And suddenly, he wondered if what he suffered from was a lack of courage?
Emboldened, he moved to the edge of the table where she stood up to her elbows in water. Shoving his cigarette into the pocket of his trousers, he reached over and handed her one of the dirty saucers stacked to her left.
She stopped, with the dish in mid-air, her eyes alight with curiosity. She murmured her thanks.
He nodded as he reached for the next dish.
Neither of them spoke, then, as he continued to hand her dish after dish, but the silence was remarkably comfortable, even comforting. In a way, he thought, it was as if time had stopped, trapping them both in its halo.
“I wish—” he began, as he handed her the last dish.
She turned, her face wet with perspiration.
He smiled at her unkempt but lovely appearance, and, without thinking, reached forward and wiped several wisps of hair back around her ear, gently. His fingers lingered there, and he seemed incapable of pulling them away.
She did not move either, and he noted the way her teeth had caught her bottom lip, as if she were holding her breath.
Did he dare move closer?
He studied the shape of her face, so perfectly drawn. “I’m not good at—this,” he whispered. “I have spent the last five, six, years closing myself off from—this.” He pulled his fingers back then, letting them curl into a fist at his side.
She said nothing, but her eyes held his for a long, heady moment. Suddenly, she shrugged. “Isn’t this is a woman’s job?” An unexpected smile moved across her face as she lifted the saucer up out of the water.
He chuckled. The woman had wit and grit. “If only it was,” he said. “But I think either way, it’s work.”
They both laughed then, and McMurray felt the wall that had separated them over the last week had come crashing down.
She raised her brows. “Indeed, it is, Mr. McMurray.”
“Indeed, Mrs. Wagner.”
****
Mrs. Kerrigan was hanging wash early the next morning when Della went out to release and feed her chickens. She had carefully locked them up each night since Buddy had taken up residence near the garden gate.
She warned him to stay away as she opened the gate and slipped through.
“I see,” called out Mrs. Kerrigan, “that you’ve taken in the Baines boy and his dog. I hope you don’t get yourself into a passel of trouble doin’ that. Leroy ain’t a kind man,” she added.
Della unlatched the door to her chicken pen before responding. “I’m afraid, Mrs. Kerrigan, I had no choice. Carson was near starving, and Leroy Baines is a cruel man who cares more for the bottle than his grandson. How Henry could even consider leaving his son to the care of such a fool is beyond me.”
Mrs. Kerrigan shrugged. “All I’m sayin’ is you better not take more on your heels than you can kick off with your toes. You got a plateful with your boarders, and what you do up at the schoolhouse and all. Time was you was thinkin’ of yourself.”
Della collected the morning’s eggs, listening with only half an ear to Mrs. Kerrigan. Eight. Just barely enough for the day.
She moved to the fence that separated her house from Mrs. Kerrigan’s. It had been a blessing when Jonathon decided they should build next door to the preacher and his wife. He knew Della would need some strong female companionship in this rag-tag community that possessed little more than a store, a church, a saloon, and a sheriff/assessor’s office, blacksmith, and something of a school. “It’s true. I have my hands full, but that’s what brings me satisfaction, Mrs. Kerrigan. At least, at this point—” she began, and then stopped.
At this point? She shook herself. “I don’t need more,” she finished, raising her voice as if to impress on Mrs. Kerrigan and herself that all was well.
Mrs. Kerrigan’s round face lit up with a smile. “Ah, well,” she said. “At this point, perhaps not. But I ain’t blind. I see what many people don’t, an’ I’m thinking that that handsome Mr. McMurray will choose to stay for more than a broken-down blacksmithy. That is, if you have a mind to consider it—”
Della moved quickly through the garden gate, her face turned away from Mrs. Kerrigan’s discerning glance. She didn’t need anyone’s advice, she thought, and the near-indiscretion of the night before had already left her shaky and unnerved.
“Thank you, Mrs. Kerrigan, for your kind words.” She smiled her best smile as she stepped over the sleeping Buddy and headed to the kitchen door.
