Authors: Abbie Williams
“An’ a body can sink into it an’ get lost!” Malcolm chirped. “How do the horses manage to pull a wagon?”
“They’ve sleighs, with runners,” Angus explained.
“Boyd,” I said, catching his attention. “Will your uncle…will he…”
Boyd presented his sternest frown, and I knew I was seeing a glimpse of his father, Bainbridge Carter, the man I’d heard so very much about. He said firmly, “He will love you, Lorie-girl, an’ no mistake. An’ I won’t hear another word about it.”
I did not wish to weep, but tears filled my eyes all the same. I shuddered with emotion, feeling all of their eyes upon me. I tried to explain, “I’m sorry…it’s just that I’m so…grateful to all of you…”
Malcolm hugged me immediately and at last Sawyer couldn’t resist and put his right hand on my back. Though I needed so much more than that, I accepted this touch as a gift.
“Lorie-Lorie, you’re my sister now,” Malcolm said. “I can’t imagine a time I didn’t know you, just.”
Sawyer caught my braid, low on my back, squeezing it before withdrawing his hand. I felt his reluctance to break our contact, as it matched mine.
The sun was gone, the coyotes yammering. We ate and the men chatted at the fire while Malcolm and I washed and dried the dishes; it had been Malcolm’s idea that he and I work as a team. He hummed as he dried.
“I do like being on the trail,” he said to me.
“Me too,” I said honestly; the boy couldn’t begin to imagine how much I meant those words. “It will take us another two months of following the Mississippi to get where we’re going. That’s what Gus said.”
“It’ll be into August when we get there. We’ll work like honeybees.”
“We surely will,” I told him, handing over the final dish.
He dried it and then yawned hugely, prompting me to do the same. I used my shoulder to wipe the resultant tears, as my hands were wet. Malcolm called out, “G’night, you-all. I’m to bed.”
“Me as well,” I said. I could scarcely keep my eyes open.
“’Night, you kids,” Boyd teased.
“See you in the morning,” Angus told us.
“You-all won’t mind if I play for a spell, will you?” Boyd asked then. “I was feeling the urge to, earlier.”
“No, I’d love it,” I told him, though I was looking at Sawyer as I spoke. He gave me a flash of a wink.
I wanted to go to him and kiss him, to wrap my arms around him and hold tightly; I wanted this so badly my chest ached. He told me with his eyes,
I’ll be right here.
I ducked inside my tent and undressed, curling atop my bedding and setting out my soapstone bear. Minutes later the haunting sound of Boyd’s fiddle sang across the night. I fell asleep to its sweetness. When I woke much later, it was fully dark, seeming silent enough to hear for miles. I crawled on all fours, my scraped knees hurting, but even before I reached the entrance I sensed that it was not Sawyer outside my tent. It wasn’t his breathing that I heard but instead Boyd’s, with his characteristic growling snore.
Of course; it would seem strange if Sawyer insisted on sleeping before my tent every night, when they’d agreed to take turns.
Disappointment engulfed me as I sat hugging my bent legs. Then I stretched out with my thoughts, calling to him,
Are you awake? I’m here thinking of you, Sawyer. I wish you were near to me. I wanted to listen to you breathing, hear you so close to me
.
Some might have said it was my imagination, but I knew he heard me. It was all I could do not to crawl out, regardless, right over Boyd and into Sawyer’s tent. But Angus was there; Sawyer was not alone.
Lorie, I’m here. I’m right here
.
I rocked back and forth, holding fast to my knees.
I love you, I love you so. Oh Sawyer, please hear me.
Surely the force of my thoughts was like a beacon flying to him.
You know that I love you, Lorie, you know that. Never doubt it
.
And with that knowledge in my heart, I sank back into my bedding and slept to dawn.
- 17 -
We pressed north, sometimes within direct sight of the Mississippi, but more often it receded into the distance. The traffic along the route was meager; we hadn’t encountered a single soul since the Spicers, which was fine by me. I shared the duty of driving the wagon with Malcolm, while the men rode ahead to scout for game. Though we were well-provisioned with stores of flour, salt pork, dried fruit, coffee, cornmeal and even a tin of brown sugar, we had decided last night that fresh meat was in order.
