Catch Me If You Can (27 page)

“Oh, I was visiting with my sister-in-law’s family in Denver-”

“Little Jimmy is married?”

“Oh yes, for two years now. His wife, Imogen, invites me over to Denver whenever she goes to be with her family. She’s trying to find me a match.” She blushed and her pretty blonde curls bounced. “Anyways, when I visit their people, I go by stage. I don’t care to be locked in and the train ride is torturous for me, I find I’m made quite ill before the train even pulls out of the station.”

Rivers gave a hearty laugh, took her hand, and led her over to the gathered ensemble.

Eleanor watched as he led the young woman over. He went round the assembled group announcing them, and escorted her to Eleanor’s side.

“Camellia Rutherford, meet Eleanor Craven who has traveled from England to visit with us up at Napa.”

He gave Eleanor assistance as she dismounted, and the blonde woman looked from one to the other with a curious, friendly smile, as if quickly assessing the situation.

“Camellia may well be glad of a rescue party today, but she once swore that she would never speak to me again. I locked her in a wine cellar when she made a nuisance of herself as a precocious nine year old.”

“Pierre, that’s not fair, I was never a nuisance.”

Rivers chortled.

“Besides which, you knew I hated to be locked in anywhere.”

“It worked didn’t it? You didn’t get under our feet for at least a year after that.”

Eleanor felt quite ashamed of her first reactions toward the woman, who was sweet and warm. They were old friends and there seemed to be no more to it than that. However, it was a timely reminder that when they reached California she would meet people who knew him, knew him better than she. She didn’t know whether to be happy or sad about that fact. Curiosity kindled inside her nevertheless. Camellia had called him Pierre and he’d accepted it from her. How curious. Perhaps she also knew the reasons why he didn’t speak of his past.

“Well then, here’s a deal. I’ll forgive you for what you did back then, if you get me out of this mess.” She twiddled her parasol and offered him a winning smile.

Rivers glanced back at the stranded man. “What do you say – we’ve got spare mounts, would you rather take your chances here, or come along with us?”

“As far as the next town would be mighty fine, Sir.”

“The carriage is definitely beyond repair,” Daniel said, appearing from behind the stagecoach.

“That settles it then,” Rivers announced. “You’re not sitting here until the next one arrives.”

“I’ve spare riding breeches and a jerkin, I’m sure they would fit you,” Eleanor offered to Camellia.

“Breeches,” squeaked Camellia. “I’m not sure I’d know how to put them on!”

“In that case you’d better learn quickly,” Rivers remarked with a frown, looking at her outfit, which was entirely inappropriate for any manner of travel. “Eleanor, could you cloth her in the carriage while we ready the horses?”

He spoke to Camellia as if she were a little sister. Eleanor was fascinated.

The two women clambered into the teetering carriage, laughing as they clutched onto the doorframe to steady themselves. Eleanor helped Camellia out of her gown and the multitude of petticoats.

“My goodness, I’ll look quite dreadful and unladylike.”  She sat on the seat, held the breeches at arms length and frowned. “Oh, not that you look bad.”  Her pale skin colored quickly as she hastily corrected her comment.

Eleanor laughed. “You’ll be more comfortable, believe me that’s all that will be important.” 

“I’ve only ever ridden side-saddle,” Camellia reflected as she struggled to decipher the fastenings on the breeches.

“In that case you’ll find your legs will ache rather a lot for the first few days.”

“Oh dear, and there was I complaining about the discomfort of the stagecoach.” They both laughed as she struggled into the breeches, flexing her legs and looking at them appreciatively, as if she were assessing the latest trend.

“There, they aren’t too bad. In fact they are quite flattering in their own way.” Eleanor smiled encouragingly. She warmed to the woman.

“Yes, despite the strangeness, I find them oddly comforting.”  She reached for the jerkin. “So tell me, how long have you known Pierre?”

“Why…” Eleanor counted back in her mind. “I believe that it must be almost a year now.”
Imagine that.
Eleanor hadn’t even realized. “And you?”

