Authors: Jae
A sudden wave of longing gripped her.
Oh, how I wish Luke
was here and could share this evening with me.
Everything was so much
easier, so much clearer when she was with Luke. She sent a silent prayer,
hoping that Luke and the boys had found a good place for the night and had
enough food.
Finally, supper ended. The ranch hands filed out of the
house. Nattie and Amy still peppered Tess and Frankie with questions while they
cleared the table, though.
Oh, no.
Nora finally wanted some answers of her own.
"Amy, you go up and clear some space in your room for Hendrika. Nattie,
please help Hendrika pack a few things she might need."
"Uh, Mama," Nattie said. "I wanted to ask
Tess some more questions."
"You can ask her tomorrow. Now it's my turn to catch up
with her," Nora said.
Without further protests, Hendrika and Nattie left the house.
Amy trudged up to her room.
Frankie blinked when she found herself alone with Nora and
Tess. "Um. I think I'll check on Adam, make sure the ranch hands don't let
him escape."
One last glance at Tess, then the door fell closed behind
her.
Nora smiled and dragged Tess to the cozy kitchen. "I
see she's as good as Luke at avoiding these situations."
"Are we having a 'situation'?" Tess asked. Mirth
danced in her blue eyes.
No time to play games. Nattie would be back soon with more
questions for Tess. "Your letters sounded like you were in love,"
Nora said, remembering how happy she had been for her friend when she had first
mentioned "Frank."
Tess's smile softened. "I am."
"With Frankie?"
"Yes."
The certainty of Tess's answer surprised Nora, maybe because
she had struggled for a while when she found herself falling in love with Luke.
"Does that mean you're..." Nora searched for the
right words. "...like me?"
Tess grinned. "I wish. You're still so beautiful."
She trailed the back of her fingers over Nora's cheek. "And here I thought
ranch wives were supposed to look old and careworn."
Nora captured the hand and held it between her own.
"Flatterer." She softened her words with an affectionate smile.
"You know that's not what I mean."
"If you mean am I a woman who loves another woman with
all her heart, then the answer is yes."
Nora had always thought her feelings for Luke were unique.
"So you are...?"
Laugh lines deepened as Tess grinned at her. "Am I
what?"
"Sharing Frankie's bed?" Before she could chicken
out, Nora sought refuge in the bluntness of the prostitute she had once been.
"I share everything with Frankie — my life, my dreams,
and yes, my bed." Tess's gaze was calm. She nudged Nora. "Don't look
so baffled. It's hard enough for an old madam like me to find love. I wasn't
about to let this chance at happiness pass me by, just because most people
think it's unnatural." Tess rolled her eyes. "I've done a lot of
things in my life that felt unnatural, but loving Frankie isn't one of
them."
Nora felt the same way about Luke, but still, she never
thought other women would want to share their lives with a woman rather than a
man — and certainly not Tess. "Have you ever... I mean, I know you've been
with Luke, but other than her, did you ever...?"
"Once or twice," Tess said, still as open as ever.
"And?"
"I liked it." Tess shrugged. "I liked being
with some of the men in my life too. But I love Frankie. Just Frankie."
The blue eyes held an expression more loving than any Nora had ever seen on her
friend.
They sat in silence, their hands clutched together.
"It feels good to finally say it out loud," Tess
said.
"You haven't told Frankie?"
"Oh, she knows." A wicked grin spread across
Tess's lips. "Believe me, she knows. But everyone else thinks we're
cousins."
Sometimes, the lies Luke and she had built around their
lives, around their pasts, felt like a prison, but at least they didn't have to
hide their love. Were the lies really a prison if they allowed them to love
each other and build a life together?
She and Luke could share a bed without having to tell people
they were cousins. On Sundays, Luke could hand her down from the wagon and lead
her up the church steps without anyone whispering about it behind their backs.
And when Luke kissed her good-bye, she didn't have to pretend that her heart
wasn't aching.
Gently, she squeezed Tess's hand. "I'm glad you have
her in your life even if it isn't always easy."
The door swung open before Tess could answer. Nattie
entered, excitedly chatting with Rika.
Nora groaned. "Ready for more questions?"