“Boyd still won’t let me shoot the pistol,” Malcolm said as we rode along in the endless center of the prairie. I was used to this sensation by now, almost comforted by the unchanging nature of the landscape. A restless wind herded the clouds like livestock, due west of our position. The air was humid and warm, with little breeze despite the sky’s clear agitation on the distant horizon. The land appeared utterly empty and yet it was not. It teemed and bounded and crawled with life, with constant motion, with the endlessly whispering grasses and wildflowers as varied in hue as the silk ribbons I wore to Sunday service as a little girl. I breathed in slowly through my nose, inhaling the sweet, sharp scent of the prairie.
“Well, thank goodness for that,” I agreed, whole-heartedly. “It’s a shame you ever have to learn to use a pistol. The danger of them!”
“Aw, Lorie-Lorie, don’t be such a
girl
. I can shoot me the Winchester neat as a pin,” Malcolm bragged. “But I long to shoot me a pistol. Boyd kept his piece from the Army of Tennessee.”
“I pray that you’ll never have to go to war,” I told him, elbowing his side. I muttered, needling him, “
Boys
.”
“I gotta learn. What if I get called upon to defend you, or our belongings, huh? What then?” he demanded, in the manner of one speaking to a slow-learning child. His tone changed to anticipation as he observed, “Here comes Whistler!”
My spine straightened, everything within me surging to sudden life. I stood on the wagon seat and at last spied Sawyer riding in, his rifle braced over his lap. I sat, slowly, as they neared, gladness and relief spilling through me; I hated to have him out of my sight for any length of time.
“You shoot anything?” Malcolm called, waving both arms.
Sawyer rode near enough for me to see his face and I scanned him quickly for any signs of having been hurt; I couldn’t help myself. There were a thousand dangers all around us. His eyes came directly to me and he smiled softly, resettling his hat. He said, “Gus took a deer, about a mile up.”
Malcolm whooped at that.
“I’m glad you’re back,” I told Sawyer, wishing I could reach over and grasp his hand, even for a moment. Just to feel him. I hadn’t touched him since he’d asked permission to kiss me. It seemed a hundred years since then.
“I hate being out of sight of you,” he told me, admitting this even with Malcolm present.
Malcolm frowned like a great horned owl. He said, “Lorie’s plenty safe with me, Sawyer. Even if I can’t shoot a pistol yet.” He sensed an advantage and added eagerly, “I could if you’d teach me. Then I could be called upon to defend you-all!”
I giggled at his sincere effort, as Sawyer laughed and echoed my thoughts, saying, “Well played, kid.” His gaze came back to me and he asked, “Lorie, you want to ride a spell?”
I was already clad in Malcolm’s trousers, as they were so much more comfortable and practical than my skirts, and no one here scolded me for disobeying social rules in such a fashion.
Before I could reply, Malcolm pleaded, “I do! Please, I do, Sawyer!”
We could sit together on the wagon seat
, I thought instantly, and Sawyer realized this at the same moment.
“Hold up there and we’ll switch places, kid. You’ve wanted a turn on Whistler, haven’t you?”
“Hell yes!” Malcolm cried, as I halted the team.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Sawyer told him, dismounting as Malcolm leaped down and approached Whistler with open palms, crooning to her. Sawyer patted her neck and then handed the reins to the boy, who climbed astride with care, shifting his hips and acquainting himself with her smooth gait. Sawyer took a moment to stash his rifle in the wagon and adjust the stirrups to Malcolm’s much shorter legs. Aces gave a whicker from the front of the wagon, and Malcolm called, “Sorry, boy!”
“Take it easy, now,” Sawyer said. “No racing her, not when I can’t join you.”
Malcolm nodded agreeably, settling his hat into place. He said, “I promise, Sawyer. Might I walk her ahead just a spell?”
Sawyer nodded and Malcolm sent Whistler into an immediate trot. As the boy rode away, Sawyer turned to me with a grin, letting his eyes linger on me; Malcolm was yards away, his back to us, and I reached for Sawyer, unable to stop myself. He caught my hands into his, kissing my knuckles and then my mouth. We only dared to kiss for seconds; when Sawyer drew back, I made a pleading sound.
