“Where does that leave you?”
“It leaves me right here where I want to be.”
Chapter Eighteen
Always thinking of ways to escape, Anora left the cabin door open. Mr. Reason followed her inside. She glanced over her shoulder and caught him scanning the room, looking for evidence of depravity no doubt, and proof she’d taken the cowboy as her lover. She’d left the dirty dishes on the sideboard. It hadn’t bothered her, but now she noticed the quilt lay crooked on the bed. As usual, she’d hung her night clothes on the peg at the end of the room. But of Whit, there was no sign—no coats, no boots, even the pillows on the bed were stacked on top of each other. Only one person slept in that bed, and that person was herself.
Nervous, she stumbled over her words, “You said you needed a favor? I can’t imagine what I could do for you, but I’ll try.”
Making himself at home, Mr. Reason took a chair at her table and sat. She rushed to retrieve the coffee pot from the hearth and a cup. The table had a few crumbs of cornbread on it. Beginning to perspire, blushing, she swiped the table top with her skirt before she set his cup down. “Sorry, I don’t worry about housework much now Ruben’s gone.”
He shook his head at her and gave her a smile. His smile, those kind, gentle, brown eyes, they stopped her heart. Giving herself a mental shake, she hurried to the hearth to stir the pot of beans. They didn’t need stirring, but she needed time to compose herself. Buying a little more time, she added water to the pot.
On her way back to the sideboard to add more flour and water to the sourdough starter, Mr. Reason reached out to briefly touch her wrist. Stopped, she closed her eyes and sat at the table, folding her trembling hands in her lap to keep them still.
“Let’s get this over with and out of the way. You needed somebody. Whit came along. You knew him before, and you were close. I think he’s been good for you. You look rested. As your friend, I’m grateful to him. I think his being here has given you a sense of safety.”
Cheeks on fire, temples throbbing, she heaped another shovel load of shame upon her putrid soul. Head down, she said, “I know there’s a lot of talk in town. I heard some of the talk when the Willa Jane sat at the landing on the other side. The men snicker and make nasty remarks and the women, the women sneer and tsk, tsk. Whit doesn’t seem to notice. Really, there’s no use in me announcing to all and sundry that he sleeps in the barn. He takes his meals here in the cabin, but that’s all. Really…that’s all. No matter what I do or say I’ll always be Nuttie Norie.”
She brought up her head to meet his gaze. “Mr. Hayes? He didn’t come with you because of Whit? He thinks Whit is in my bed, doesn’t he? Now he doesn’t want to have anything to do with me.”
“Paxton? He doesn’t know what he thinks. He’s all mixed up in the head.” He chuckled. “To put it bluntly…he’s green with jealousy. He’s jealous of Whit and the fact you’re old friends. He thought he could swallow it down for Lydia’s sake, but at the last minute it got the better of him. So he’s over there pacing, wearing a trench in the ground, eaten up with curiosity. Most likely, he’s wishing he’d come with me to talk to you.”
Anora studied the cracks in the table, her hands clenching and unclenching the fabric of her skirt. Mr. Reason exaggerated, of course, but she found it flattering to think Mr. Hayes jealous. She smiled to herself, calling herself a ridiculous fool. More likely, Mr. Hayes’s disgust and disappointment had kept him on the other side of the river.
∙•∙
Damn her sad little smile. She liked that—she liked it that Paxton’s jealous. I shouldn’t have told her. You’re a happily married man, you don’t care one way or the other. Remember that, Reason, you don’t care—remember why you’re here…Lydia…Isabell.
He took a sip of his coffee and centered his thoughts. “The thing is, Isabell’s come down with the croup, and Lydia’s in a lot of discomfort and taken to her bed. Mrs. Gregson offered to help with the birthing but can’t be at the house during the day while Paxton and I are at work.
“Isabell’s an endearing little imp, but she’s a real pill when she’s sick. All of us agreed, and Isabell begged, that you stay with us, at least until the baby comes. Which, I might add, is due any minute. Mrs. Gregson’s there now with both of them. She says Lydia is already in labor, and has been since yesterday.”
