UNBROKEN PROMISE

~44~ Completely Exhausted

Sunday began with tension in the air, Oma dressed herself in a yellow floral gown, one of the few bright pieces she owned. It was a gift from Mama Becca when she first arrived on the ranch, a small gesture to make her feel at home. She'd always liked the cheerful print, but as she smoothed the fabric over her hips and caught sight of her reflection, the brightness of it felt suffocating, she didn't feel she wanted to shine today.

Clara's voice broke through her thoughts as she entered the main house. Her aunt, sat primly with her gloves in her lap, gave her a once over before offering a thin smile. "My, I didn't realize farm folks wore such... vivid colors," Clara remarked, fanning herself idly. The words were coated in the kind of condescension that made Oma's stomach churn.

Oma didn't reply. She'd long since learned there was no winning with people like her aunt, and silence was often the safest route. Instead, she focused on Logan, who was already waiting by the wagon, reins in hand, his posture stiff as always.

The ride to church was quiet, she was happy her uncle and aunt decided to ride in their rented carriage.

When they arrived at the small church house, Oma could feel the familiar weight of eyes on her. The whispers were subdued but present, a reminder that her place in the town was still tentative. She kept her head high, though the weight of the stares felt heavier than usual, especially with her aunt and uncle's judgmental gazes following her every move.

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The reverend's homily was warm and passionate, but Oma barely heard a word. She felt trapped, her mind racing as the close air of the church pressed in on her. The smell of old wood and candles, the rustling of hymnals, and the occasional cough all seemed amplified. She twisted her hands in her lap, her knuckles white as she fought the urge to bolt.

Logan, seated beside her, seemed to sense her unease. He didn't say a word or even look her way, but his hand rested briefly on her knee, in an attempt to calm her, making her heart flutter a bit.

When the mass finally ended, Oma felt a rush of relief as they exited the church. Logan wasted no time helping her into the wagon, his grip firm. He didn't linger for the usual post-service chatter. He snapped the reins, guiding the horses down the road back to their ranch.

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When they got to the ranch she quickly changed her clothes before she rejoined the others at the main house. Megan was busy feeding Caleb a slice of pie with a glass of milk while Caleb sat cross-legged on the floor, giggling as Cookie wagged his tail hopefully beside him.

"Caleb," Megan warned with a mock stern tone as she caught him trying to sneak his milk to the dog. "That milk's for you, not Cookie."

Everyone laughed except Logan and Oma when Caleb, startled, dropped the glass and scrambled to pick it up. Even Jacob let out a hearty chuckle as he sat with Logan at the kitchen table, the two of them going through the ranch ledger. Mama Becca, ever attentive, placed a pitcher of orange juice and two glasses in front of them, earning quiet thanks from both men.

The peace was interrupted when Ezra and Clara returned from their excursion into town, their exaggerated laughter ringing out as they entered the parlor. Whatever amusement they found, it was clear it wasn't shared. They took their seats, Clara fanning herself dramatically while Ezra leaned back.

Caleb, ever curious, watched them closely before mimicking Clara's grand gestures and Ezra's deep, overly theatrical laugh. His imitation was so spot on that the women in the kitchen burst into quiet chuckles.

Ezra's laughter cut off abruptly as he caught sight of the boy, his gaze narrowing. Caleb, sensing the change, quickly darted behind Megan's skirts, peeking out shyly as Cookie let out a single protective bark.

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By the time lunch was ready, the house had settled into its usual rhythm. Logan and Jacob helped set the table. Jacob had taken the time earlier to apologize to Ezra and Clara for the incident at lunch the previous day, but it clearing wasn't fully forgiven.

As they ate, Oma sat stiffly, her mind elsewhere, her appetite barely present. She poked at her food, her thoughts spiraling as she replayed the morning's events. A few times, Ezra or Clara directed a question her way, but she barely heard them. It wasn't until someone tapped her arm lightly that she realized she was being addressed.

"Caroma," Ezra said, his tone edged with annoyance. "I asked if you're finding it... comfortable here."

Oma blinked, her cheeks flushing as she forced a small smile. "Yes, Uncle Ezra. It's fine."

Her clipped replies didn't go unnoticed, and Logan, seated beside her, clenched his jaw. His eyes flicked to her briefly, concern flashing across his features before he returned to his meal.

The tension only grew as Clara began to discuss their morning in town, her tone dripping with disdain as she described the "peculiar townsfolk." She punctuated her stories with exaggerated laughs, each one grating on Oma's nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

When lunch finally ended, Oma excused herself quickly, retreating to the kitchen under the guise of helping Mama Becca with the dishes. As she scrubbed plates in silence, her mind raced with thoughts of her aunt and uncle. She couldn't shake the feeling that their visit wasn't as innocent as they claimed.

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Jacob hoisted Caleb on his shoulder with cookie wagging his tail beside him.
"Come on, Logan," Jacob called over his shoulder as he adjusted his fishing gear. "Let's see if we can't catch somethin' worth frying up tonight."

Logan, looking for an escape of the tension of house agreed with a curt nod, slinging his own fishing rod over his shoulder. He glanced toward the house once, spotting Oma through the kitchen window. She seemed distracted, as she scrubbed a plate.

Inside, Oma dried her hands and glanced around the kitchen. Mama Becca hummed softly as she kneaded dough, and Megan was busy wiping down the countertops. Oma felt the weight of unspoken questions in the air, and she quietly slipped out the back door, her heart heavy and her mind racing.

She walked quickly, her steps carrying her toward the woods at the edge of the property. The farther she went, the lighter her steps felt, she wanted to escape reality. Her chest tightened as she thought of the past few days-the biting words of her uncle and aunt, the constant tension with Logan, and the lingering ache of her father's absence. It was just too much.

Oma walked deeper into the woods, the cool shadows enveloping her as she moved further from the house. She didn't stop until she reached a familiar clearing. In the center was a large tree stump, its surface smoothed over time. She sank onto it, her knees curling up to her chest, as she let her tears fall.

Her sobs were heavy, her shoulders shaking as years of pent up grief and frustration poured out. She missed her father terribly, missed his steady voice and his unwavering belief in her. Everything felt like it was falling apart, her strained relationship with Logan, the unwelcome intrusion of her uncle and aunt, and the uncertainty of her future. She buried her face in her hands, her cries echoing softly through the quiet woods.

"I can't do this," she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. "I don't know how much more I can take."

She cried until she felt numb, her eyes heavy as exhaustion finally caught up to her. The world around her faded, the gentle rustle of leaves and distant chirping of birds lulling her into a restless slumber.