“Lorie,” he whispered intently. The tone of his voice made my eyes open instantly. His eyes, just inches from mine, were so intense that my heart throbbed fiercely. He said, “I can’t imagine an angel with a sweeter face. You don’t know what you do to me.”
“I do know,” I told him, just as intently. “It’s the same for me.” I clutched his right hand, so much larger than mine, and placed it above my left breast, where my heart was thrusting almost through my flesh.
His eyes burned into mine and we kissed again, urgently. I gripped his shirtfront, where his own heart pounded frantically. We were risking ourselves; Malcolm could turn back to spy us at any moment. I clung to Sawyer and surrendered completely to his kisses, never wanting to stop. But we must, and we both knew it, easing apart. He caressed my neck, placing one last kiss flush on my lips before turning to collect the reins, slapping them lightly over Juniper and Aces. Malcolm was many paces ahead as Whistler clipped along at a steady trot.
“Well, I’m terribly glad to see you,” Sawyer said, regarding me with a smile dancing in his eyes. His hat was askew and he righted it, adding, “In case you hadn’t gathered that.”
I hugged his left arm, closest to me as he handled the reins, pressing my face against him. I said softly, teasing him a little, “I gathered.” Although I was a little shy to admit such things openly, I told him, “It’s so good to touch you. It’s difficult for me to be near you and be unable.”
His deepening smile made my heart start beating desperately all over again. I studied him almost greedily, the way his grin transformed his face and glinted in his golden-green irises, his sensual lips, the stubble on his chin, his straight long nose, the scar along his jaw. I was possessive of all of it, of him. He was mine, a force even deeper than instinct was insistent about this fact.
“It’s so good to be touched,” he said, his deep voice husky with emotion. “You can’t know how much, Lorie.”
In response I snuggled closer to his side, pressing my mouth to his shoulder. He leaned and softly kissed my temple before sitting straight and tending to the horses. Thankfully Malcolm was still paying us no mind, content to be riding Whistler over the prairie.
“I love hearing stories about your childhood. I can picture it all so clearly,” I whispered.
“I love telling you,” he said. “It makes them all seem alive again, not just figments in my memory. I had a wonderful upbringing, I truly did. I couldn’t have asked for a better. I cherish those memories, as you do yours, I know. It’s been years, but I still long for my family. It’s almost unbearable at times. So fast I was the last of them.”
I tipped my forehead against him, whispering, “I know that feeling well.”
“I know you do, sweetheart,” he said softly.
Sweetheart
. I thrilled to the endearment.
“When were you born?” I asked him. “What month?”
“November the eighth, in ’forty-three,” he said. “And you were born in July, you said.”
“I thought you were sleeping that morning,” I said, recalling when I told the others.
“No, I couldn’t stop tossing and turning,” he admitted. “Which day in July?”
I tried to fit both of my hands around his upper arm, but couldn’t manage. My fingers didn’t even touch. I said, “The sixteenth.”
He looked at me with surprise lifting his eyebrows, explaining, “That’s Whistler’s birthday. She would have been born the day you turned ten.”
“I remember that birthday well,” I said, awed by this revelation. “Daddy was in Suttonville that very afternoon, Sawyer.”
“That you were so close to me all those years, and I never knew,” he said, studying me intently. “You said you’d been to Suttonville. Do you recall the livery stable?”
I closed my eyes to better picture the town. In my memory, it always seemed to be springtime in Tennessee, the entire state bursting with the ripe beauty of that season. I envisioned the awnings overhanging the shops of downtown Suttonville, the window glass painted to advertise each particular business. I saw the straight line of jet buttons that ran along Mama’s spine as she walked just ahead of me, my bonnet trailing down my own back. Lilacs planted between buildings, sending sweet richness into the air.
“Was it to the left of the dry goods? Just across the street?” I whispered, eyes closed as I concentrated upon this picture in my memory.
“It was,” he said just as quietly, and my eyes opened to his. He smiled softly at me and in his eyes was a gentle wistfulness as he held the same image in his mind. His home, his family, his birthright, all lost. My heart burned with the longing, futile though it was, to restore these things to him. His voice was slightly hoarse as he said, “I’m going to believe that somewhere in those years I was outside the stables, maybe cleaning out the corral, and I looked across the street and beheld you, looking back.”
