St. John, Cheryl

by Prairie Wife

  Amy had taken to watching how Cay modeled his actions after his uncle, and right now he sat up straight, his hat lowered over his eyes in the same fashion. She guessed Cay had never had a man around to show him things before. He was as attentive to Jesse's everyday lessons as he was to their nightly spelling and ciphering.

  When they arrived home Sam had a noon meal prepared, delighting Amy. The hands joined them and they ate together. Mrs. Barnes was off most Sundays, her day to visit her son, and Rachel had prepared a meal for Jack at the soddy, so Jesse stayed to help Amy clean up.

  "Why don't you come out and watch Cay?" he suggested as they finished. "We're going to work a horse this afternoon."

  Amy pulled on a scarf and jacket and accompanied Jesse to the stables. Cay joined them and, from a stall, Jesse brought a handsome Appaloosa with a leopard-patterned face and forelegs and black on white hips.

  "We'll work on bridling today. Come over here on his left."

  "Amy," Jesse asked, his voice always calm around the animals, "what must you protect when bridling?"

  Jesse had been her teacher, too. "His teeth and ears need special care, but I'm thinking you mean your own head."

  He grinned at her. "Right. You want to stand in close, Cay, so he can't butt you with his head. Saw stars a few times myself, before I got the hang of it."

  He continued the lesson, warning Cay not to bang the animal's teeth, which would make him head-shy and hard to bridle. He showed Cay how to get the horse to open his mouth, and how to make sure the bit wasn't giving the animal pain.

  Jesse placed his hand on the Appaloosa's face to keep its nose down while he removed the bridle and handed it to Cay. "Now you do it."

  "By myself?"

  "Yep." Jesse backed away to stand near Amy, where she'd seated herself on a wooden keg.

  Cay and the horse eyeballed each other for a full minute. Jesse and Amy exchanged an amused glance. Finally, Cay spoke to the horse and moved in close. He had trouble reaching, so Jesse found him a crate.

  Following all the instructions Jesse had given, and with little hesitation, Cay competently bridled the horse. He kept glancing at Jesse, as though gauging his reaction.

  "I swear that horse opened his mouth wider than he does for me. 'Bout time you got here to help out."

  Cay's proud sheepish grin touched a place within Amy that she'd unknowingly left unguarded. His need for approval was so obvious that even she couldn't hide from it.

  Jesse ruffled Cay's hair, and Amy's throat closed with bottled-up emotion. Their son should have been the one Jesse lavished praise upon. Their son should be learning from his father, getting spoiled by the hands and doted on by his grandfather.

  Her boy.

  No, she wasn't going to do this. She had moved on, and regret served no purpose. She stood, and her knees felt shaky.

  "I think I'll go do some sewing."

  She didn't miss the puzzled look Jesse cast her or the way Cay's smile dimmed.

  Determinedly, she hurried to the house, where she got out the two dresses she'd been working on for the past couple of months and settled in front of the fireplace for an uninterrupted afternoon.

  She made progress on the garments and finished the bodice and sleeves for both, then decided to try them on in case she'd made an error. She had used one of her older dresses as a pattern, but she didn't want to finish and not have her work fit properly.

  Upstairs, she removed her shirtwaist and tried on the upper portions of the dresses, being careful of the basting in the darts. Turned out it was a good thing she'd been cautious, because somewhere during the process she'd made a mistake and she had to move the darts and the seams nearly an inch.

  She had been eating better, she realized, turning to look at her reflection with new eyes. Her skin had more color, and her face was less drawn. Until today in the stables, she'd been feeling more like her old self than she had for a long time.

  She vowed not to lose any ground she'd gained and allow her mixed feelings about Cay to erode her progress. The boy needed a home and a family. He was bright and respectful and so eager to please and to belong that it hurt to watch his face when he believed he was unobserved.

  Since it was Sunday evening, Jesse set up the checker board, and he and Cay played while Amy rocked and finished one of the dresses. Occasionally Jesse stood and paced the room, each time returning to the game. Sam stopped by long enough for applesauce cake and coffee, and after he left, Cay said good-night and climbed the stairs.