Anora’s head came up, her eyes big and round. “I’ve never met or seen Mrs. Gregson. But I know she and her husband manage the mercantile? Mercantile’s, if I recall, are gossip monger gathering places. Oh, I bet she had something to say to your plan. If the whispers I’ve overheard on this side of the river hold any credence, I’m not well thought of in Takenah. I doubt she thinks it a great idea to have Nuttie Norie under foot.”
He didn’t mean to, but Anora’s frank and spot-on assessment of the situation threw him off his guard. He jerked to attention. He’d purposefully couched his appeal, deliberately leaving Mrs. Gregson and her opinion out of the equation.
The woman’s reaction upon discovering they were considering having Anora under the same roof with sweet little Isabell had left him bereft of speech, perplexed, and stunned. “That half-wit woman’s shacked up with that good lookin’ drifter. She’s no better than she should be. She’s a married woman. How can you think she’ll be of any use to you? I heard she can cook when she’s in her right mind. But she’s poisoned folks, you know. I heard about it. I doubt she has the good sense to manage a sick child on her own. Who knows what she’ll do. You can’t depend on her to keep her wits about her. What you need is a good girl. The Poolys have a girl; she’s thirteen, a hard worker. I’ll send Barney Ambrose out to their place and fetch her back.”
Hank could still see in his mind’s eyes, Tamara’s bright little eyes shining in anticipation and delight at having come up with so amiable a solution.
Mrs. Gregson had forbidden Lydia to do stairs, but Lydia had come down anyway and she’d overheard the conversation, entering the kitchen at the end of the discussion. Paxton saw Lydia first; he jumped to get her a chair. In her nightdress and red velvet dressing gown, her brown hair in braids over her shoulders, Lydia looked like a tired little girl, certainly not old enough to be about to give birth to her second child.
Hank watched her wrap her arms around Mrs. Gregson, giving the woman a peck on the cheek. She sat, a bit breathless, her voice soft but firm when she said, “Tamara, thank you, you’re a good soul. But you see…I know Anora Claire. She’s kind and good to Isabell. They know one another. It’s what Isabell wants. I’m certain after you get to know Anora, you’ll see. Mr. Comstock is an old friend come to lend her a hand at this hard time in her life. We owe him our gratitude.” Imperiously waving away any further discussion or protest Mrs. Gregson wanted to present, Lydia said, “I came down to fix Isabell a mustard poultice.” She started to gather ingredients, but Hank stopped her by scooping her into his arms and carrying her up to their room.
He’d missed what Paxton had to say to Mrs. Gregson. He suspected Paxton hadn’t been very politic. As a result, Mrs. Gregson came upstairs a little while later with the poultice, chastened, cheeks flushed and mumbling under her breath, “I’ll do my best, but it seems to me some folks don’t know when to take advice.”
Returning to Anora’s question, Hank chose his words carefully. “Yes, Mrs. Gregson manages the mercantile for Paxton. Her husband owns the mill. She’s had experience being a mid-wife. She’ll be there to help with the birthing. It’s Isabell—we need someone to keep her quiet and occupied. Mrs. Gregson doesn’t know you. If you could help her in any way, I’m sure she’d be grateful.”
He covered Anora’s cold fingers with his hand without holding, simply touching. “I know we’re asking a lot of you. You’ll be with us; nothing…no one will hurt you there. I promise. Paxton and I will come tomorrow and see you get across the river.”
∙•∙
“I’ll get her across,” Whit said. He stood in the open doorway, his hand on the door la
tch. His gaze went to the table where Hank’s hand lay over Anora’s. She jerked and snatched her away, fully expecting a big fist to knock her off her chair.
A heavy silence hung in the air. She held her hand to her heart. She could still feel the warmth of Mr. Reason’s fingers on her skin.. Her wayward body tingled. She closed her eyes against her thoughts.
To cover her guilt, she rushed to explain, “Isabell has the croup. She’s asked for me. Mrs. Reason is going to have her baby.”
She shook her head at Mr. Reason. “But I can’t go. I can’t.”
“Sounds to me like you gotta go,” Whit said. “Folks need your help. You and your Aunt Carrie, you were always helping folks on the wagon train. You helped with a couple of birthings if I recall. You nursed folks with croup and dysentery.”