“Sawyer,” I whispered, and he curled his left arm hard around me.
“Sweetheart,” he said against my hair, and for a time we rode in silence, holding one another. I inhaled the scent of him, absorbed the sound of his breathing and his heartbeat, and felt restored. I hoarded these precious feelings for later, gliding my palms over the strength of his chest.
Slow down
, I silently commanded Aces and Juniper.
Please, please.
“Where does your name come from? Lorissa, I mean. I’ve not heard it before,” he said.
“It was a name Mama knew and liked,” I explained, growing bolder, pressing my lips along the side of his neck in soft, lingering kisses, tasting him. I wanted to put my hands under his shirt and feel his warm skin.
“Lorie, I’m about to stop this wagon and haul you into the back of it, and then I’ll despise myself,” he said.
I couldn’t help but giggle at his words, but I sat straighter and primly withdrew my hands.
“No, don’t stop,” he said immediately, catching me back. “That’s not what I meant.”
He kissed me sweetly, his tongue dancing into my mouth. I cupped his jaws and tilted into his kiss. Sawyer freed one hand from the reins and tenderly stroked my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear.
“Tonight, I’ll be the one outside your tent,” he murmured against my temple. “We’ll walk a spell, once everyone is asleep.”
I nodded, still close to him, even as in the distance we caught sight of Boyd on Fortune, heading for the wagon. Though Boyd had already seen us kissing, and I knew it concerned him. How quickly and terribly I forgot my own worries when Sawyer was near and overriding all else in my mind, my heart. I would tell Sawyer what I feared. I must, even as my heart seemed to shrivel with the pain of what would surely be his instant rejection. I moved a proper distance from him and folded both hands neatly in my lap, knowing that I could not let another night pass without telling him the truth.
No, no, God please no. He is mine, I don’t know how I know this, but I do, and when I tell him I’ll have to let him go.
“I see you’ve let the boy ride Whistler,” Boyd observed drily, as he cantered up and gave us a speculative gaze.
“Well, he’s been begging,” Sawyer said easily, returning Boyd’s look with a steady one of his own.
“Lorie, come on down, I’ll show you how to gut a deer, now that we’ve a larger one,” Boyd said then. “Gus held off for you to watch.”
Sawyer jumped gracefully from the wagon and caught me around the waist, setting me carefully to the ground. I couldn’t look at him for fear everything I felt was too vivid, too obvious.
“Here, come up behind me,” Boyd said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Sawyer, help her.”
He did, and seconds later I was perched on Fortune’s rump, behind the saddle. I caught Boyd lightly around the waist and he muttered, “
Hee
-up, girl.”
Angus wasn’t more than a hundred yards ahead, and between him and Boyd, I learned how to drain and gut a dead deer. It was a gruesome job and I ended up staining Malcolm’s trousers quite thoroughly, but I understood that I needed to learn these tasks.
“Now, if we can just get someone to teach you to make pies,” Boyd joked, hovering over me, holding the creature by its back legs as I tugged the knife down its gut.
“No, you mustn’t mention pies now,” I reprimanded him a bit breathlessly, almost gagging for perhaps the fifth time. I clamped my tongue between my teeth and refocused.
“You’re doing well,” Angus said. “It’s not an easy task.”
His gray eyes were gentle upon me, and I managed a smile for him; he smiled back immediately. Once the deer was drained of its blood, he and Boyd showed me how to carve out the internal organs. I was embarrassed at my shuddering stomach, moving away to vomit into the grass. Whistler’s legs appeared before me as I remained bent over and Malcolm leaned to say cheerfully, “Lorie-Lorie, it’s not so bad. Think of the venison we’ll have tonight!”
I nodded incrementally. The wagon rolled to a halt and I straightened with effort, not wanting to appear such a weakling. My brothers would have had plenty to say about my feminine failings, I knew. Boyd finished the task and efficiently tied the carcass to the side of the wagon. Sawyer held the reins loosely in his right hand, sitting with forearms braced on thighs, and his lips were soft with a half-smile as he regarded my blood-stained trousers and milk-pale face. Angus used his handkerchief to wipe smears of blood from my cheek, curling his left hand lightly around my shoulder.