Back inside, Della closed the door, leaning against it in case her knees buckled. She glanced around the kitchen as if searching for the answers that eluded her. What had she been thinking last night, she wondered, letting McMurray take such liberties? Or, more to the point, how could she have stopped thinking?
She didn’t want a man—right? Isn’t that what she’d told herself over the last three-and-a-half years? And isn’t that what she told Felix?
Straightening, Della resolved to settle the matter the moment McMurray returned home. He’d left before sunup again, and she suspected he wouldn’t return before sundown. She’d heard from one or two people that he was already making a name for himself as an accomplished blacksmith. But be that as it may, she needed to clear up any misunderstanding she might have created—
She tramped upstairs to the tiny attic room she’d given to Carson. The child had not yet stirred, even after twelve hours in bed. Obviously, he was a growing boy, but he needed to get up and get ready for school. And, though Miss Niblack had not objected to his staying away the first couple of mornings, he needed to return to her classroom today.
She also needed to come up with some better clothes for him. If only she was a more accomplished seamstress, she could have already fashioned him some decent clothes from Jonathon’s old ones, but that was a skill she’d never mastered. Perhaps she would ask Mrs. Kerrigan. The woman wielded a needle and thread better than anyone else in town.
She tapped on the narrow attic door, but there was no response. Pushing it open, she peered into the small dark room, but the bed was empty. Had she missed him while she’d been outside?
She went downstairs and called for him, but as she looked around, there was no sign that he’d eaten or disturbed anything. She then ran to the back door and pulled it open. Strangely enough, Buddy still slept undisturbed next to the chicken yard. He’d have barked if Carson had passed by without taking him with him. The dog worshipped the boy.
She called for him again. “Carson!”
Buddy stood up and wagged his tail, then plopped down again when Carson didn’t appear.
An eerie silence followed. There was no sound except that of her chickens milling about as they pecked at the dried corn she’d thrown out for them earlier.
Suddenly, Della wondered if Carson had run away. But why would he have slipped out or run away without speaking to her first? He’d seemed so very pleased with being here. Or—perhaps he’d just left for school.
Grabbing her bonnet and shawl, she dashed out the front door. It didn’t take long to reach the schoolhouse, but rather than disturbing Miss Niblack and her students, she peered in at one of the two side windows.
There was no Carson.
She stood, confused. Would he have dared return to his grandfather’s shack on the hill? The idea seemed preposterous, but where else would he have gone?
****
As she’d done previously, Della stormed up Main Street, past the mercantile, sheriff’s office and saloon. Only today, the street was empty. As she passed the blacksmith’s shop, she slowed and glanced over, but it, too, was empty. Apparently, McMurray was busy elsewhere.
Well, she thought, Mr. McMurray’s whereabouts was the least of her worries.
She trudged up Leroy Baines’s hill as determinedly as she had several days before. This man, she thought, was becoming a thorn in her side. If she had to, she’d call in Sheriff Boyle even though he was as useless as teats on a boar when it came to doing much more than strutting
up and down Main Street.
As Della approached the cabin, she noted that a thin ribbon of smoke was rising up out of the chimney. Breathing heavily, she stopped, hesitated. The last person she actually wanted to confront this morning was Leroy Baines himself.
She gritted her teeth, although a sudden sense of her own foolishness filled her with anxiety. She thought of Jonathon’s cool, common sense. He might have said to back away, to study the problem a little longer before jumping in; he knew that she didn’t always think before she acted.
Then, she thought of Carson and Buddy—and her dead hen.
****
McMurray was in the back of the blacksmith shop when he spotted Della Wagner passing by. He quickly stood up with the intention of stopping her, but when he saw the determined expression on her face, he hesitated.
He was still pondering what had happened between them. In fact, it had been festering all morning. In light of his intense reaction to Mrs. Della Wagner, he wondered if he would be more stupid than foolish to go after her now.
