a new force drove him. He had made sure everyone expected it. She preferred to settle the disagreement privately and quietly, and William used this to his advantage. It didn't seem to matter everyone only expected a marriage because of his lies. Beth's sense of decency wouldn't permit her to publicly declare it all to be a deception. Drawing back on Serenity's reins, Beth feared getting lost in her musings had pushed her too far. Turning the Palomino back toward the barn, she started her cool down. After several minutes at a trot, she gradually slowed to a walk, giving Beth plenty of time to consider her life's direction. For William to believe they would marry despite her protests, Beth wondered if he saw her as his only chance to find a wife. She occasionally wondered if he had some sort of mental deficiency, grasping at straws trying to make sense of his behavior. Praying for a way to tactfully tell him a marriage between them would never take place, she hadn't been able to find a way to do it without sounding cruel. It should have been easy. He never proposed, gave her a ring—she wouldn't have accepted it, anyway, and she never agreed to be his wife. William never displayed any affection, hadn't told her he loved her, or even said he wanted to marry her. He'd only said, 'We should get married.' Hardly the proclamation of a man in love.