Magnificent Passage (43 page)

“Thank you, Julia. I feel better already.” Mandy dried her eyes. “But I think I better tell my father right away.” She gave Julia a quick hug, sat up a little straighter on the bed, and cleared her throat.

Julia took a long look at her cousin as she left to retrieve her Uncle George. It was hard to believe the girl on the bed was the same reserved girl who left the fort last summer.
This was a woman with a new inner confidence. She was definitely not the mousy little girl Julia had come to visit almost a year ago. Even the death of Mandy's husband—as Julia fully believed him to be—could not daunt her cousin's spirit. Mandy was ready to face life's challenges. Julia hoped her uncle was as ready to face this new crisis as her cousin appeared to be.

George Ashton entered the room quietly, closing the door behind him. He had fully expected to find his daughter prostrate with her illness; instead, she sat up on the bed beaming at him. He liked the way she looked since her return and regretted having made her hide her beauty for all those years. It had been foolish to think he could protect her by preventing her from living a normal life. Thank God she'd gone to California. He would always be indebted to his brother, William, for helping her make the painful transition to womanhood.

“Papa, please. Come sit here beside me.” Mandy patted the edge of the bed. “There is something I have to tell you.” She looked at her father. He had changed in the months since she left. He looked older and more fragile, yet somehow more content with his lot in life. She called him Papa again, as she'd done as a child before her mother died. She could tell it pleased him. He sat down beside her and kissed her gently on the cheek.

“What is it, honey? You look a little better, but the doc will be here shortly.”

She looked up at him imploringly, willing him to understand. “Papa . . . I think I may know what is wrong.” She'd
spoken to him of her relationship with Hawk—told him of her love for the big man and of his death. Her father had comforted her—something she hadn't expected—and it had been the first step in bringing them together. Now what she was going to say might destroy that fragile bond.

“I know this will be difficult for you,” she continued, summoning her courage, “but you have to try to understand.”

He just blinked and stared at her with his sad gray eyes.

“I think I may be with child,” she whispered softly. Then she raised her head proudly, staring into eyes now wide with surprise. “It's not what you're thinking. Travis and I were married in the Cheyenne village. I know I should have told you, and I planned to, when the time was right. If he'd lived we would have been remarried here as soon as we arrived. As it is,” she looked away, blinking at the painful memories, “this child is the most precious gift he could have given me.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “If you wish me to leave, I will understand.”

His leathery arms surrounded her. He pulled her close and pressed a tender kiss on the top of her head.

“Samantha, honey, I never knew how much you meant to me until I thought you were dead. Those days after the stage was found burned were agony. I realized how much time I'd wasted building a wall around you. I knew then the only person the wall kept out was me.” He lifted her chin, his craggy features displaying his affection. “You've told me how much you loved this man Travis. You told me how he saved your life, not once but several times. I'll always be grateful to him for that. He brought you back to me. . . . I love you, honey, and the rest of 'em be damned!”

It was the most passionate speech he'd ever made, and
she loved him for it. She hugged him, wiped away her tears, and smiled.

“Oh, Papa, I do love you. Thank you.”

He cleared his throat and rose, not wanting her to see the moisture in his eyes. “I'll want the doc to take a look at you for sure now. We want that baby to be healthy, don't we? 'Bout time I had a grandchild around here.” He talked with his back to her and moved toward the door, closing it softly behind him.

The next few days passed in a blur. Mandy's instincts were right. The child would be due in less than seven months. Her figure remained trim and firm, but she knew it would not be long before she would begin to show. She and Julia worked vigorously to come up with a believable story—so far to no avail. If only she'd told everyone when she'd first arrived that she was married. Of course it wasn't in her nature to lie, and if it weren't for the babe, she would do just as her cousin suggested—tell them all to go hang.

Life at the fort remained hectic. Julia and Jason carried on as blissful newlyweds, and Mandy felt content that her hardships had been well rewarded.

Standing inside the door of Washburn's Livery, Max Gutterman eyed the hoopla of activity about the fort. He'd arrived three days ago and spent his time watching the comings and goings of the officers and their ladies—one special lady in particular. He smiled thinly, remembering the gentle sway of her hips as she'd stepped out of Johnson's General Mercantile. He'd watched her all the way to her cottage, alongside a tall graying man. At first he'd felt jealous of the man, but
after a few answers from old Ned Washburn he learned the man was the girl's father.

It hadn't taken him long to find her, once he'd set his mind to it. An Indian girl from the Cheyenne village seemed more than eager to point him in this direction. Now he could take his time, savor every moment of his triumph. He adjusted the patch over his eye and smiled through dry lips.