Trembling, she shook her head at him. “I can’t get across the river. I won’t get on that…that ferry. I won’t.” Coming to her feet, she started to back into the corner near the sideboard.
Whit stood tall and strong before her. He had her chin in his hand, forcing her to look into his eyes. “I’ll get you across. These folks come asking for your help, Anora. You can do it. You gotta do it sooner or later. I tell you what, I’ll tie you to my waist. You hang on to me. I won’t let you fall in. Trust me, Anora.”
Body quaking, panic stricken. “Rope? No. Don’t tie me. Don’t tie me. No rope. Tied Louise, she drowned. Aunt Carrie drowned. Please, don’t tie me. Don’t, I’ll do whatever you want.” She went down on her haunches and covered her face. “Don’t tie me. No ropes. Please. Don’t, don’t tie me.”
∙•∙
The cowboy leaned over her, ready to bring her to her feet. Hank put out his hand to stop him. “Leave her.”
The cowboy stood back. “I don’t understand. She does this almost every damn day—something will set her off and she folds up like a day-lily when the sun goes down. I know it’s Ruben who’s done this to her. If I ever see him again, I’m gonna string him up by his balls and peel the hide off him an inch at a time.
“I can get her across, Mr. Reason. I know I can. She’ll come around in a bit and be good as new.”
“I don’t want you to force her in any way. She’s better with you here. You’re good for her. How long are you going to stick around?”
Whit scratched his head. “I don’t have to be anywhere until the end of April. So I guess I could stay on here until the middle of March.”
“We might need Anora to stay with us for a couple of weeks, depending on how soon Lydia can recover from giving birth. There’s a lot to do around here besides the ferry.”
Whit laughed out right. “I had a farm and ran it by myself. I know a little about stock. I think I can manage two goats, a cow, and some chickens. If you want, I could bring the milk over for you folks. Anora’s been trading her butter for some of our supplies. It’d be good if she could keep up with that. It helps a lot.”
They both heard the sounds of a wagon coming down the hill. “Oh, got a customer. I’ll see she gets across. We’ll see you right after sunrise,” he said, rushing out the door.
∙•∙
Lucid enough to comprehend the horror of Whit’s threat, Anora sat on the puncheon floor, her back to the sideboard. Hands covering her ears to block Ruben’s voice, she scolded herself, called herself stupid and tiresome for falling back into the pit of darkness every time some scrap of memory flashed across her brain. She inhaled, then exhaled and returned to reality. “Whit won’t accept trouble,” she said, her hand shaking, reaching the top of the dresser. “He doesn’t recognize it.” She rose to her feet, legs trembling.
Mr. Reason turned toward her and held out his hand, and she took it, accepting his support. “I’m sorry, I can’t. Whit doesn’t understand. It’s the water, the ferry. Ropes, no ropes.” She shivered, gulped down her panic and tipped forward.
“We met at the mercantile the day he came to town and conversed a bit. The man does have a knack for simplifying a situation,” Mr. Reason said, his hands going to her waist to steady her. Anora glanced up into his serious face. She thought she’d heard amusement in his voice, and sure enough his eyes twinkled with repressed mirth.
Discovering she too had a sense of humor, she giggled. “It is one of the traits I admire and wish I could cultivate,” she said and disengaged herself from his side to put some distance between them.
Mr. Reason grinned. “Pour him a cup of coffee and walk me down to the ferry?” She started to refuse him. “Come now. Ruben’s gone. Isabell needs you. Lydia can’t rest, won’t rest until you’re in the house. She’s having a hard time with this baby. We’re all very worried about her. You’re needed, Anora. It’s asking a lot, I know. Believe me I know how hard this is going to be for you. You’re a strong woman or you wouldn’t have survived this long. You’re getting stronger every day. I’m begging you to come help us. We need you.”
Mr. Reason helped her with her coat, she poured coffee into a tin cup, and they stepped out onto the porch. Whit had gone down to load the wagon onto the ferry. He waved to them. Anora waved back.
Beside her, Mr. Reason said, “You haven’t really said yes or no.”
