by Becky Lower
Her heart ached for them as well as herself, and wondered which way their lives would end up going. William still had years left to fight in the Civil War, if it lasted that long. He could be wiped from the face of the earth any day, at any battle. And Raoul would leave in a few weeks unless she could extract another promise from him. He had promised her only to stay until the baby came. He would become Lone Wolf once again as he headed out to find some place where he truly belonged. A place to feel welcomed.
Susannah pulled her gaze from the barn and cradled her body, which still ached from the hard labor she'd endured. She briefly touched the bruises left behind and wished they wouldn’t fade. Raoul had marked her, branded her. She shook her head at such foolishness.
Breakfast needed to be made, and then she should strip the bed and do laundry. She should not be mooning over a forbidden man. She should, instead, be wondering what was happening to her husband.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Dawn broke crisp and silent on the mountain. The storm had finally run out of strength, although it left an impressive amount of snow behind. Raoul grabbed a shovel to begin clearing a path between the barn and the house. The drifts in the yard were tall enough to dwarf little Hannah, and Raoul needed to make her life easier if he could. Make life easier for the entire family. After all, that was why he was led to this place.
He stood in the doorway to the barn, stretching out his back muscles, and stared at the line of rope between the two structures. Red flags were attached at intervals along the line and they were waving in the breeze, drawing his attention. The irony was not lost on him. There were so many red flags between himself and Susannah, and they were all waving at him, defying him. He could not ignore his attraction to her, or pretend there was nothing there. Not when she'd forced him to face his demons. The demons that had lived with him since Pale Moon's death. He had prayed for his own life to be ended along with his wife and child. But Susannah had made him stare down his torment by asking for his assistance in the birth of her daughter. As he placed his hands on her stomach and pushed with all his might, he accepted the fact he wished to live again. He wished to have her and this family as his own. His heart pounded in his chest each time he caught a glimpse of her. His shaft told him he longed for more than a casual relationship with the woman who tormented his visions. He needed to join her in her bed.
Yet still, she belonged to another. Each flag on the line reminded him he was not the one who tied the rope and flags together in the first place. Susannah and her husband had done so, years before he ever set foot on this soil. They had tied together their lives much as they had physically tied the rope and flags together. Each child they had proved to the world that they were husband and wife in every way.
He had to keep his distance from her. Because to do otherwise would not be making her life easier. It would be for more difficult than either of them could imagine. He would stay true to his course and leave once Susannah regained her strength. He had promised her he would only stay for a few weeks after she gave birth. The fact the child came early should not alter his course. He had no need to wait until the spring thaw, when someone from town would check on the family to make certain they were alive and had made it through the hard winter. Even if Susannah's husband was still off fighting and she had come to rely on Raoul’s strength to help the family, it would be for the best if he should depart. Even if it meant leaving behind the baby Missouria, who he had already come to love as his own. Even if it meant saying goodbye to little Hannah, the child of his heart. And the others. Lydia, who only communicated with the spirit world. Jacob, who tried very hard to be the man of this family, even though he was only seven. And the toddler, George, who loved to crawl into Raoul’s lap.
He took one glance back at the small moccasins he had been assembling for each child. Christmas was coming, and the least he could do was to help keep their feet warm. If he had enough time, he would make a pair for Susannah as well. The thought of her in a pair of moccasins, her flaxen hair falling about her face, made him smile. But the red flags waved in the wind once again, and he forced his vision to clear. Instead of standing here contemplating a life that would never happen, he should be shoveling the path. Hannah would be coming out to the barn soon to milk Bossy. The least he could do was to lighten her load a bit.
With a small sigh of regret, he bent to his task.
When he got to the opposite side of the yard, the door to the house popped open and the woman at the forefront of his mind stood there, holding her baby. The wonderful scent of bacon and yeast filled the crisp air, causing his stomach to growl.
"Please, come in, Raoul and join us for breakfast."
"No, I must not. I will head back to the barn."
She smiled at him, and his resolve weakened.
"I can hear your stomach growling from here. You're hungry, you’ve just worked up an appetite by shoveling a path for us and I have food waiting. I’ve just made a batch of biscuits and doubled the size of my recipe, since they’re your favorite breakfast food. It's the least I can do to pay you back. Come in, please, before all the heat escapes from this house."
He reluctantly propped the shovel by the door and entered the small dwelling. He closed the door on those red flags and decided to enjoy the moment, with the children and with Susannah. She handed him Missouria so she could get the meal on the table. As the children gathered, he hugged each child before he leaned down to kiss the baby's head. Her little hand reached out to him and wrapped around one of his fingers. With this small gesture, she wound her fingers around his heart. How could he ever leave her? Leave them?
His eyes sought Susannah, who had taken her place opposite him. He was again sitting in the seat normally reserved for her husband, and the awareness of whose seat he was in did not sit well with him. Yet, his gaze lingered on her, and their eyes met over the heads of the children.
She, too, was aware of the significance of where he was sitting. And she smiled about it.