T
he days were getting warmer. Summer was on its way. Her nausea had ended, and Mandy decided if she was ever going to finish the spring cleaning she'd started, she'd better do it today. Her father had left at dawn on an overnight patrol.

Mandy tied an apron over her gingham dress, dragged out her broom, mop, pail, and soap, and readied herself for the work ahead. She began by sweeping out the front closet, thinking her life had fallen into at least a quiet routine. If it weren't for her lingering grief, she would have considered herself happy.

But the fact was Mandy missed Hawk terribly. Not an hour went by in which she didn't think of him.
Oh, Hawk,
she would grieve,
if only you could be here to see our child.
She regretted the misunderstandings that had kept them apart for so long.
If only we could have had more time together. Why did we squander those months so foolishly?

Though she hid her grief from her friends and family, every minute by herself was an agony of loneliness. Today was no exception. She ached to feel her husband's arms around her, longed for the touch of his lips. Even as she cleaned and scrubbed, her mind replayed their wedding night, the passion she'd known in his arms.

“Well, well, well. Look who we have here.”

It was a voice from her past—one that chilled her to the core. She whirled to meet the one-eyed gaze of her nightmares.

“You!” Standing just an arm's length away, the man leered at her and grinned. His overalls were dirty and his shirt stained beneath each arm. Just as she remembered, his features were heavy, his brows bushy and low. She threw down her broom and rushed for the door.

He blocked her way, agile though his frame was bulky. She tried to make a second dash, but his arm locked around her waist, and he hauled her against him, clamping a meaty palm over her mouth, muffling her scream. She struggled, tried to twist free; then, remembering her unborn child, she stilled herself, trying not to tremble against him.

Looking down, she saw a shiny silver blade held against her throat. It was wide and curved and crusted at the base with a rusty brown substance. She wondered fleetingly if it was someone's blood.

“Now that's better, little lady. Yes, sir. You and me is gonna be good friends.” He chuckled, and his stale tobacco breath assaulted her.

“What do you want from me? How did you know I was here?” Her eyes searched the room for some means of escape. Her father would not be back until tomorrow night, and Julia had already paid her morning visit.

“Came to the fort just to see you. Been watchin' you for three days. You're even pertier than I remembered.” He caressed her cheek with his rough hand. She shivered, repulsed by his sweaty nearness.

“You and me, we got some unfinished business, as I recall.”

“Please,” she whispered, “leave me alone.”

“I'll leave you alone, all right.” No longer amused, he grinned mirthlessly.

She felt the knife slice ever so slightly across the line of her throat and a tiny trickle of blood begin. Fear clutched at her. She was tortured by a desire to scream, but feared he would kill her.

“I'll leave you alone,” he was saying, “just like you and that big Indian left me alone out there in the wilderness. Thought I was dead, didn't you? But I fooled you. I fooled you both.” He dragged her toward the back of the house. His fingers bit into the flesh at her waist, and the bile rose in her throat. She felt light-headed at his touch.

“I swore I'd get even with you,” he said. “Thought I got rid a both of you in the bay, but your luck was too good. I followed the Indian east. Took care a him real fine. Shot him right in the head.” His laughter rang low and maniacal.

Mandy knew with certainty the man was insane. Fear for her unborn child consumed her. She swayed on her feet and only by force of will remained standing.

Finally, what he was saying began to register. He was the man who killed her husband! She thought of Hawk lying dead, killed by this madman's bullet, and the thought filled her with rage. Now Gutterman was here to finish her—and their child. Her anger gave her courage and she stiffened in his grip. Her mind went over her options. They were limited, but if she was going to die, she would not make it easy for him. She tried to assess his mental stability. She was unsure
whether telling him of her condition would stop him or make him worse.

“Please,” she pleaded, stalling for time. “You've killed my husband. Isn't that enough?”

“I want what should have been mine before. You ain't no governor's daughter. You tricked me an' the boys. Now it's my turn!” He grabbed the front of her dress, and the fabric ripped as she fought to pull away. Struggling, she tried to scream, but his hand smothered the sound.

“Shut your mouth, you whoring bitch! You're just like Myra. I paid her back. Now it's your turn.” He slapped her hard across the face, knocking her to the floor. Then he was on top of her, his heavy weight pressing her against the hard pine floors. She could feel the steel blade forced just slightly into the soft flesh beneath her chin.

She struggled and tried to loose herself, deciding to play her final card. “Please . . . I'm with child.”