Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (13 page)

Rain caught the look that passed between them and a deep, inner restlessness flickered to life in his stomach. By God! McCourtney had better not take any liberties with Amy. He had been respectful to Miss Woodbury, and Amy would get the same treatment. If McCourtney thought she was any less a lady because she was wearing britches, he would soon set him straight or bust his head. Rain’s eyes narrowed slightly. Not a flicker of emotion showed on his face, but for a moment he had heard nothing of what Farr was saying.

“Usually by the middle of May the river is down.” Farr’s voice pierced Rain’s consciousness. “The snow was light up north this year. It didn’t raise the river more than two feet.”

“You shouldn’t have any problems with crossings,” Rain said absently. He tried to switch his thought to the problems Farr was facing, but he was too sharply aware of the interest Gavin was showing in Amy.

Farr leaned on his elbow, waiting until the last man had cleared his plate before he pushed back his chair and got to his feet.

“We can smoke outside and give the women a chance to eat in peace.”

“Sure was a fine supper, Libby.” Rain followed Farr to the door.

“Twas as fine a meal as ever I sat me down to, Mrs. Quill,” Gavin said. “Is there nothin’ I can be doin’ in the way of pay?”

“Heavens, no! But thank you.” Liberty picked up the meat platter and failed to see the sharp look Gavin gave Eleanor, who was sitting in the rocking chair, making no move to help the women clear the table.

“I will be goin’ then. G’night to ye.”

“He’s a nice, mannerly man for all his rough looks,” Liberty said after the men had left the house and closed the door behind them.

“I suspect he was putting on airs, trying to impress you and your sister. You see a lot of his kind on the river, Mrs. Quill,” Eleanor said. “Rough, tough, hard drinking Irish and Scots who are glib of tongue but quite unscrupulous.”

“Oh? Did he act improperly on the way from Louisville?”

“He didn’t dare act improperly. Rain watched every move he made and never left me alone with him.”

Amy decided then and there that she did not like Eleanor Woodbury. It was evident that Eleanor thought she was too good to rub elbows with the likes of Gavin McCourtney and the two long hunters. More than likely, Amy thought, she was looking down her dainty little nose at the rest of them too. If Eleanor wasn’t the intended of Will Bradford, Rain’s friend, and if Amy weren’t sure Rain would be furious, she would just accidentally dump the gravy bowl she was carrying to the table into Eleanor’s lap.

“Come to the table, Eleanor.”

Liberty never let anyone’s snooty ways bother her. Amy was sure her sister had deliberately called Miss Woodbury by her first name. It was Liberty’s way of letting her know she was no better than the rest of them. Amy, however, doubted the woman was quick-witted enough to realize it.

“Thank you, ma’am. I am hungry. It’s been a fierce day. I’m so tired I think I’ll eat and then go to bed.”

“I’ll fix Mercy’s bed for you. She can sleep in with Amy.”

“It’s kind of you, ma’am.” Eleanor seated herself at the table. “Rain says we’ll be going on after tomorrow.”

“I doubt that. I don’t think Farr can be ready by then.” Liberty brought a fresh loaf of bread from the oven.

“Rain confided to me that he isn’t going to wait for Mr. Quill. He feels a smaller party would make better time, so he’s taking me on to Major Bradford. Aunty’s being sick and all has delayed us. Willy will be worried about me.”

“This is freshly churned butter, Eleanor. Have some.” Liberty set the small crock in front of her guest with downcast eyes. The news that Rain wished to go on without them was shocking. She felt the hurt and disappointment that Farr would feel when he heard the news. Seeing the look on Amy’s face tore her heart.

Eleanor dipped into the butter, smeared it on the warm bread and took a dainty bite.

“Oh . . . this reminds me of Mammy. Mammy always made sure I had butter for my bread. She said it made my cheeks rosy and my hair shiny. Mammy took care of me after Mama and Papa died. Mammy and Aunty. Then Mammy sickened and died, then Aunty . . .” Her voice trailed away and huge tears glistened in her eyes. “Everybody who . . . loved me is . . . dead.”

“You’ve got Major Bradford,” Liberty said absently, her mind still on the news that Rain planned to leave at once. “He must love you if he sent Rain all the way to Louisville to fetch you.”