♥•♥•♥
Susannah couldn’t deny her outrageous attraction to Raoul any longer. Every night, as she applied grease to her now contracting belly, she caressed the fading bruises his hands had put on her body, placing her hands over the spots where his had been. She harbored no illusions about how those bruises made their way onto her body. There had been nothing romantic about it. Without him, she would have died. William would have returned home, whenever that might be, to find his wife dead and buried, his eldest daughter grown and most likely gone from their hillside, tired of being thrust in the role of mother long before she was ready, and the younger children left to fend for themselves. To become wild mountain boys and girls. Would they even recognize him? She highly doubted it. Three years was a long time in the life of a child. And in the life of an abandoned wife. George would have no memory of his father at all, since he was not yet two when William climbed off this mountain and onto a train. And even though Hannah and Jacob always asked for stories about him, she could tell their memory of their father was growing dim.
She brushed her hair, then braided it for the night. As she wove her fingers through it, she pondered how Raoul's shiny black hair would feel between her fingers.
"Ah, William, you need to get home before I do something stupid," she whispered to herself. Her stomach had clenched in the most delightful way when she had caught a glimpse of Raoul this morning and invited him in to share their breakfast. He'd been keeping a distance from her since the night of Missouria's birth, obviously embarrassed by the intimacy of what had transpired. Even William had never been in the same room when their children were born. Had never offered a blessing to the elements for the child, as Raoul and Hannah had done together. Susannah was sorry she had not been able to share in the ceremony. It was Hannah’s memory, and Missouria’s, alone.
She laid her head on the cool dresser top to put an end to her thoughts. She didn't need to be comparing one man to the other. William was her husband. Raoul was a half-bree
d who, through destiny, an alignment of the stars, something, had made his way to their mountain at the precise moment he was needed. Well, he would not be needed much longer. There would be no more children to usher into the world. He'd be gone soon and her life would get back to normal.
If she could keep her hands off him until then. William's brown eyes swam to the front of her mind as her own eyes grew cloudy. She hoped he was safe, and warm. Christmas in a military camp, in a tent, would not be nearly so pleasant as what she and the children would experience. And Raoul, in the drafty barn, at least could be invited into the warm house to celebrate the holiday. She'd have to invite him, even though she was fairly certain Indians didn't celebrate the holiday, at least not the same way she and her family did.
When Missouria stirred in her cradle, Susannah picked her up and held the baby to her breast. One last feeding before they both settled for the night. She touched the baby's cheek and brushed her downy dark hair, wondering where on earth the dark hair had come from. Her own hair was blonde, nearly white in fact. William's was a light sandy brown color. Her other children had hair close to their father’s in coloring. But not Missouria. By some throwback to another generation, her hair was nearly as dark as Raoul's. She hoped it would remain dark after she lost the baby hair. That way, every time Susannah tended to her daughter, she'd be reminded of how she came into the world, and who had blessed her emergence into it.
Susannah leaned down and kissed the dark crown of her daughter’s head, who was nearly asleep. At least one of them would have a sleep unencumbered by dreams of Raoul touching her body again, this time in lust and with passion. But if dreams would satisfy, or at least slake, the mounting craving she was developing for the man in the barn, she'd welcome them.
It had been nearly a year since William left her and the children. Nearly a year since he had warmed her bed. She climbed between the cold covers, longing for his touch. Recollecting how he used to pleasure her, she reached between her legs and began to massage her sex. It took only a few minutes before she climaxed. Her small moan of delight was nearly good enough. Then, she envisioned Raoul, touching her as she had just done, massaging her little bundle of nerves, pounding into her with his large, strong manhood, and moaned again. No, her own ministrations were not nearly good enough. She groaned into her pillow and let the tears flow.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The children were so excited, Susannah could barely restrain them. Heading into the woods to find the perfect fir tree to adorn their house for the holiday had been a big event every year. In years past, William led the way. This time, it was Raoul. He made not a sound as the group wove its way deep into the forest. The children circumvented his stealthiness though, with their laughter and loud voices. Raoul glanced over their heads to Susannah, who was bringing up the rear with three-week-old Missouria strapped to her front. Her heart stuttered as his glance caressed her and the baby. She dropped her gaze.
Soon, they came upon the grove of fir trees Raoul had found on a previous visit. The children ran from one tree to another as Raoul and Susannah waited for them to come to a consensus.
"Thank you for coming along, Raoul. I was fearful the children would have one more event taken from them this year."
"They seem to be having fun."
"It's always a good time to pick out the best tree in the forest and to bring it into the house to enjoy."
Raoul ran his hand over Missouria's head in an absentminded gesture and, in the process, grazed Susannah's breast. His sharp intake of breath and the way his hand fell from her as if she were hot to the touch, made her giddy. Her feelings were not as one-sided as he would like her to believe. His touch, as brief as it had been, stirred a longing in her to her core. She could feel her nipples budding from his touch, and turned away from him. He could not be privy to her feelings, which she was certain were written all over her face. He must not be. He had been holding up his end of their hastily-formed bargain by staying in the barn. She needed to do the same.