“Our families are neighbors, we grew up together. Well, until Pierre left, must be nine or ten years since. He’s been sadly missed by all.”

“I can imagine that,” Eleanor replied, deep in her own thoughts for a moment.

Camellia crammed her gown into a carpetbag that rested on the seat beside her. “Why isn’t that my luck? A new dress that cost me a large portion of this month’s allowance and it has to be crushed to get it home.” She frowned.

“Give it to me,” Eleanor said. “The men might not even let you take any luggage. We’ll be down on pack horses for the supplies. I’ll see what I can do.”  She winked conspiratorially at her new friend, who beamed back at her.

Rivers turned back from overseeing the men, who were reloading the horses to free up two mounts, and watched as the women climbed out of the rickety remains of the carriage. He looked at Camellia’s outfit with a critical eye.

“I don’t care much for you traveling in those boots,” he commented, gesturing down at the pretty footwear.

It did look as if they had been designed with the parlor in mind, rather than for any sort of traveling. Camellia looked over at Eleanor and rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest defiantly.

“I suppose you’re fit to ride to the next town safely,” he continued. “You can get the next stage there.”

“I beg your pardon? I don’t believe I heard you correctly.” Camellia’s voice rang out with a sudden, sharp clarity that demanded the attention of everyone in the vicinity. She put her hands on her hips, her expression indignant. “You will take the course of a true gentleman rescuer and see me home to Sacramento.” 

“Will I indeed?” His eyes narrowed.

“You certainly will.” She tossed her blonde curls and set her manly-dressed legs apart in a fighting pose. Despite all her protestations about looking unladylike wearing breeches, Eleanor couldn’t help noticing that she was quite the plucky little soul.

Rivers turned back with an enquiring expression. “I think, Missy, you have little understanding of my reasons for wishing to avoid the neighborhood.”

He shook his head and put his hat back on, as if the matter under discussion had been dismissed.

Camellia stood her ground. “No, it’s you who doesn’t understand, you don’t understand your duty.”

Rivers looked her up and down and spoke through gritted teeth. “Camellia, if you insist on riding the rest of the way…” He paused for effect, glaring first at Camellia then at Eleanor, as if she was implicated by virtue of the fact she, too, had refused the train. “I’m sure we can spare Daniel to see you safely delivered.”

“Why, I’d be glad to escort you, Miss.” Daniel had taken off his hat and smiled endearingly at the young woman.

Camellia took time out to offer him a flutter of lashes, a pretty smile and a nod of thanks before returning to her public onslaught on Rivers. “That’s kind of you, Sir, but no, thank you. Pierre…” Her voice was commanding. He glared at her. “You yourself will take me home, and while you’re there you will go over to Riverside and visit with your
maman
.”

Rivers froze.

Eleanor watched with baited breath, her curiosity up and raging.
maman? Rivers had a maman?

“If she finds out I had you in my grasp and didn’t force you to call on her, my life would not be worth living, and you well know it.”

A deep frown furrowed his brow, his lips tightly shut into a thin line.

“Come now, Pierre, don’t you think you have been playing the tortured soul for quite long enough?” Her pretty eyebrows were arched mockingly, her tone more than a mite sarcastic.

It was the last straw.

Eleanor had never seen him so livid. His eyes were black, his hands fisting at his sides. “Dammit, I ought to put you over my knee for that remark, Camellia Rutherford!”

A gasp went around the assembled crowd and Eleanor noticed little Clare’s face had blanched in shock. Rivers was quite pale himself, his lips thin and bloodless with tension. He wanted to say more, Eleanor could tell.

“Ha!” declared Camellia. “So you cannot deny you should do the honorable thing?” She grinned at him. Everyone turned from gazing in awe at her victorious expression, to witness his reply.

He looked around at the gathering of eager, curious faces as if he’d remembered their presence, and let out a loud groan. “Well, perhaps. Now get on your mount, woman, and for God’s sake and ours – be quiet!”