  "You want to take on the champ?" Jesse asked. He'd been pacing the room for a few minutes.

  She put away her sewing and sat across from him at the table he'd made to hold the board. While they played, Jesse kept touching Amy's hand and sliding his leg against hers.

  "Is this meant to distract me?" she asked with a smile.

  "Only fair. You're distractin' me."

  "I wasn't doing anything except sitting here."

  "That's all it takes."

  She couldn't help laughing.

  "I need the distraction, you know."

  "I know. I'm proud of you, Jesse."

  Shrugging off her comment, he moved a checker. He had grown more serious. "I think Sam's takin' this thing with Eden—or Lark—whoever she is pretty hard."

  Amy nodded. "He's being too severe with himself."

  "Amy, I think he was poking her."

  She shot him a look of surprise. "Jesse!"

  He gestured with both hands in the air. "I do. He as much as told me so. He didn't say it like that, but now that I think it over, that's what he meant."

  His words reminded her of her father's talk with her. "He said something about her... having an appetite for men." Amy's eyes widened and she brought her hand to her cheek. "That's what he was telling me!"

  Jesse leaned in to say in a hushed tone, "Those Sunday afternoons they went for rides.... He was sure in a good mood on Mondays."

  "No wonder he's so hurt. For a man like him that's a promise."

  Jesse's gaze took in her expression. "I think the promises should come first. 'Cleave unto each other' and all that."

  "He was lonely and she baited him. I hope she gets what's coming to her," she said. She stood abruptly and waved a hand in the air as though there was a bad smell. "Enough. I can't think about her with my father."

  Jesse raised a brow and winked. "She went back for more—he must be a real stud."

  "Jesse Shelby!" She picked up a fistful of checkers and threw them at him just as he stood up.

  He laughed and caught her around the waist.

  She spun from him and he chased her into the kitchen.

  "I'll bet she put that smile on his face by—"

  Amy turned back and clapped her hand over his mouth. "Not one more word, do you hear me? Not one!"

  He drew her up against him and ran his hands down her back to cup her bottom.

  She tried to keep her expression fierce, but her body turned to liquid heat at the suggestions in his eloquent eyes and hands. Through layers of fabric, he caressed her backside. Slowly Amy took her hand from his mouth. "If I move my hand, will you stop talking?"

  "Only if I can start kissin'."

  She laughed and met his lips with hers.

  ***

  A week later, a tall slender man with slicked-down black hair arrived with trunks and cases and asked permission to set up a tent to the north, across the road from where the stages arrived and left.

  "What's your business, Mr. Quenton?" Jesse asked, looking over the assortment of luggage.

  "I'm a photographer, Mr. Shelby. I'm chronicling the Western advancement. There's much about this country that those back East still don't understand. The untamed magnificence." He gestured to the vast prairie. "The vision and struggles of men such as yourself. I want to bring it back to them."

  "Sounds ambitious."

  "As ambitious as embarking on a new life? As ambitious as paving the way for thousands of others? All of us have something to shar
e. And something to leave for the future. My mark on the future will be photographs."

  Jesse appreciated the man's passion. "I don't have a problem with you stayin' a while. You'll be expected to pay for your stay and your food, so you might as well enjoy a bed in the boardin' house."

  "Thank you, Mr. Shelby, but I must keep a close eye on my equipment. I'll sleep in my tent and gladly pay for lodging."

  "Suit yourself."

  In the days that followed, Mr. Quenton joined them for meals and shared tales of his trips across the country.

  A light snow was falling when Rachel entered the kitchen one afternoon the following week. She brushed flakes from the shoulders of her coat and hung it on a hook. "Do you think Mr. Quenton will show us his photographs soon?"

  "I'd imagine so. He does seem to be everywhere, doesn't he?"

  Rachel agreed with a smile. Over the past month, she had blossomed. Even the loose shirts and flowing skirts she wore couldn't disguise her burgeoning belly. Between Amy and Leda Bently, they had seen that Rachel had proper clothing, not only for daily chores but for church. In fact Amy had put aside her own new dresses until a few of Rachel's were altered.