Like his brother told him the day he finally gave up trying to make Mabel happy, “When you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is stop diggin'.” Obviously, he hadn’t dug himself out soon enough then. Did he really want to jump in with both feet—after a woman he hardly knew?
Still, curiosity was stronger than caution, and there was something—something—about this woman that intrigued him.
Was it because she wasn’t afraid to take risks?
Shaking out his hat, he left the shop and trailed after her. When she turned to climb the steep hill, he waited until she was out of sight before surging ahead.
****
Leroy Baines opened the door, his face red from too much whiskey, his eyes bloodshot and oozing infection.
Della stepped back, horrified by the appearance of the man.
He stumbled out the door, nearly falling against her. “You’re the bitch who stole Carson! Who do you think you are? You got no right. No right a’tall.”
Without warning, Leroy pushed Della aside, knocking her to the ground. She scrambled to get up, but he shoved her again. “You oughta learn your place, woman!” he shouted. “Bitch like you—”
She fought to get out of his way, shocked by the violence in his voice and actions. Her skirts twisted as she tried to stand and she fell back against a wooden bucket.
He tried to kick her then, but as drunk as he was, Leroy fell back against the cabin wall, cursing.
Della got to her knees just in time to see Mr. McMurray grab him and pull him to his feet. Leroy cried out, but McMurray leveled a punch squarely on his jaw. He fell to the ground, still cursing. He kicked and flailed wildly as the big man stepped over him, legs spread, face red with anger.
Della fought the sob that had lodged in her throat. Relieved and grateful, she stared up at McMurray, his dark eyes flashing like brilliant stones.
He continued to stand over the furious Leroy who was unable to do more than turn and crawl away.
Della, staggering to her feet, reached out and placed a hand on McMurray’s muscled arm in order to steady herself. “Th-thank you,” she mumbled, glancing up at him.
He flinched. “Step away, Mrs. Wagner. I don’t want him to find any reason to come at you again.” He turned back to Leroy who was now grappling to stand up. “And don’t give me any reason to hit you, else I’ll put my fist clean through you. You hear me?”
Leroy reluctantly nodded as blood trickled down his chin. Between his own red eyes and the smeared blood across his cheek and chin, Della thought he looked more like a clown than a bully.
She gathered her wits as she turned on the old man. “Where’s Carson? Where is he?”
Leroy laughed. “He run off. Here I dragged him home after hearin’ you snatched him up, an’ he run off. Ain’t that just sweet? He can rot in hell, for all I care. He ain’t worth a damn, anyways.”
Della felt the blood rise in her cheeks and her face grew hot. “You are nothing but a cur,” she hissed. “Even Buddy has more soul than you.”
Leroy spat, the spittle filled with bubbles of blood-stained tobacco juice. Della grimaced and frowned once more. “No wonder Carson ran off. I’d run all the way to Kingdom-Come to get away from the likes of you,” she said.
Taking Della by the arm, McMurray stepped back, steering her away, shaking his head as if to keep her from saying more. She knew that Jonathon would have said that oftimes, silence was the better weapon; but she wanted so very much to give the fiend a hard kick. Still, she stepped away from the open door and Leroy, who lay sprawled in front of it.
“We’re going to take our leave,” McMurray said to Leroy, his voice almost a growl. “But if you come near Mrs. Wagner now or ever, I’ll finish what I started.”
Leroy Baines did not move, but the scowl on his face indicated he wasn’t done with Mrs. Wagner yet.
****
Della pulled her shawl more tightly around her. Her head ached and her body hurt in places she’d never known existed. She let her head fall back against the rocking chair and closed her eyes.
She felt numb all over. She’d never done anything so outlandish in all her life. Tramping after a scoundrel like Leroy Baines had been more than ridiculous; it could have been dangerous—very dangerous. McMurray had been only too glad to tell her that on their way back down Leroy’s hill.
He was gone now. After settling her in, he’d headed to the sheriff’s office to report Leroy’s assault.
“Sheriff Boyle will do nothing,” she told him.