Daniel coughed loudly and turned away from the scene. No doubt he’d never seen his boss that ruffled, Eleanor reflected. Clare tittered aloud, hiding her face in her hand. Rivers flashed her and the rest of them a warning glare.

“Or else what?” Camellia grinned impishly at him.

Eleanor bit her lip and wondered if Camellia weren’t pushing her luck a little too far now.

“Or else I’ll personally deliver you back to this very canyon and I’ll leave you here to fend for yourself.” With that and a mighty roar he stomped over to his horse, mounted, and set off at breakneck speed, leaving the rest of them stumbling for their mounts before they lost sight of the cloud of dust he’d kicked up in his path.

Chapter Twenty-three

The Hunter’s Homecoming

Pale morning light streaked across the sky.

Rivers was already on his feet, surveying the slumbering bodies around him with a grim, determined expression. It was three days since they’d added Camellia to their party and he was still in a fume. He stepped over to the remains of the fire, picked up a large cooking pot and beat it vigorously with a ladle. The loud, clanging sound rang out and echoed round the enclave they had holed-up in for the night.

Several of the slumbering bodies buried their heads, having endured the same experience the previous mornings. Eleanor sat bolt upright, her blanket to her chin, her dusky indigo eyes wide and startled. The nearby horses reared up, whinnying in objection. Camellia pouted and stuck her tongue out at the man who stood over her with the instruments held in his hands like weapons of war. He returned her gesture with a sadistic grin.

“Everybody up!” he shouted. “We have a mountain range to defeat, no time to waste.”

Within twenty minutes, he had them on their mounts with everything packaged and they were on their way. He’d made it quite clear there was no point in grumbling. Rivers had turned into a mighty fierce taskmaster since Miss Camellia Rutherford had challenged him. He stayed at the head of the pack, a lone rider, brooding. He needed some time to himself and, mercifully, everybody took the hint and kept well away.

The thing was, Rivers had every intention of visiting his family at some point in the near future. The purpose of his departure all those years ago had long since been served. There was no reason for him not to go back now. Bridges had to be mended, though. In fact, since Eleanor had come into his life he’d thought about his family a lot. He wanted her to see Riverside. In New York he’d dallied with images of taking her there as his betrothed.

Pah.

Her ridiculous stubborn streak and her feisty independence had quickly scuppered that particular dream. Now, to top it all, Camellia had come along with her own set of obstinate demands. Once again, a contrary young woman was forcing his hand, and he wasn’t happy about it.

Women!

Whenever he glanced around at the trailing pack, he found Camellia and Eleanor were riding alongside one another, deep in conversation. They giggled at him in between whispered exchanges when he glared back at them. He didn’t doubt they found his scowling face hysterical. It was quite obvious he was the current topic of conversation. He glared at Eleanor most of all. Camellia was no surprise, but he thought Eleanor would be above such behavior.

Traitor.

She smiled directly at him and it warmed him somewhat, but he couldn’t yet bring himself to return it and turned back to the path ahead.

Later that day, he led them through the well-trodden route to Carson Pass, their crossing point on the Sierra. The passage had risen steadily for twelve or thirteen miles and they would soon be descending into California. The descent ranged for about three miles. When they finally crossed into the place beyond the mountains, he turned occasionally and watched as Eleanor looked toward the changing views with astonished eyes.

Nothing could prepare the new visitor for the magnificent sight of the more fertile land beyond. She was going to be astonished after the weeks of plains and mountain ranges. The land ahead was fertile, nurtured with the gifts of the heavens. The winds carried warm rain across the state to the edge of the mountain range. Cattle grazed on fine grass. Fruit and barley and wheat would be visible for miles ahead. While he relished the sight as she might see it, Rivers finally mellowed.

They were going home. He wanted to be beside her when she took in the sights. He turned his mount around and galloped back.

“Rivers, we are nearly there.” She smiled up at him.

He nodded and picked up her fingers, kissing them gently.

Her hair danced around her face in escaping tendrils, her expression full of emotion and awe. Pride welled up inside him and his demons were finally laid to rest.