  Weeks ago, Amy had brought a plump cushion to the kitchen and insisted that Rachel perform only chores she could do sitting down. Her baby would be born in a few short weeks.

  Now Amy's throat tightened as she watched the cheerful young woman seat herself and reach for the bag of potatoes.

  Rachel paused in her peeling to place a hand on her belly and frown.

  "You all right?" Amy asked.

  "I'm fine. This baby never stops moving. Even at night he's rolling around in there."

  Amy almost told her it would only get worse, but she kept silent.

  "Sometimes I can't believe our good fortune. Jack getting a job here, and you and Mr. Shelby giving us the soddy to use."

  Her joyful optimism worked to dredge up feelings in Amy, but she fought them back. She was pleased for the young couple to have a good start for their marriage and their family. Jealousy was wrong and sorrow was a waste of time.

  "Jack says after the baby comes he's going to teach me to ride."

  "It's a good thing to know. I've noticed Jack is a good rider, and Jesse mentioned he's accomplished with the animals."

  "He was a groomsman back in England." Rachel glanced around. "Where's Mrs. Barnes?"

  Amy carried a cutting board to the table and placed a stack of carrots beside it. "Stacking preserves in the root cellar."

  Rachel peeled a potato and let the skin fall onto the sack protecting her white apron. "Jack heard from one of the hands that you'd had a child, Amy."

  Amy's hand froze on the knife she held. The subject was completely unexpected. Completely unwelcome. And everyone knew that. Except Rachel. She picked up a carrot and scraped the sides. "I never talk about that."

  "I'm sorry.

  Silence stretched between them. They'd worked companionably for weeks. Rachel was a sweet young woman who wouldn't deliberately hurt anyone, and Amy felt the weight of guilt for creating a wedge between them. She'd already done it to everyone else. She looked up.

  Rachel's gaze lifted and met hers. Amy saw only compassion in the other woman's eyes.

  "No, I'm sorry, Rachel. It's a flaw of mine. You didn't know."

  "It's okay. It's just that, well, sometimes I'd like another woman to talk to about things. I wasn't prying, really I wasn't."

  "I know that."

  They both resumed their peeling.

  Amy had always had her mother to talk to and answer questions. Rachel was far from home with a new husband and a new life growing inside her. "Is something in particular troubling you?"

  Rachel's cheeks flushed a becoming pink. She nodded. "It's not easy to talk about."

  "You don't have to."

  "But I want to ask."

  Amy gave a little nod to encourage her. "Go ahead."

  "Is it all right for Jack and me to, well... you know, be close so near to my time?"

  Amy understood Rachel's concern and her embarrassment. She was a newly married young woman, in love with her husband, but her changing body seemed like a stranger's. She smiled. "You aren't the first woman who ever wondered that. You're afraid to hurt your baby, but you love your husband."

  Eyes wide at Amy's understanding, Rachel nodded.

  "I had to ask my mother, can you believe that?"

  Rachel shook her head.

  "She told me that she was sure Jesse was a very tender and considerate partner, and that as long as I was comfortable, there was no problem. There are many ways to make love, and being creative can be a good thing."

  Rachel's eyes brightened. "Was she right?"

  "She was very right."

  Rachel smiled. "Thanks, Amy."

  Amy nodded and sliced carrots.

  "One more thing..."

  Amy looked up again.

  "It's embarrassing."

  "More embarrassing than that?"

  "Uh-huh. It's about gas."

  Amy burst into laughter.

  ***

  In the days that followed, Rachel seemed to glow even more, if that was possible. She took well to pregnancy, and from her shy smiles, Amy guessed she had shared Amy's advice with Jack.

  Amy wiped her hands on a towel. "I thought I'd make cobbler for supper. What's your preference?"

  "I love berries. Is that out of the question?"

  "I have several jars of gooseberry. I could make an apple and a gooseberry." The root cellar was around back, so she put on her coat and took a bushel basket to carry supplies.

  Returning to the kitchen, she stepped inside and froze.

  A man she'd never seen before stood behind Rachel, holding a knife at her throat.

