Pure Sin

by Susan Johnson

  “I like a weak brew and plenty of sugar,” she said, scooping in two large measures of sweetening. “Here, see what you think,” she went on, helping Flora into a seated position and holding the cup to her mouth.

  It was a miraculous transformation. Within minutes Flora felt restored, the waves had ceased to toss, she could think about something other than vomiting, and she took note of the children again playing tag in a small grassy meadow between the lodge and the river.

  “There, now, isn’t that better?” Spring Lily’s smile was warm in the perfect oval of her face.

  “Immensely,” Flora said with a grateful sigh. “Thank you very much.”

  “You have to tell Adam. He’ll be ecstatic.”

  “I’m afraid you’re misinterpreting,” Flora gently said. “I can’t have children, you see, because of an illness I had years ago. Several doctors have agreed on the diagnosis.”

  “I’d say they’re wrong.”

  Her words held such certainty, Flora considered the possibility for the first time in her life. A transient flitting thought, immediately discarded. A dozen doctors couldn’t be wrong, despite Spring Lily’s conclusion. “I wish you were right, but—” Flora slowly shook her head.

  “Well, at least the tea cured your stomach,” Spring Lily politely replied. Adam’s woman would know soon enough when her belly began growing large with the child, she thought. There was no need to convince her today. “When you’re feeling better, let me introduce you to some more of Adam’s relatives. Everyone is anxious to meet you. He’s happy again, and all his family is pleased he found you.”

  Or, maybe, found us, Flora giddily thought with a small rush of secret longing.

  But she didn’t mention her upset stomach to Adam, for she knew he’d worry, and she rationally dismissed the improbable dream from her mind as well. She told Adam only of Spring Lily’s visit when he returned. And asked him about Isolde.

  “You needn’t protect me from unpleasant subjects,” she said, gazing at him sprawled against his willow backrest. “I’d rather know.”

  “There was no point in spoiling our holiday here. James just told me recently, and there’s nothing we can do at the moment.” He touched his earring, an unconscious gesture to ward off evil.

  “You’re going to need more than your medicine to see her out of your life,” Flora said, her smile benevolent, charmed by his intrinsic spirituality. His earrings were restored now that Lucie was well, and he had the look of an Absarokee warrior in elkskin leggings and moccasins, his torso bare in the summer heat.

  “We’ll worry about her later,” he casually replied. “At the moment I’m more interested in swimming. The water looks damned inviting in this heat. Let’s take Lucie.”

  They spent a lazy day en famille, swimming in the river, lying in the sun, riding up into the hills late in the afternoon when the heat of the day had dissipated. And that night after Lucie fell asleep, they sat under the stars, listening to the drums accompanying the dancers, the rhythm pulsing through the darkness to their secluded hermitage on the riverbank.

  They made love with lingering slowness, both touched by a special enchantment, the majesty of the vast night sky a dazzling canopy above them. Bliss was written in the stars that night in the summer of their love. And they lay in each other’s arms till the moon sank toward the amber streak of dawn.

  Very early the next morning, it was Adam who held her head when Flora vomited, wiped her face when she was through, and carried her back to the lodge.

  “I was afraid of this,” he said, tucking her back into bed. “It was just a matter of time until you succumbed to cholera too. Luckily we still have Dr. Potts’s medicine, and I’ll take care of you until you’re feeling better.” Ned Storham would have to wait, he thought, rearranging his schedule. They’d have to put added scouts out to detect Ned’s forces should they approach the Musselshell.

  “It’s not cholera,” Flora faintly said, her stomach still indisposed and shaky. “I threw up yesterday morning too, but Spring Lily made me tea and it helped. I didn’t feel sick again the rest of the day. If it was cholera, darling,” she noted, “I would have been continually sick. Would you mind making me some weak tea?”

  When he brought her the steaming cup a short time later, he sat silently as she propped herself on one elbow and drank it, his gaze contemplative, his training as a scout evident in his utter stillness, his concentrated observation.

  “It’s very effective,” Flora gratefully murmured, setting the cup down, tentatively moving into a seated position. “Spring Lily says the two large spoonfuls of sugar are key. I’m an absolute believer after two successive mornings of nausea.”

  “What do you think it is?” he softly asked. Adam glanced at Lucie peacefully sleeping on her soft bed and remembered Isolde’s bouts of morning sickness.

  Flora shrugged. “I don’t know, but I do know it’s not cholera. Look, my skin is pink; it’s not dry, my voice is perfectly fine, and I throw up only in the morning. When Spring Lily jumped to conclusions, I had to disagree.”

  “What conclusions?” His eyes held a quiet intensity.

  “The usual ones, apparently, with this kind of nausea. She wasn’t aware of my circumstances. Once I told her, she understood.”

  “That you can’t have children, you mean.” His voice was low-pitched, subdued.

  “Yes. Do you mind that I told her? I somehow feel as if I’m betraying you by not being able to bear your children. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it to her.”

  He shook his head. “That’s fine. There’s no need for secrecy. Did she agree with you?”

  “At first she didn’t, but I think it was clear once I explained.”

  “You look better now,” he gently said. “You’re not so white. How do you feel?”

  “Very well. You make a wonderful nurse. I think I’ll keep you.”

  “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried, bia,” he said with a warm smile. “I’m here to stay.”

  Later that day when Flora lay down to keep Lucie company during her nap and promptly fell asleep, Adam went in search of Spring Lily.

  He found her with a group of mothers overseeing their young children at play, and when he asked to talk to her, her companions all giggled and tittered, the whispered word “ba-baru-sabish,” meaning “super” passing between them, their gazes openly admiring.