“I can see it’s going to be just as you described it to me, a year ago, in Oaklands.” The way she said that and the glistening hint of tears in her eyes made his heart ache. She was obviously thinking of her father and his passage through this gateway, his first sight of the new land. “It’s as if a piece of heaven has fallen here,” she murmured.

“Yes, it is,” he replied, but he wasn’t looking at the landscape, he was looking at her. When he finally dragged his eyes away, he looked back at the stragglers, waving them in.

“We’ll stop at the next town to rest and eat.” He looked back at Eleanor and added, “I want us to lay in a real bed tonight.”

* * *

The Rutherford homestead backed on to Riverside. They delivered Camellia safely home and Eleanor hugged her mightily, a strong friendship having been forged between them over the course of their time together. They said their goodbyes with promises to visit one another soon. That only left Daniel and Eleanor with Rivers. He’d sent the youngsters onward the day before, instructing the other men to take them directly to Frieda’s.

Eleanor watched Rivers as he led them down the narrow track on the riverbank, toward his home. He had a withdrawn, thoughtful expression.

She’d learnt a lot more about him from Camellia. He had a younger brother called Theo. Theo had married since Rivers had left. There was now a young family living there with his maman and his grandfather. They were close neighbors and Camellia often visited with Lucy, Rivers’ new sister-in-law, and the maman, who Camellia described as a formidable lady. Rivers’ father had died tragically, years before, in an accident that had also injured his younger brother. Camellia looked sad, but didn’t enlarge on the story. Eleanor wondered if this was why she’d called him a tortured soul. Was his silence and his loner nature perhaps something to do with this tragedy?

She left him to prepare his thoughts and gazed at the view around the Sacramento basin, where fine orchard gardens weighed heavy with fruit and fields full of crops approached harvest. He hauled up shortly, and pointed through the orchards to a rambling house sprawled out ahead. Archways leading into shady verandas surrounded every side.

“Home,” he said, simply.

He took them to the back of the big house, where they dismounted. Then he led them through a kitchen garden and toward an archway overhung with gnarled leafy vines. There, on the shady veranda, an old man sat in a rocking chair.

The man stood when he saw the three people walking up the path. He came to the edge of the terrace, and clutched the railing with one hand, the other shielding his eyes for a better look.

“Is it a mirage?”  His voice was thick with emotion.

“No,
Grand-pére
, your eyes don’t deceive you.”  Rivers walked to him and as he did, the old man’s face lit up. He moved to the top of the steps and reached out his hands to take his grandson in his arms, kissing him heartily on both cheeks several times. Eleanor and Daniel exchanged smiles.

“Pierre, Pierre my dear boy, I’m grateful to have lived long enough to witness this moment. I can die a content man now.”  There were tears in his eyes and as Eleanor watched, she realized that Rivers too was fighting back the emotions.

A thunder of tiny footsteps approached and they looked round to find a little girl standing by their side. She was dressed in a frothy pale yellow gown, which had been ruined by a huge rip on the sleeve and two green grass stains somewhere around the location of her knees. She had shiny black hair that fell to her waist and those big brown eyes that Eleanor was recognizing to be a family trait.

“And who might this be?” Rivers asked.

“I’m Fleur,” she offered, staring up at him. “I thought you were my papa.”  Rivers looked to his grandfather for confirmation.

“This is your niece, my boy. This is Theo’s child.” 

Rivers looked back at the little bundle of shambolic femininity and squatted down to speak to her directly. “Fleur?” 

She nodded.

“I’m your Uncle Pierre and I’m very pleased to meet you.”

A deep longing made itself known inside Eleanor, a strange feeling of awareness as she watched him talking to the little girl who resembled him.

“I’m four,” she announced.

Rivers broke into a smile. “Only four, and already you are such a pretty young lady.”

The girl beamed, revealing gappy teeth that only seemed to enhance her childish beauty.

“Goddammit!” The voice rang out, shattering the happy moment.

