Authors: Abbie Williams
An edgy silence between them, while I pressed both hands to my suddenly jumping stomach.
Sawyer whispered, and even in a whisper I could hear the way he attempted to sound casually offhand, “I know you aren’t.”
Boyd gave a soft snort. He murmured, “I’ve knowed you my whole life, an’ I’ve watched girls makin’ eyes at you that entire time, getting your attention. But I’ve never seen you look at a woman the way you look at Lorie. Shit, I noticed it from the first.”
Blood rushed through my head, almost obliterating any other sound. I leaned even closer, curling my fingers into the grass now, listening intently.
Boyd went on in an intense whisper, “Lorie is a precious girl, no mistake, an’ she looks back at you the same way.”
I blinked in stun; Boyd was far more observant than I would have guessed. Sawyer had not yet spoken and I listened desperately for any response from him at all. Boyd whispered, “Malcolm don’t see it, and Gus has stars in his eyes too. He won’t come right out an’ say it, but him an’ her…they…before we…you know…”
I curled over in shame and horror, even though what Boyd stammered was entirely true. I cupped my forehead in both hands, not realizing that Sawyer was doing the same, just feet from me. His voice sounded agonized as he spoke at last, low, “I don’t care, Boyd, not about that.”
“You just watch what you’re doing, old friend, wanting what you maybe shouldn’t have,” Boyd muttered, though not unkindly. “That’s a girl who’s been hurt a-plenty. She don’t need her heart broke, that’s what.”
Silence for a time, into which my heart thundered painfully. At long last, Sawyer whispered, “I’m staying right here,” and Boyd sighed, and then I heard him stand up.
“You’re nothin’ but stubborn, but at least I can count on that,” Boyd said as a good-night; I could hear the soft sounds of Malcolm snoring from their tent, just to the right of mine as always, as Boyd untied the flaps and retreated inside.
I listened hard, yet on my knees, as Sawyer, perhaps two feet from me and unaware that I was so near, stretched out to sleep. I ascertained from the rustlings that he was bunching up a blanket and then he settled. I crawled silently to my bedding and retrieved my own pillow and blanket, then lay on the ground, as close to the entrance as I dared, resting my fingertips against the canvas closest to him, and listened to the sound of his breathing.
- 15 -
Early morning light, and Malcolm was at the entrance whispering, “Lorie, you awake?”
I stirred and sat up quickly, but realized that Sawyer was no longer right outside my tent. My mind went instantly to the conversation I’d heard last night, between him and Boyd, and I reminded myself they did not realize I had eavesdropped.
I’ve never seen you look at a woman they way you look at Lorie
, Boyd had said.
“I am now,” I whispered back, and then hurried to dress and rebraid my hair, finding Malcolm and Angus chatting at the fire.
“Morning, you two,” I said. Catching a scent I had not smelled in ages, I marveled, “Is that mint?”
“It is indeed,” Angus said. “Malcolm found a patch of it growing and we’ve made a tea.”
“I’ll pour you some,” Malcolm offered.
“I’ll have a cup as soon as I get back,” I said.
As always, I walked a fair distance to assure privacy, though as I left the campsite behind, I realized that Sawyer and Boyd were already ahead of me; I could hear their murmured voices as I neared, and was about to turn back. I saw them then, as I came around a stand of rangy cottonwoods, taking turns shaving, standing near the center of the creek, the widest juncture, in slow-moving water that flowed gently around their hips; they worked as a team, one holding the small disk of a hand mirror while the other used a straight-edged razor to carefully scrape along his chin and jaw.
Boyd was currently holding the mirror, while Sawyer was facing away from me. He was bare from the waist up, the long columns of muscle on his back shifting with the repetitive motion of his right arm. Muscle rippled over the tops of his wide shoulders, down his powerful arms. His long hair was wet, dripping down his spine from where he’d carelessly tied it at the back of his neck.
Boyd had one of his tobacco rolls clamped between his lips, his hair also damp; of course he was chuckling about something as Sawyer shaved. I ducked further back, out of sight, and realized I hadn’t blinked. I knew I needed to walk away, but my feet had grown roots into the ground. I gripped the slim trunk of a cottonwood between both hands, the bark scraping my palms. Boyd had been right in his assessment last night; I had never looked at a man as I did at Sawyer.
It wasn’t proper, I knew that, to the bottom of my heart.
Propriety
. As if I’d given a damn about it in years. It was something I had not been forced to consider when I spent my nights turning tricks and closing off my heart in order to survive. Crushing out the shame, the horror of what I did on a nightly basis, the hope or dream of something better to come. I imagined, in my blackest heart, that I would likely die at Ginny’s, if not by violence than perhaps by my own hand, when I could no longer bear the pain of what was expected of me.
Sawyer had said he didn’t care about what had happened between Angus and me. Could he truly mean that, see beyond what I had been?
Could I risk letting myself hope for such a thing?
“Lorie!” I heard Malcolm call in the distance, and Sawyer started to turn at the sound of my name.
I scrambled out of sight as quickly as I could, back up the creek bank, to our camp. I still hadn’t found a moment’s privacy. Angus and Malcolm were frying the last of the bacon the Spicers had given us, and I accepted a plate and a cup of tea from Angus.