  Chapter Ten

  Amy dropped the basket, jars breaking at her feet. It took several seconds for her to comprehend what her eyes were seeing, and when she did, her heart lurched.

  The stranger wore a dark coat and a hat that shaded his eyes. One of his hands covered Rachel's mouth, the other held the knife. Rachel stared back at Amy, her round eyes revealing fear.

  "Who are you?" Amy took a halting step forward. "What are you doing?"

  "Don't come any closer." He touched the blade to Rachel's neck, and behind his palm she let out an alarmed squeak. "Just stand right where you are."

  Amy stopped, her heart thudding against her ribs. She couldn't grasp his intent. "What do you want? Let her go."

  "I want a little information. Nobody's going anywhere until I get it."

  "What do you want to know?"

  "I want to know about a fetching woman with dark hair who was through a while back."

  Eden again. "Wh-what about her?"

  "She shared her pleasures with one of the men here."

  Insult and anger stirred Amy's insides. She held her tongue and tried to assure Rachel with a steady comforting gaze. Rachel was gripping the man's forearms through the sleeves of his coat as though she could keep the knife from her neck.

  "You know who that was?"

  "I do."

  "What's his name?"

  "If you know about it, why don't you know his name?"

  He tightened his hold on the already terrified young woman. Her eyes begged Amy for help.

  "I asked his name."

  Amy studied Rachel only a moment before improvising, "Sam Baker."

  "You know where he lives?"

  She nodded.

  "Is he there right now?"

  She shook her head.

  "Listen carefully while I tell you what you're going to do. You're going to go out to the barn and get a wagon. If anyone asks, you tell 'em you're going for supplies. You bring that wagon right up to the house here. If you're not back with it in twenty minutes, she's going to bleed all over the floor."

  "Let her go. She doesn't need to be involved. You can see she's expecting a baby."

  "And let her alert the others? I'm not a fool."

 
"We'll leave her here and tie her up. I swear I'll get the wagon and go with you. Just leave her. Please."

  For the first time Amy wondered what had become of Mrs. Barnes. She'd been emptying ashes the last time Amy saw her. And Cay's dog—any other time the animal was directly underfoot, but now, when he could have been useful in alerting them of danger, he was probably off chasing rabbits. She refused to think the worst. Even Mr. Quenton was nowhere to be seen. Dimly, she recalled his mentioning he'd be photographing horses in the pastures that day.

  It could be noon before anyone came to the kitchen. Before anyone noticed something wrong...

  "All right—" he said finally.

  If he was thinking, he'd know two women would be harder to take with him than one.

  "Get something to tie her with. Be quick."

  Amy opened a cupboard and took out a stack of dish towels. "These. They won't hurt her. Let me do it."

  Rachel gripped against his front, the man stepped forward and pushed her onto a chair. He took his hand from her mouth, but kept the edge of the blade at her throat. "Fast."

  Amy's fingers had never felt so awkward as she tied Rachel's ankles together.

  "Tighter!"

  She obeyed and moved to secure Rachel's wrists behind her back.

  Tears streamed from Rachel's eyes. "Amy—" She choked on a ragged breath.

  With one hand, the man jerked a towel from Amy's hand and stuffed the corner into Rachel's mouth. "Now wrap her head so she can't spit that out."

  Amy was careful not to pull Rachel's hair as she tied the knot securely. She turned her gaze to the stranger. There was nothing familiar about him, nothing that gave any hint of his motive or intent.

  The point of the weapon pressed against Rachel's neck, he drew open his coat to reveal a pearl-handled revolver in a fancily tooled holster. "Twenty minutes, lady. If you let on, if you tell someone, if you make trouble, she'll die right here. Anyone besides you comes through that door, they eat a bullet. I won't get caught."

  At the threats, she took a step back.

  "Fast!"

  With one last look at Rachel, Amy turned and fled out the kitchen door. Heart hammering, eyes streaming tears of fright, she ran toward the stables. Her head whirled with panicked thoughts. She could save herself and tell someone—Pitch or Hermie or anyone in the stable. Except for what might happen to Rachel. And her baby.