Eleanor and Daniel both looked around to see what had to be Rivers’ brother striding down toward the family group. He was similar, but slighter and leaner. He stared at Rivers as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. He stopped and pointed at him.

“Why I ought to run you of this land with a rifle at your back!” 

Rivers rose to his feet.

Eleanor swallowed hard. She glanced at Daniel, whose eyebrows had lifted in concern.

Rivers quickly looked over his brother then broke into a grin. “That’s the spirit!” he declared.

Theo broke into a not dissimilar grin and the two men embraced, chortling loudly, oblivious to the little girl who tried to regain their attention with her constant babble at knee height.

Eleanor sighed with relief. She’d thought the happy reunion was about to be brought to an abrupt halt, but it seemed the prodigal son was welcomed. The emotion of the moment had taken hold and she pressed her lips together to quell it.

It was then that she noticed the neatly folded sleeve of Theo’s shirt, pinned up against his shoulder, where his right arm should have been. Camellia had warned her, but somehow the sight affected her more than she thought it might. He resembled Rivers, whom she loved in such depth that she couldn’t begin to assess the impact of such a tragedy, had it happened to him instead.

“Would this be the reason you have come back to us?” 

Eleanor jumped. She’d not noticed the grandfather approach her side and when he spoke over his shoulder to Rivers it startled her. She looked into the dark, laughing eyes that gazed at her, and smiled. Despite his years, he was a rugged, handsome man who had once been tall and mighty like his grandson.

“I cannot deny it. Miss Eleanor Craven’s presence in my life has in part contributed to our arrival here today.” Rivers joined him to make the introductions. His eyes teased her.

Theo reached out his left hand in a clever sideways handshake as soon as he was introduced, taking away any hesitation she might have about what to do. He drew her hand to his lips in a sideways kiss, which tickled her immensely. The little girl, Fleur, immediately attached herself to Eleanor, pulling at her hand as the party moved toward the house.

“Maman will be thrilled,” Theo said. “Let’s surprise her.”

Rivers grinned eagerly, as if the two always pulled pranks on their maman.

“She’s in the kitchens, trying to teach Lucy the art of French patisserie making – yet again.” 

Grandfather shook his head and looked at Eleanor, rolling his eyes, immediately linking her in to the joke. Theo was friendly too, and obviously thrilled to see his older brother. Pride took root in her heart.

Theo led the way, urging Fleur to keep quiet, as they entered into the house. When they reached the kitchen doors, he paused and put his finger to his lips and waved Rivers and Eleanor forward. Eleanor peeped around the doorframe into the massive kitchen, where on one side, two girls in maid’s uniforms were busy chopping vegetables. They shook their heads while looking toward the other side, where another two women stood at the work surface, covered in flour.

One of the women was petite with auburn hair plaited on top of her head. The other of the woman was tall and strong, dressed in black with silvering hair pulled into a neat bun.

“No, Lucy, you must tease the pastry,” she instructed, as if appalled at the way the young lady with handling the dough. “Imagine it’s a delicate fabric, the most expensive silk that will fall apart if you crush it. Handle it as if it is your prize embroidery.” 

Her companion giggled and smiled and the older woman laughed too. Clearly the instruction time was enjoyable.

Theo reached for Rivers and pushed him into the kitchen, waving at the maids and indicating they should keep quiet. The two young women stared at Rivers as if they couldn’t believe their eyes, seeing the man similar in looks to Theo. Eleanor realized they’d probably never seen him before.

Rivers stepped quietly across the room until he stood behind the two women.

“I hope you are making
brioche
,” he said. “That’s my favorite.”

There was a mighty clunk as the mixing bowl dropped to the surface. The women turned toward the voice, and Eleanor waited, her breath held, as the maman turned to find her long-lost son behind her, casually reaching over to dip his finger into the cake mixture like a naughty little boy.

Camellia’s description was accurate. Rivers’ mother was beautiful and quintessentially French, with delicately arched eyebrows and the proudest demeanor. Eleanor noticed those dark brown eyes again and smiled. They were as sharp and focused as an eagle as she looked him up and down.