“We did a good job with your hair,” I said to Malcolm, who was not smiling in his usual fashion.
“You’ve a steady hand,” Angus agreed. “Lorie, were you wanting to ride today?”
I nodded, my mouth full of tea. The taste of mint brought to mind Mama’s herb garden; she would bring armloads of it into the house to scent the air, as it grew like a weed. I resolved to ask Malcolm where he’d picked this bunch.
“Boyd can take the wagon for a spell,” Malcolm decided. “Or Sawyer, he ain’t had a turn in so long. Always it’s me, the littlest, since everyone can boss me.”
He sounded so contrary and out of sorts that I nearly smiled. Maybe the weather was affecting his mood, as it was looking to be a gray and wind-swept day. The water rippled silver.
Angus was watching Malcolm with a speculative expression; after a moment he said, “Son, there’s no reason we can’t let Juniper pull the wagon alone for today. Mind you, just the day. But then you can ride, and let someone else drive the wagon a spell.”
I regarded Angus as I sipped my tea; he was so patient with Malcolm, always kind to the boy.
Malcolm’s eyes brightened a little and he asked, “Really? Might we ride ahead a bit, Gus? Look for them buffalo critters, maybe?”
Angus smiled indulgently and nodded.
I felt compelled to add, “Gus, I certainly don’t have to ride today.”
“No, you’ve enjoyed yourself so well,” Angus said.
“It is wonderful to ride,” I told him, more determined than ever to continue pulling my share of the responsibilities; with that in mind, I finished eating and was stripping the dry clothes from the line when I saw Sawyer and Boyd returning. I ducked my face away, pretending to be preoccupied, though Boyd called good morning.
Sawyer came straight to me; I saw him approaching from the corner of my eye and tried to keep breathing normally, recalling how I’d fallen asleep listening to his breathing last night, comforted by it just outside my tent. I had meant to stay awake long enough to untie the lacings and look upon him as he slept. In my imaginings, I envisioned touching his face, just lightly, tracing my fingers along the angles of it, over the scar on his right jaw. Someone had slashed him there, no doubt in the War, trying to kill him. Just the thought of anyone hurting him made me ill and my eyes flashed to his in desperation, as though to make certain he was still there, unharmed.
He was, and he was smiling at me, freshly shaved, his hair damp and his eyes so very warm in the chilly grayness of the morning.
“Good morning,” I said softly, my hands stalling completely, poised to remove the clothes pin from a pair of Malcolm’s trousers.
I slept outside of your tent, Lorie, I watched over you
, his eyes told me clearly.
I know, oh I know. I lay there beside you, as close as I could get to you,
I told him back.
“Morning,” he replied, and he nodded at the clothes over my shoulder; we hadn’t a laundry basket, so I had been draping them there. “Here, let me.”
He gathered everything in his arms and we worked together to unpin the rest of them, close though not touching, warmed thoroughly through at just the proximity of our bodies.
“Thank you,” I told him.
“Of course,” he said, as though surprised that I shouldn’t just expect his help.
I handed him one of my petticoats.
“I’ll take the wagon, if you’ve a mind to ride again,” he told me, watching me as we worked.
I felt a flush that started in my cheeks and moved rapidly southward along my skin. I heard myself say, “I may take her for a run, though. I can’t promise.”
He smiled at that and replied, “Then no deal.”
“Lorie, hurry along! I need your help!” Malcolm called from the tents.
“I’ll be there!” I called back, dropping the last two of the clothes pins into the towel I’d knotted around my waist for the purpose, making a pocket that now bulged with pins.
Sawyer followed me bearing the armload of clothes, and Malcolm gave him a funny look, asking, “Since when do you help with laundry?”
“Since now, kid,” he replied, and then handed the bundle to Malcolm with a grin. “Here, you put these away.”
“Because I’m the littlest,” Malcolm grumbled again, glaring at us with his dark eyes cantankerous, eyebrows pulled low.
“You look just like your daddy when you make that face,” Sawyer observed, as Malcolm’s scowl became even more pronounced. “Bainbridge Carter could throw a scare into a boy faster than about anything.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Boyd added, ducking out of his tent and snatching a shirt from the clean clothes. “An’ he was a heavy hand with a strap, too.”
“Were you strapped often?” I asked him, taking my own clothes from Malcolm’s arms.
“Nah, only once a day or so. An’ that was just Mama,” Boyd joked, disappearing again.
“Come, let’s get these tents stored away,” Angus said, coming from the wagon. “Rain again, no doubt.”
We pulled out within a half hour, under a stormy sky. I was content though, dressed in my riding clothes and atop Whistler. Malcolm, whose usual good humor had been partially restored at being free to ride Aces, trotted him to me and observed, “You look right nice on a horse, Lorie-Lorie. Most ladies look silly, ’specially at a trot. Ladies look right bouncy and uncomfortable, but not you.”
“Thank you,” I told him, grinning. “I rode often as a girl. I love it so.”
“Whistler-girl,” he crooned to her then. “You wanna race, huh, girl? You wanna race me an’ Aces?”