Hannah, Jacob, Lydia and George came to a quick decision on which tree should be felled and brought into the house. Raoul bent over and, with a few strong strokes of the axe, cut the tree down. Susannah admired his muscles and his backside while he worked, when his focus was not on her. Stolen moments. The only moments she could ever have with Raoul would be stolen. She forced herself to turn her gaze from him, and instead turned to her children, who were smiling and laughing. Her children with William. She'd best keep straight what was what. She breathed deeply of the pine-scented air and tried to right her feelings.
Raoul drug the tree out of the woods as the children sang Christmas carols. Once they got to the house, he placed the tree inside, and got it situated in the corner where Susannah directed him to place it.
Hannah took hold of his hand and tugged, as if she sensed he was about to leave them, and her action would keep him in the house a bit longer. "Will you stay and help decorate the tree, Lone Wolf? We will make some popcorn and string it around the tree, and then we will string beads. It takes all day."
Susannah experienced a bolt of jealousy at the easy relationship Hannah shared with Raoul. Tears smarted at her eyes and she turned from them. Such a silly emotion, to be envious of her daughter.
"No, Maiingan. I cannot stay. I need to get back to the barn and take care of the animals. You children and your mother can decorate it and surprise me next time I come in."
"We'll save the top ornament for you to add to the tree, then. Daddy used to always do it for us, since none of us could reach it."
“Of course, Hannah. You get the rest of the tree put together, and this evening, I will return to put the top ornament on it to finish it off.”
Raoul took his hand back from Hannah's grasp and stared at Susannah for a long moment. Hannah's innocent request spoke volumes, and waves of emotion crested between the two adults, over the heads of the unsuspecting children. Susannah held her breath, hoping he'd reconsider and stay. Hoping he'd do the sensible thing, and leave.
Raoul was first to break their gaze. He shook his head, pulled on his deerskin coat, and left the room without another word.
Susannah blinked hard to clear her vision of his handsome face. If Raoul did what was best for both of them, he'd leave the mountain this evening and never glance back over his shoulder. Because if he did, he'd find a woman longing for his touch, and no longer able to deny it.
♥•♥•♥
Raoul chanted under his breath in an effort to calm himself down as he cleaned out a stall in the quiet barn. The quiet was in direct opposition to the merriment that was certainly taking place in the house across the yard, as the family decorated the tree. But the silent barn was where he needed to be. Where he could talk to his grandfather, if only in his mind. Where he could straighten out his feelings.
Something had shifted today in his relationship with Susannah. Perhaps it had been building since Missouria’s birth. Because he had been forced to do things not even a husband should have to do, in order to save Susannah's life. And the life of the child. His child.
No, not his child! He cut off his chanting, swore in Ojibwa, English, and French, for good measure, and took a deep breath. It was not fair to anyone, what he was doing. Hannah had inserted him into their Christmas traditions without a thought, having him take over the duties of the father. He himself had created a cozy picture in his mind, with him, Susannah and the children snug in the house together. And then, once the children were all asleep, taking Susannah to bed and making sweet love to her all night. One night would not be long enough, though. The rest of his life would not be long enough.
He bent over, clutching his stomach, which was knotted up. His manhood was rock hard as a vision of her danced through his head. He needed her. Since his very first vision of her, which had taken place at the Ojibwa camp far away from here, he had wanted her, unaware of who she was or why she had filled his mind. No woman since Pale Moon had interested him. Until her. Susannah's fla
xen hair, her high, lush breasts, which he touched briefly today, her stomach, even when it was swollen with her child, her strong, yet gentle arms, all called out to him. But she was forbidden fruit, belonging to another. The best thing he could do, for both of them, for this family, would be to leave right now. They had enough wood and meat to get them through until the beginning of March, anyway. Then, it would not be too much longer before the pass would open and they could get to town. Where they could get the latest news along with some fresh meat, maybe a letter from William.
He did not wish to taint the family’s Christmas festivities, but it was past time for him to leave. Yes, he would leave immediately after Christmas. If he waited any longer, it could spell disaster for everyone on this mountaintop.
He put the pitchfork away, brushed off his hands, and picked up the deerskin to begin making one more pair of moccasins. All the children's footwear had been done, and were lined up in a row, from Hannah's down to the tiniest versions, which were for Missouria. He had one more set to finish in the next two days. He unrolled the deerskin and cut out the pattern with his knife. He guessed on the size of the foot, but he'd put his own foot near her boots while they were in the forest today and had a fairly good idea of the length of Susannah’s feet. The thought of that foot, with its delicate arch, came to him. He had not seen her feet bare since summer ended. At that time, he had wished to kiss her arch, make love to her toes. Now, pondering her feet and seeing them in his mind, his manhood swelled again with need. He brushed his hand over his eyes and tossed his braids over his shoulders before he picked up his needle and began crafting a shoe.