"I don't mind. Nattie is a wonderful young woman,
curious for all life has to offer. She's exactly like you would have been if
your father hadn't been such a cold-hearted bastard."
The truth of her words still cut deeply after all those
years.
Tess patted her hands and stood. "We'll talk
later."
R
IKA
SLOWLY CLIMBED the stairs, savoring the few seconds alone. Tess and Frankie's
arrival unsettled her, and she tried to figure out what it was that made her
nervous.
At first, she thought it was Frankie's unusual appearance.
Even in Boston, the "cradle of liberty" according to Mrs. Gillespie's
magazines, Rika had never seen anyone like this woman.
That's not true.
For a moment, she was transported back to the time she'd
worked as a nurse in a Union hospital. A young, pale soldier had been rushed
into the tent, his foot shattered by a minié ball. Rika's stomach churned when
she remembered helping to hold down the soldier while the surgeon cut off the
mangled foot. After a day, gangrene set in. Rika would never forget the stench
of the rotting flesh.
At death's door, the soldier confessed her true identity to
Rika. She was a woman who had donned men's garb and joined the Union army to
stay with her betrothed.
But Frankie wasn't like that. She didn't hide her gender;
she was simply a woman who dressed in men's apparel and didn't care what other
people thought.
Weeks ago, Rika might have been appalled, but after getting
to know Amy, she no longer thought wearing pants was improper.
Maybe it was her guilty conscience that unsettled her.
Frankie was a marshal after all, and Rika had broken the law by traveling west
with tickets that didn't belong to her. Soon, she would trick Phineas into
marrying her.
Don't make yourself crazy with thoughts like that. This
is your life now, the only life you have.
If she was careful, no one would
ever find out.
Instead of worrying about Frankie and Tess, you should
try to figure out why Amy is so adamant about not sharing a room.
Sometimes,
Amy seemed so friendly and nice, but the next moment, she was distant again. In
the five weeks since she had arrived at the ranch, they had made it through a
few dangerous situations and had experienced Lucky's birth together. Sometimes,
she felt close to Amy, but then Amy pushed her away for no reason Rika could
understand.
It scared her. She needed Amy's acceptance because she was
Phineas's boss and friend.
But if she was honest with herself, she had to admit that it
was no longer the only reason she sought Amy's company. She realized she spent
time with Amy because she liked it. Liked Amy.
When she reached the top of the stairs, she knocked on the
door and waited.
All she heard was a grunt. "Amy?" she called
through the closed door. "Everything all right?"
"Yeah," Amy answered, sounding out of breath.
"Just give me a minute."
Rika waited.
Clothes rustled, and she heard Amy curse.
Finally, Amy opened the door and let her in.
Rika entered and set down her carpetbag. When she looked at
Amy, Rika startled.
Sweat gleamed on Amy's brow. Her red locks were tussled and
her shirt half unbuttoned. The light golden tan she'd acquired during the past
weeks was gone, hidden by her flushed cheeks and the paleness lurking
underneath.
"Amy! You look flushed. Are you running a fever?"
She clutched Amy's sleeve. Memories returned of how Jo had suffered and died.
The thought of losing Amy the same way pressed the air from her lungs.
She lifted a hand to touch Amy's forehead, but Amy backed
away and collided with the washstand. The pitcher started to topple over.
Instead of catching it, Amy clutched her side.
"No!" Rika jumped forward and caught the pitcher
before it fell. With the pitcher in both hands, she froze. Her left side was
pressed against Amy, and she inhaled the soothing smell of horse and leather.
Heat wafted over from Amy and engulfed Rika. Her own cheeks felt flushed too.
Whatever
sickness she has, it might be contagious.
"You all right?" she
murmured and set down the pitcher to touch Amy's cheek.
For a moment, Amy leaned into Rika's touch; then she pulled
away.
Rika let her hand drop to her side. Her fingers rubbed
against each other as if trying to remember the smoothness of Amy's skin.
"You feel a little warm, but I don't think you have a fever."
"I told you, I'm fine." Amy backed away.
"I don't believe you."
Amy turned and gaped at her.