“Yes. Willy loves me fiercely. He used to come to see Papa a long time ago when I was just a little girl. Aunty wrote to him after Papa and Mama died and, of course, he wanted me.”

Of course he did! Amy thought. Most men were stupid when it came to a pretty face. But why a man on the frontier would want a useless bit of fluff like Eleanor Woodbury was beyond her understanding. Her thoughts turned to Rain. Damn him! Farr had worked his tail off these last two months. Now Rain wanted to go on without them. How would Farr take this news? Amy looked at her sister and saw that she was having a hard time carrying on a conversation with her guest. Mercy was hanging on to every word, but then Mercy couldn’t see beyond the woman’s pretty face and fine clothes.

“Did you live all your life in Louisville?” Amy asked, deciding to take the burden from Liberty, leaving her to think her own thoughts.

“Heavens no! Our plantation was in the Carolinas. At one time my papa had three hundred slaves, miles and miles of cotton and tobacco, and a big house. My mama was the darlin’ of society in Charleston.” Eleanor’s lavender eyes shone through tears as she talked of her former home.

“Why did you leave it then?” Amy asked bluntly.

“ ’Cause there wasn’t anything left, ma’am, after the big storm came from the sea and ruined everything. Waves almost a mile high came crashing in. The wind uprooted the trees and tore the roof right off the house. It carried away most all the slaves and left our house sitting in a lake of water. Papa just barely managed to get me and Mama and Aunty to safety. He went back to find his fields flooded and his crops washed away. It was just awful.”

“Oh, my!” Mercy said. “Did a lot of people die?”

“No, just slaves.”

“And they’re not people?” Amy asked, stabbing a piece of meat from the meat platter with unnecessary force.

“Well, in a way. But not like us.”

“Of course not,” Amy snapped. “They don’t love their children, feel pain or get sick. They’re just worked to death, like dumb beasts.”

“Why, whatever do you mean?”

Liberty could see the sign of anger on Amy’s face. She remembered how fond Amy was of the black man, Mr. Washington, who had run the ferry when they first came to Quill’s Station.

“What did you do in Louisville, Eleanor?” Liberty smoothly slid into the conversation.

“Nothing, ma’am. Whatever could I do?”

“I guess I meant what did your father do after he lost his plantation.”

“Papa didn’t do anything. He wasn’t brought up to
work.
”

“I see. He must have salvaged enough from the plantation for you to live on.”

“Just barely. He did, finally, let Mama teach young ladies to play the spinet, but it vexed him something awful for her to take money for it.” Eleanor placed her spoon carefully beside her plate. “I’ve eaten just every bite I can hold, ma’am. If you’ll tell Rain to bring in my trunk, I’ll go to bed.”

“How about telling him yourself?” Amy looked directly into wide eyes that showed surprise, then hardened and grew cold.

“I can do that,” Eleanor said with a jerk of her chin. “I can certainly do that.”

“Then do it. We all carry our own weight here.” Amy’s eyes were shards of ice.

“Rain said I would be welcome here. I hope I don’t have to . . . to tell him on you, ma’am.”

“Stop calling me ma’am. Unless I miss my guess, you’re older than I am.”

“Well, I never!” Eleanor exclaimed as the age barb hit home. “Rain said you were widowed. How long were you wed? Ten years? Fifteen? Backwoods women marry so young.”

“I married at twelve. I was wed for five years. My husband died two years ago.” Amy’s chin came out and her look defied Eleanor to comment on her early marriage.

“Well then, you can’t very well be called a miss. Your correct title is ma’am.”

“I don’t like it.”

Eleanor flashed her a cold, taut smile. “Very well, but I don’t believe we are sufficiently acquainted to call each other by first names.”

“If you
must
call me at all, call me Mrs. Deverell.” Amy’s cold smile was even colder than Eleanor’s.

“I can’t imagine why I would need to call you. I’ve had a limited experience with women who do not know—or want to know—how to dress properly. I’ve known none who wear . . . britches.”

“Don’t you wear britches under your skirts? My . . . how convenient!” Amy felt desperate anger take her, and met the other woman’s eyes fiercely. She wanted nothing more than to slap the smirk off her pretty face.

Liberty got up from the table. “Mercy, run out and tell Rain or Daniel to bring in Miss Woodbury’s trunk.” She took a candle from the mantel and lit it. “I’ll show you to your bed, Miss Woodbury.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I’m most grateful for your hospitality.” She shot Amy a defiant look, lifted her skirts and followed Liberty up the steep stairway to the loft.