She nickered at Malcolm, ears twitching, and I was certain that meant
yes
.
“Let’s ride!” Angus called then, as he always did, and Sawyer flicked the lead lines over Juniper.
“Helping with laundry an’ driving the wagon,” Malcolm mused, squinting one eye at Sawyer. “What’s wrong with him these days, huh, Lorie?”
Since we were behind the wagon and my eyes were neatly hidden in the shadow of my hat brim, I felt comfortable to study Sawyer freely. He sat just as straight there as upon a horse, his hat in place. I was wearing Sawyer’s leather riding gloves this morning, as Malcolm needed his own, and I couldn’t stop thinking that this very same leather had been shaped to the exact contours of his strong hands, his long fingers. I curled my fingers delightedly, caressing the leather that normally encased his hands. I put my right hand unobtrusively to my lips and kissed the palm of the glove.
Despite my teasing I rode near the wagon, thrilled to be mounted on Whistler, whose gait was already familiar to me, whose dancing steps created the sense that her hooves scarcely touched the ground. She was Sawyer’s and she loved him, it was obvious. I stroked her neck, patting her, again and again. Malcolm and Angus rode ahead a piece to look for buffalo, at Malcolm’s insistence, while Boyd stuck near me for a time, and he and Sawyer entertained me with stories of their shared childhood.
“Sawyer, you recall the night we tried to sleep in the cave near the Bledsoe holler?” Boyd asked.
“I remember that night well, thank you,” Sawyer responded. I had to angle my chin upwards to look at him from under my hat brim, and finally, since the sky was dismally gray, slipped the hat from my head and rode to tuck it in the back of the wagon.
“Sawyer an’ me was maybe twelve or so, I’d say,” Boyd began as I led Whistler back between him and Sawyer. “An’ just like boys that age, rarin’ to do something dangerous. I recall that week James an’ Ellen, an’ your grandfolks, was riding into Nashville, an’ so you an’ the twins was staying with us. Them days. I can’t believe we survived them.”
“Your poor mother was taking care of seven boys?” I asked, recalling the other two Carter brothers. I had heard so much about Clairee that I felt I had known her too.
Boyd laughed. “She made us all sleep in the barn anyway. Aw, Mama. She was a true lady, with hair that went right to her feet. She never wore it down, less it was night though. Pretty hair, honey-colored, much like yours, Lorie. But she had a right temper, to match Daddy’s.”
“She whacked our knuckles a time or two,” Sawyer said. “But we always deserved it. When we stole those blackberry tarts, for instance, of an early morning. Or when Beau and me put a garter snake in yours and Grafton’s bed. I can’t believe the thing stayed there, coiled up, all afternoon until bedtime.”
Boyd was already laughing. “
Sheee-it
. Graf screamed like a sissy girl and we clobbered heads trying to get away. I think you just about pissed yourself laughing.”
“Were you the eldest?” I asked Boyd.
He shook his head. “Beaumont was eldest, then me, then Grafton and finally Malcolm.”
I looked back at Sawyer and asked, “All of this happened on one visit?”
“Well, we were there a week,” he defended, grinning. “And the cave wasn’t my idea. If you recall, Boyd, that was yours.”
“Aw yes, that was mine. We planned to sneak out come midnight, and walk the mile to the cave and sleep ’til just one hour before dawn. I figured we’d wake an’ head home before anyone had even known we were gone. I had it all planned out, just me an’ Sawyer an’ Beau, the three toughest and biggest.”
I was giggling already.
“But of course the others caught wind—”
“Maybe because you wouldn’t shut up about it,” Sawyer teased him, with affection. “About all the weapons we’d need to bring with.”
“An’ we armed ourselves right good, if you’ll recall. Knives, our slingshots and pouches of slinging stones. We was armed to the teeth.”
“What were you planning to fight?” I asked.
“Oh, who knew?” Boyd asked. “Outlaws, robbers, horse thieves, perhaps Crazy Mary Sutter’s ghost, not to mention a pile a critters we’d find in our path. It was a dangerous walk, to be sure.” He winked at me.
“The moon was high by the time we talked ourselves into going,” Sawyer remembered. “We’d used mud to paint our faces, in stripes and slashes, to represent…represent…” He was laughing too hard to continue.
Boyd filled in, importantly, “Our manhood, a-course. Our young an’ virtuous manhood. An’ here we all were, me an’ Sawyer an’ all our brothers. Had Malcolm been a touch older, he’d a-begged to join us.”
I vividly imagined them as young warriors. How incredible to think they’d been but miles from me on my father’s ranch in Lafayette, all of our childhoods, and we’d never crossed paths until now.
Boyd continued, “So we trooped over the fields, all seven of us in a line, though no one exactly wanted to be at the back of the line. Took all I had to talk Jere into it, an’ a-course Beau took the lead, as eldest.”
“That cave by day was strange enough,” Sawyer said. “But at night it was downright frightening. And then, what do you know, Graf dropped the lantern and snuffed out the candle.”
“The only one we’d brought,” Boyd said. “We all stood there at the mouth an’ peered in. The moon was waning, puttin’ on a grim face for us. Ain’t one of us brave enough to venture in there.”