"You clutched your side when you bumped into the
washstand," Rika said. Her eyes narrowed when she understood. "Adam
hurt you!"
"It's not so bad," Amy said. "I was just
looking at it in the mirror when you knocked."
So that was why Amy's shirt was half-open and her hair
tussled. Trying to get dressed made her break out in a sweat, so her injuries
had to be painful.
"Did he shoot you?" Something inside her trembled
at the thought.
"No," Amy said. "Nothing like that. He just
got a kick in. That's all."
"That's more than enough," Rika said, her voice
sharper than intended. Mental images of broken ribs and a punctured lung raced
through her. Rika stepped closer. "Show me."
"I'm sure it's just a bruised rib. Nothing you can do
to help."
Another step brought her almost nose to nose with Amy.
"Show me." She wouldn't be able to sleep before she made sure Amy was
all right.
Amy exhaled sharply. Her breath brushed Rika's cheek.
"All right." She undid the remaining buttons on her shirt.
It reminded Rika of the night of the fire, when she had
helped Amy undress. Instinctively, she wanted to reach out and help Amy
unbutton the shirt.
She hurt her ribs, not her hands, Hendrika Aaldenberg.
She
clutched her hands together in the pocket of her apron.
Amy's shirt slid down her arms, and Rika caught it before it
could fall to the floor.
The warmth of the shirt seeped into her skin.
Amy pulled her long-sleeved undershirt from her pants and
tugged it up just enough to reveal her side.
Rika gasped. Amy's side was visibly swollen. The skin looked
raw and was already turning black and blue.
"That bad?" Amy craned her neck to peer down her
body.
"N-no." Rika had seen much worse injuries during
the War. But still, seeing the bruises on Amy's pale skin affected her.
"Why didn't you tell us you're hurt? You just sat down at supper and
pretended to be fine."
"I didn't want Mama to worry about a few bruises,"
Amy said. "You know how mothers are."
Rika wished she did. Instead of nodding, she sighed.
Amy's gaze caught hers. "You don't, do you? Your
mother... is she...?"
A year ago, Jo had asked her the same, but Rika had been
reluctant to answer. She had few memories left of her mother, and she protected
them like a hidden treasure she didn't want to share. But now the compassion in
Amy's eyes compelled her to speak. "She died giving birth to my little
brother when I was four."
"I'm sorry." Amy's voice was soft like a touch.
Rika found that Amy was holding her hand, rubbing her thumb
across Rika's knuckles.
Amy's gaze followed hers, and she let go as if she hadn't
been aware of her gentle touch.
Rika lifted her hand and rubbed her breastbone. It didn't
help to smooth the edges of raw emotion. She took a cleansing breath and
changed the subject. "Lie down."
Amy stared at the bed, then at Rika. "Why?"
"I need to palpate the ribs to see if any are
broken."
"I had broken ribs before. I can tell that nothing's
broken this time."
How could Amy be so cavalier about her health? Part of Rika
wanted to shove Amy down on the bed, but she didn't want to hurt her. "Lie
down and let me see for myself," she said.
Amy sank onto the bed and leaned back until she was lying
down, her legs dangling over the edge of the bed. She clamped her teeth onto
her bottom lip when Rika stepped closer.
"Don't worry," Rika murmured. "I'll be as
gentle as possible. I won't hurt you."
Instead of soothing her, the gentle words seemed to make Amy
even tenser. As she sat on the bed next to Amy, Rika felt the tension in Amy's
sturdy frame. She rubbed her fingers together to warm them. Her palms were
sweaty, and she wiped them on her apron. "Can you," she stopped to
clear her throat, "pull the undershirt up a little, please?"
Amy pulled the undershirt up to just under her bosom.
How vulnerable the fair skin of her belly and sides looked
in comparison to the golden glow of her arms and her face. Rika smoothed a
gentle finger over the lowest rib.
"Um. He kicked me much farther up and more to the
left," Amy said. Her words came out in a rush as if she was holding her
breath.
"As a nurse, I was taught to be thorough," Rika
said, her gaze still resting on the elegant curve of Amy's ribs. The body under
her hands trembled, and her touch became soothing, stroking much more than
probing.