Dorothy Garlock - [Annie Lash 01] (9 page)

Berry shivered and reached into the wagon for her shawl. When she looked back at Simon he had put on his hat. Somehow with the hat on his head he seemed to be a different person. She walked away from him toward the fire. Her eyes searched for Rachel, and she felt a little tug of unease when she didn’t see her.

When Simon joined her he held out his hand. Two small wrapped packages lay in his palm. Her eyes questioned his. “Take it. It’s for you and Miss Rachel.” She reached for the gift, shyly. “It’s a sweet from New Orleans. I got a fondness for ’em.” He smiled.

In the light from the campfire she could see the smile lines around his eyes and the creases on both sides of his month. She’d never be able to look at him again without thinking about his mouth pressing against hers. She put one of the packages in her pocket and carefully unwrapped the other. The sweet was round, softly brittle, and dark brown. She bit off a small piece and held it in her mouth. As it began to dissolve she raised laughing eyes to Simon’s.

“It’s what I tasted when we . . . kissed!”

His smile broadened. The dark eyes that roamed her face were full of amusement. “I ate one on my way over here,” he confessed. “They’re made out of sugar and rum.”

“It’s good. I’ve not had anything like it before.” She took another small bite, then rewrapped the confection and slipped it into her pocket. She swiveled her head to look in the direction Rachel and Fain had taken when they walked away from the camp.

“Don’t worry about her,” Simon said. “Fain’d die before he’d let any harm come to her.”

“It’s just that we’ve always stayed together,” she said haltingly.

“They’ll be back soon. She needs the walkin’.” He wanted to say something to take the worried look from her face. “Sit down and tell me about her . . . and you, and the place you come from.”

He was easy to talk to. Soon Berry was telling him how it had been before Rachel had come to the farm, and how it had been afterward. She told him all the good things and carefully avoided telling him the bad. She laughed when she told him about the pet fawn, the chickens, and the big rooster that ruled the barnyard.

He watched her and listened and hoped Fain would take a long time coming back.

*    *    *

Rachel would sooner have died than cry out when the spasm knotted her leg muscles. The pain was almost as hurtful as the calling attention to herself. She still wasn’t sure how much Simon and Fain had heard of what had occurred before they showed themselves in camp. Somehow, she saw a solution for Berry with one of these men—that is, if he didn’t already have a wife. Long ago she had given up any hope of being happy with a good man of her own.

Fain lifted her off the box and Rachel pressed her foot to the ground. She leaned heavily on Fain’s arm and they began to walk.

“I had me one of ’em once,” Fain said with a short laugh. “It hurt like holy hell! Simon ’n’ me’d got caught down on the Big Muddy by a bunch-a Osage warriors. Seems like a white man had stole off with one-a their women ’n’ not left the price of a rifle ’n’ a bag of salt. Our powder was damp, so we had ta run for it.” Fain chuckled again. “I ain’t much for runnin’ like Simon is. We run for ’bout five miles ’n’ it started to rain. Wheee . . . it rained! After ’nother five miles I didn’t care if the bastards caught up or not. I sit me down on a stump ’n’ said I ain’t goin’ ’nother step. We found us a cave ’n’ crawled in and built us a fire. In the night my legs knotted up somethin’ awful. I stomped ’round in that cave all night and cussed them Indians.”

Rachel knew he was talking to put her at ease and was grateful for it. “Did you steal the woman?” She wished the words back the instant they left her mouth because she didn’t really want to know.

“Naw. She’d taken a shine to Simon ’n’ followed us. We had ta ditch ’er, ’n’ thought we’d covered our trail. Them Osages ain’t no slouches when it comes to trackin’, by gawd. They found us.” He peered down into her face. “Leg better?”

“Yes, it’s better. We can go back now.”

“Don’t ya want to walk a spell? Ain’t it good for a birthin’ if ya move ’bout a bit?”

It was only the matter-of-fact way he mentioned her condition that kept Rachel from swooning with mortification. “Yes, but . . . sometimes the walkin’ is rough.”

“It ain’t rough here. We c’n walk a spell if’n ya c’n put up with the company.”

“The company’s fine. If you’re sure you want to.”

Fain chuckled, then stopped and knocked the ashes out of his pipe and put it in the bag that hung from his belt. “I sure do want to. It ain’t but once in a hundred moons I get ta walk out with a purty, young woman.”