Amy was clearing the table and putting the dishes in the washpan when the door opened. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Rain come in with a small trunk on his shoulder. He had to come through the door sideways and she turned her back before he saw her looking at him.

“Where do you want this?”

Amy heard the familiar voice and a trembling got into her throat and jaws. She clenched her teeth to steady them before she answered.

“I
don’t want it anywhere,” she snarled.
“She
wants it upstairs.” She gave her head a suggestion of a toss toward the stairway.

Rain went up the stairs until his shoulder was even with the loft floor. He slid the trunk on to the floor, gave it a shove, and backed down the stairs.

“Thank you, Rain,” Eleanor called.

Amy kept her back turned, but she knew when he came to stand behind her, knew every step he had taken, every move he had made since he came into the house. She held her breath and thought about moving away. A small, quick jerk on the braid that hung down her back brought her head around.

“Look at me!” His words were as sharp as a pistol shot. His hands on her shoulders turned her around.

Every line of her body from her pulsing throat to her clenched fists was rigid with anger, left over from her spat with Eleanor Woodbury and from his decision to go on to the Arkansas without them. She had to look up. His dark eyes and hawklike face were too close; she tried to take a step backward, only to come up against the table. The thought came to her that not only was Rain a handsome man, but he was strong, capable and . . . ruthless.

“What do you want?”

“I want to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“Goddamn it, Amy, does there have to be a reason?”

“I already know you’re leaving the day after tomorrow.”

His brows came together in a frown she recognized as one of irritation, and a little pleased flutter punctuated her already rapid heartbeat.

“I wanted to tell you myself.”

“Miss Woodbury did it for you.”

“No one speaks for me. I do my own talking.”

Amy waited until she was sure she could speak normally. “I’ve got to help Liberty.”

“After that, come outside.”

“It’ll be time for bed.”

“Why are you being so damn mule-headed?” He glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Be outside before that clock strikes again or I’ll come in here and drag you out.” His cold, brittle eyes held hers.

“All right.” She tried to meet his gaze coolly. Because the anger she was using to hold back the tears was about to desert her, she dredged up Eleanor Woodbury’s words.
Rain
confided to me he isn’t going to wait for Mr. Quill.
She drew in a shaky breath. “All right,” she said again.

“You’ll come out?”

“I said I would,” she said crossly. “Now get out of here so I can get my work done.”

“I meant what I said. You come out before that clock strikes again.” He waited a full moment, and when she didn’t speak, be stomped to the door. It opened just as he reached it and Mercy came in. He went by her without a word and closed the door.

“What’s he so mad about, Amy? I wouldn’t want Rain mad at me. He looked madder than a cornered polecat.” Mercy leaned on the table and tried to look into Amy’s face, but she kept it turned.

“Wrap the bread in a cloth, honey, and hush your chattering or we’ll wake Mary Elizabeth. There’ll be enough bread for breakfast in the morning if we make a pan of cornbread to go with it.”

The words that came from Amy’s mouth and her thoughts had no connection. Questions swirled in her mind. What did Rain want to talk to her about? Had Mercy run out and told him she had been rude to Miss Woodbury? That was it, she thought. It had to be that. What else would make him so angry? Well, she wasn’t going to apologize. The sooner he took the high-and-mighty bitch and left Quill’s Station the better she’d like it.

That’s not true, Amy Deverell, an inner voice told her sternly. You’re heartsick because she’s so pretty and next to her you look like a . . . cow. Rain had spent a couple of months with her and could already be in love with her, even if she was engaged to marry his friend. How could any woman want anyone else when she could have Rain? Damn Rain Tallman! She would not kowtow to that brainless creature. She had too much pride for that. A second thought crowded in on the first. Pride would cause her to lose him. Well, it was too late now. If Rain Tallman didn’t like her the way she was, there were plenty of others who did. That Scotsman for one. She saw admiration in his eyes, and he didn’t try to hide it.

Amy’s thoughts brought her to a plateau of misery which resulted in a blessed state of numbness. She sank into that state of mind and worked automatically. Liberty came down from the loft and joined her. There was no need for words between the two women. Each knew what the other was thinking.