Her hands wrapped around the warm cup of coffee, watching the river current flow beneath the low hanging branches of the oaks on the far shore, she said, “I had the croup once when I was a little girl. It was horrible. Papa said I sounded like a wounded buffalo. Isabell asked for me, I won’t let her down.”
“Thank you, Anora. I better get back over there. Paxton should be all worn out by now.”
She giggled again and handed him Whit’s coffee.
“Hearing you laugh, Anora, it warms my heart. The sound of it is worth more than diamonds,” he said, rushing away, taking big strides.
Anora stepped off the porch and made her way down to the river bank. Head high, back straight, she went to the water’s edge and waved to Mr. Hayes.
»»•««
After butchering a chicken, boiling it, she put the tender meat into a deep-dish potpie. The sun had set an hour ago. Soon Whit would come in from the barn. She’d cleaned up after doing her chores and put on the lavender dress he’d bought for her. He’d insisted she try it on, but she’d never worn it for more than a minute or two, finding it too pretty to wear to do chores. She’d told him she would save it for a special occasion.
“Maybe you’ll save me a dance when you wear it?” he’d asked her, teasing her, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
Anora felt the goodbye coming. Days ago, she’d sensed his restlessness to be moving on. Now he’d have to stay until she got back. Or maybe he’d disappear while she was away. Either way, she knew he’d leave soon, and she didn’t want to miss the opportunity to give him a proper send off. She didn’t expect or want him to stay. Even if she hadn’t fallen into Ruben’s hands, she didn’t think she would feel differently about Whit. She would’ve come to her senses sooner or later. A concentrated dose of Whit Comstock had given her a good deal of insight into who she’d become.
“What’s cooking in here?” Whit’s voice entered the room before he pushed his way into the cabin. “I could smell it all the way to the barn. Made my mouth water.”
He stopped short, blinking into the dark interior of the cabin. Then his gaze found her. She stood to the side of the fireplace. She smiled and offered him a curtsy, holding out her skirts, bowing her head.
A smile spread across his lips. He swept his hat off and bowed to her, holding it over his heart. “You’re a vision of loveliness.”
Anora tossed her head, sweeping her hair from her hot cheeks.
“Does this mean I get a dance with you tonight?” he asked.
Her voice, a little hoarse, feeling shy and uncertain, she answered, “I thought I should wear the dress at least once before you go.”
“I thought you was the one goin’ somewhere,” he said. He placed his hat on the corner of a chair at the table.
“You know what I mean. I know you want to
be moving on. It’s for the best. You’ll come see me again, I know.”
“I was gonna talk to you about that, but Reason came over. I ain’t goin’ nowhere until you get back,” he said. “I don’t know what you want to do with the ferry…this place. It’s up to you. I guess you got to know I’d like to see you make a go of it here. I think your pa and ma would like that too.”
Smoothing down the front of her apron with her hands, she tipped her head to the side. “I hadn’t thought of it like that. Yes, they would like that. They’d like that very much. But there’s the river. How am I to make a truce with the river? I can’t forgive it any more than I can forgive Ruben.”
“You can fight back. You are fighting back. Tomorrow you’ll do battle with your fears and you’ll win. I’m gonna help you win, Anora.”
“I’m not at all sure of that,” she said, taking the plates down off the warming shelf.
They spoke no more on the subject, partaking of their supper in a comfortable silence. Anora recognized Whit had given her security with his presence. He’d given her peace of mind and time to heal and grow strong. This would be their last evening meal together. Anora accepted the fact without regret, and yes, she might even give him one waltz.
Chapter Nineteen
Quietly, soundlessly, the cabin door slowly opened. The light of the moon, filtered through the dense fog, enveloped the yard outside in an opaque silver-blue veil. A silhouette of a stocky built man appeared in the doorway. The fog clung to him, swirling around him. Ominously and stealthily, he floated over the threshold.
Lying in bed, body cold, still as stone, Anora lay helpless. The dark figure suspended on the milky-blue vapor, drifting closer, growing larger and larger. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. The fog, permeated with the smell of stale beer and chewing tobacco, burned her nostrils. Slobbering, snarling threats and curses, the black figure loomed above her.
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