“Don’t!” They were in the darkness. Rachel stopped and would have pulled away her arm, but he refused to let it go.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t talk like that. I ain’t young, ain’t pretty!” She wanted to cry. “Berry’s young and pretty. Do you like her?”

He put his hand beneath her other elbow and turned her to face him. “The little gal is sightly. Spunky, too,” he admitted.

“Do you have a wife?” The words came out in a whisper. Her head was bowed until her chin almost touched her chest.

“I had one once, back in Virginia. It was long ago.”

“Berry’d make a good wife for a man who’d be good to her. She’d work hard and make a home place for him to come to.”

“Are ya tryin’ to match me up with the little ’un?” She couldn’t look at him. “What about you? Was you a good wife to your man?” He lifted her chin and saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. “I hadn’t oughtta’ve said that,” he said gently. “Ya was took, warn’t ya?” She nodded. His big hand moved to the nape of her neck and he pressed her head to his chest. They stood there for several long minutes before Fain said, “I reckon we’d better get on.” He slipped his arm beneath hers again; this time, his hand slid over her waist and grasped hers.

Rachel was agonizingly aware of the man at her side during the long silence that followed. With his hand holding hers, her arm firmly clamped to his side, he matched his steps to hers. They came out of the trees on a bluff that overlooked the river. The moon was lost momentarily behind a wandering cloud, an owl hooted, and the faint sound of a child crying reached them. She had never felt so safe or so peaceful as she did with this big, gentle man. A rush of regret washed over her and she began to tremble. A tear slowly trickled down her cheek. Her lower lip quivered. She summoned all her determination to speak, but her voice came out thin and weak.

“Fain . . .” She hesitated still. “If Berry don’t get a man soon, her pa’ll sell her off to some no-good that’ll break her spirit and her . . . heart.” She felt like a small child looking up at him.

“He’d do that?” He lifted a finger and wiped a tear from her cheek. “You’re a good lass,” he murmured and slipped an arm around her to hold her to his side. “Don’t tremble so. We c’n sit a spell afore we go back. It’s a purty sight, the moon on the water.”

“Will Mr. Witcher go off and leave Berry alone?” She moved with him to a downed tree trunk. She was tired and her heart was beating twice its normal rate.

“I’m a-thinkin’ he won’t.” His eyes searched her face in the wavering light of the moon. “We shoulda brought ya a wrap. It’s a bit chilly by the river. If’n it won’t scare ya none, I c’n put my arm ’round ya. It’ll help some.”

The moonlight fell gently on her face, molding it. She had a wistfulness about her. He liked the way she looked and talked. She had a lilt in her voice like Berry’s. She was a woman, yet she was a girl, too. She was nice and tall and held herself proudly. Fain decided there was a lot about this woman that suited him.

For the rest of her life Rachel was to remember this night. She was consumed with a variety of emotions: contentment, because she felt so safe snuggling at his side; happy, because she’d never known such a gentle man; and excited, because what she was experiencing was so strange.

“How long have ya been with the Warfields?” he asked quietly.

“A long time. I was fifteen and now I’m twenty-six.”

Rachel found herself telling him about being apprenticed out to families to work for her care. She didn’t remember her parents but had been told they had died of the black sickness. She had lived with three different families before her bond had been sold to a tavern owner. She had come into womanhood there. The man had been good to her in a way. When Asa had offered a horse and a hundred pounds of shot for her, he had insisted that Asa wed her. Asa had promised they would go to the preacher, but they never had. He had taken her home to a lonely, sad-eyed little girl and to a filthy cabin.

“Berry needed me even more than I needed her,” she said, remembering. “I’d never had anyone of my own before. She was someone to love, to take care of and to teach woman things to. I taught her to cook and to clean, to weave and to sew. She taught me to cipher and to read, things her own ma had taught her. And . . . she loved me. . . .” Her voice trailed away and they sat in silence. Then, as if compelled to finish the story, she said, “Asa wasn’t so bad, at first. He didn’t bother me . . . much. Later, he got mean, and I stayed in the loft with Berry. Sometimes it was kind of like he was scared of her,” she finished with wonder in her voice.

“But the bastard forced ya!”