“Let me worry about that. This is not just your affair,” he responded, and she’d trembled as she watched him strap on his holster. Since arriving in town, he had not worn a gun.
He caught her eyeing the weapon, but said nothing. Only looked at her with those mysteriously dark eyes.
It was a reminder that there was so much about this man she didn’t know. Was he a gunfighter, on the run from the law? He had never looked like a blacksmith, though he was muscled enough to be one. Had he been soldier, fresh from the Indian wars?
She wished now she had asked him some questions—especially since she’d already compromised herself, almost willing him to take her in his arms. She blushed as she remembered the heat that had filled her, the aching heat. She had thought, with Jonathon’s passing, she was done with all that emotion.
Apparently not.
She certainly couldn’t deny their attraction, nor could she ignore the fact that they had crossed an invisible barrier in those moments when he was so close she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek and the tingling sensation of his fingers against her skin.
She began to rock furiously back and forth. She needed to put McMurray out of her mind. He was a stranger, she reminded herself. A handsome stranger, yes, but a stranger nonetheless—in spite of the fact that he’d risked a lot by standing up to Leroy Baines.
The gentle knock at the window startled her. She stopped rocking and held her breath. Was it Leroy?
She grasped the arms of the rocker and turned her head slowly, wishing that McMurray would walk through the door and rescue her again.
Thankfully, it was Carson.
Her shawl fell to the floor as she leaped out of her chair and ran to the door. He stepped into the house and then stopped. She saw instantly that he’d been beaten soundly about the eyes and mouth. There was dried blood on his lips and one eye was half-shut.
“Oh, heavens!” she cried and pulled him inside.
The boy said nothing. He simply stood and stared at her.
“Carson,” she murmured, her long-denied instincts spilling out over the child. He needed a mother as much as she needed a child, she thought, as she led him into the parlor. “Sit,” she said and pointed to the settee that sat across from the window.
He obeyed without response. Immediately, she ran into the kitchen and grabbed a rag, dipping it into the kettle of water she always kept by the stove.
With ca
reful attention, she dabbed at the crusted blood and dirt on his face. “Where did you go?” she whispered. “I went to get you—”
Carson nodded. “I hid in the cellar, under the rotten potatoes,” he said. “I saw what Granddad did to you,” he added, dropping his chin.
Della put a hand on his shoulder as she repressed a shudder. This child had suffered too much, she thought. Too much, too often. “We won’t let your grandfather
take you away, do you hear me? Mr. McMurray has gone to the sheriff. You will stay here. With me. With us,” she added with finality.
The boy seemed to relax then, but only a little.
“You’re safe. Do you hear me?”
Carson nodded, and Della could see that he wanted very much to believe her. Was she a fool to promise anything? She patted his hands and sighed. “But we better find something for you to wear, and soon.” She smiled. “Mrs. Kerrigan can make you up some trousers and shirts. Yes?”
Carson smiled then, and Della realized the boy had a beautiful, winsome smile. Had she never seen it before? Oh, heavens, she thought bitterly, he needs to smile like this everyday.
****
McMurray found Della and Carson in the parlor. Carson had fallen asleep in her arms, and Della had dozed off, as well.
He stood in the doorway and studied the picture the pair made. He thought of the four babies Della had apparently lost and, suddenly, he realized that she was a natural mother. Like a young banty, she needed to coddle a child, and like a banty, she was willing to go on the peck when her chick was threatened. She had clearly demonstrated her fearlessness already, he thought, and he couldn’t help but admire her sheer determination.
Della stirred and as her eyes opened, revealing the blue of a bright summer sky, he tried to smile, but his insides were in such flux, he wasn’t sure if he were smiling or not. This woman—this strong, independent woman—had taken him by the throat, in a manner of speaking, and it terrified him.
She eased the sleeping Carson to the settee and carefully spread her shawl over his shoulders. Then she stood, turned, and made her way toward him. The whoosh of her skirts against the plank floor and the soft th-thump of his own heartbeat was all the sound he heard.
Just in Time for Christmas Page 3