“Yes. When I knew I was going to have his baby, at first I wanted to die. I hated it, ’cause it might take on his meanness. Then I thought it might be sweet and pretty like Berry and I loved it and wanted it to live.” Rachel leaned against his strength and burrowed her cold hands between his warm body and hers.

A peculiar emotion moved through Fain. There was something about this woman that touched a spot in his heart that he thought had been closed off since Elizabeth had died. Occasionally during the last fourteen years he’d enjoyed the company of women without feeling any more for them than the desire to bed them. He’d moved through this untamed wilderness responsible for no one but himself. Now settlers were moving in. It was rumored that the territory would soon be part of the United States. He’d have to decide soon if he wanted to settle among scores of people or move on west. He wasn’t as young as Simon. He liked a warm cabin in the winter when the river froze over and snow filled the trails. He’d like a warm, sweet woman in it, too. One who talked and laughed, someone to listen when he talked.

An emptiness flowed through him. Memory stirred, painfully, uncertainly. His time with Elizabeth hovered, half-imagined, half-remembered. But it was enough to imbue his heart with a terrible loneliness and hurt. She’d been tall and thin, like this woman, and she’d died having a stillborn child, just as this woman could die.

He looked down at Rachel with a haunted look in his hooded eyes. He didn’t want the pain of loving and losing another woman.

“If’n you’re rested, we c’n go back.”

A
sa Warfield lay dead.

His body lay wrapped in a blanket, his booted feet protruding from the end, in the shade of the wagon while the bury box was being readied. The Ohio settlers, out of respect for Berry and Rachel, had delayed their departure to assist with the burial. Mr. Benson and another man were building the box. Israel had gone to dig the grave.

Rachel and Berry sat beside the body and received the condolences of their neighbors. They had been in a state of shock since the stranger had come to the wagon grounds driving a cart with Asa’s body bouncing in the back. Luckily he was identified by one of the men and rolled in the blanket before the women saw him. Since that time there had been a continuous parade of people coming to the wagon to offer sympathy, to bring food and to talk in hushed tones, their tongues clicking sadly.

By mid-morning the chatter was getting on Berry’s nerves. She knew they were well meaning, wanting to do the “decent thing,” but also eager to get the burying over so they could go on to the land awaiting them. With all the commotion there was no time for her to rest and consider what she and Rachel would do now. She began to wish the time away. The hours passed slowly, and finally it was time to put Asa in the ground.

Berry and Rachel walked behind the men carrying the rough plank coffin. The burial ground was a short distance through the woods. They stepped over downed tree trunks and skirted brush that caught at their skirts and whipped them around so that a good bit of ankle showed. It was of no concern to Berry. Her mind was on other things. They’ll all be watchin’, expectin’ me to weep, she thought. But I won’t. I’m sorry he died, truly sorry. But not more’n I’d be for anyone else. They can think I’m unfeelin’ if they want to, but I’ll not pretend grief I don’t feel.

Rachel clung to Berry’s arm. To the watchful women, her “condition” was the perfect excuse for her dry eyes. It would be harmful for her to indulge in the usual weeping of a newly widowed woman. Her eyes were lowered, the lids deep and heavily fringed. There was no color in her cheeks, but her lips were soft and red. “Fever,” one woman whispered to another.

A parson had come up from the village. He was a long, black scarecrow of a man with a flowing white beard. He stood beside the grave, a large book in his hand. Mr. Benson, blustery but well meaning, stood beside him. The members of the wagon train gathered around. They arranged their ruddy faces to fit the solemn moment. Some of the women even managed to squeeze a few tears from their eyes.

The parson’s hushed voice began the service. “We’re laying to rest a beloved husband and father . . .”

Berry’s chest tightened. The words beat at her mind. I’m a hypocrite, she thought, to stand here and let him say those words. He was not a husband, not a beloved father. She began to tremble and stiffened her body against it.

“This man whom Death has called to his reward in the great beyond . . .” The parson’s bloodless face was grave as his voice droned on.

Berry’s mind wandered. I wonder if we have to pay him for this? Where is Israel? Does Simon know Pa is dead? Who killed him? Was it the man called Light, or Linc, or George? Rachel’s hardly said a word. Is she feeling sick and won’t tell me? Was Simon serious when he offered to court me? I’ll talk to Rachel about it. She’ll know. Damn him! Why’d I let him kiss me? He’ll think I’m a loose woman!