  “They thought you’d be back in circulation again, when your wife left. They’re hoping you still might be,” Spring Lily said with a teasing smile as they moved away from the female gathering. “I haven’t mentioned that your wife’s back again.”

  “Not for long,” Adam brusquely replied. “Although we may not be able to arrange her departure as soon as I expected. Flora seems to be sick.”

  “She threw up again this morning.” It was a statement, not a question. “Do you want to walk or come to my lodge?”

  “I’d rather not walk.”

  He wouldn’t have come looking for her unless he had a serious purpose; they would have more privacy in her lodge.

  “Is Flora feeling better now?” Spring Lily skirted a group of children playing hoop.

  Adam nodded. “I made her tea to your formula. Flora tells me you had some idea what might be causing her indisposition.”

  “She didn’t believe me.” Arriving at the entrance to her lodge, Spring Lily gestured him in.

  It was cool inside, the site shaded by a large cotton-wood. Settling into a comfortable position against an ornate backrest, Adam carefully said, “Tell me what you think.”

  “Your woman is pregnant.”

  “How can you be so sure? Flora tells me some past illness precludes such a possibility.”

  “The doctors, you mean, who told her so. Do you trust doctors?”

  He lay perfectly still, digesting the startling possibility. “Some are better than others,” he said at last. “The woman doctor who treated us for cholera was capable.”

  “The doctors haven�
��t seen Flora, though, have they? It’s simple enough to see the signs. Are her breasts tender, slightly larger? Is she tired all the time? Is she sick every morning?” She smiled knowingly. “Is she amorous?”

  His eyes flared wide for a moment at the last question. “Flora wouldn’t appreciate my telling you,” he quietly replied. But she was noticeably more ardent; a condition he would have considered impossible had he not so recently experienced it.

  “You don’t have to take my word for it, Tsé-ditsirá-tsi. Wait a few weeks and you’ll see for yourself.”

  “I hope you’re right,” he said very, very softly, his hushed words vanishing into the cool, dappled light.

  “You should have had more children before,” Spring Lily said. “But your new woman is healthy and young; she’ll give you many babies.”

  A smile transformed the harsh planes of Adam’s face. “I don’t know if I actually believe it,” he slowly murmured, as if he were trying to come to terms with the momentous idea. “It’s very soon—a little more than three weeks.”

  “The baby is strong inside her; it wants you to know.”

  “She takes no precautions against pregnancy,” he quietly noted. “But she said she’s never had to. Couldn’t it be cholera instead, or some other illness?” His practical nature required more substantive answers.

  “She’s nauseous only in the morning,” Spring Lily reminded him.

  “Hmmmm …” Indecision vibrated in his murmured response. “She’s had lovers before … and never been pregnant.” He shook his head. “If she was capable of having a child, why wouldn’t this have happened before? She’s twenty-six.”

  Spring Lily shrugged—a small, dismissive movement. But her smile held a gentle consideration for his naïveté. “You’re a tyro in these matters, Tsé-ditsirá-tsi. Do you remember White Elk’s wife? How she was barren the first three years of their marriage? And when they adopted his brother’s son, she became pregnant. Or Pretty Woman, who shed countless tears over her lack of children, and in the summer of victory over the Lakota at Bear Mountain, she found herself with child. I know a score of other women too who have borne babies after years of childless marriages. Should I go on?”

  He gazed at her, a half smile on his lips. “Do I detect a certain smug certainty?” he pleasantly inquired.

  “I recognize that peaked hue on Flora’s face,” Spring Lily said. “It’s an unmistakable green.”

  “Say it’s true—”

  The silent rebuke in her raised brows stopped him.

  “The thought pleases me,” he corrected himself, the sheer wonder of it reflected in his eyes. Hope shone plainly. He sighed then because he dared not indulge in such cloudless dreams with Ned Storham threatening his very existence. Time enough for blissful fantasies if Ned was defeated. “I’m going to have to leave very soon,” Adam said with a sigh of regret, harsh reality intruding. “Ned Storham and Isolde have combined forces, it seems. Will you see to Flora’s comfort while I’m gone and help care for Lucie when Flora’s not feeling well? I know I can ask this of you.”

  “I promise, Tsé-ditsirá-tsi. Your family will be safe in my care. But will she let you go?”

  It was a volatile subject when it came up a week later.

  Adam had postponed his departure as long as possible, but he had to leave without fail by morning. Word had reached him that Ned Storham was scouring the country far afield, looking for men ready to risk their lives for gold. They were assembling in Helena by the middle of the month.

  Seven more mornings of sickness had convinced Flora of the blissful fact she was indeed pregnant, and though she didn’t understand the nuances of how or why, she was already fiercely protective of the small life inside her. She strongly objected to Adam’s risking his life.

  “I’d like this child to have a father when it’s born,” she vehemently said, the small evening fire in the center of the lodge illuminating her moody resentment. “Send the others out.”

  “I can’t ask my friends to fight for me.” He kept his voice neutral; he didn’t want to leave in anger. “A man has to have the courage to defend his country and family.”

  “Hire gunmen, as Storham does. Let them fight your battles.” Her eyes were dark, stormy.

  “They’re undependable.” He’d been trained as a warrior; she didn’t realize what that entailed.

  “What about the law? Certainly they won’t allow your land to be taken from you illegally.”

  Land was taken away every day by those with better weapons or influence or both. “The judicial system won’t keep Ned Storham off my land,” he quietly said.

  “You can’t go! Do you think I want to lose you now!” she cried. “Don’t you care about this child? Don’t you care about me? I should have known,” she heatedly added, “when you had Spring Lily take Lucie tonight. You knew you were leaving.”

  “There isn’t anyone else to fight my battles,” he softly said. “No court to slap Ned Storham’s hands and make him go home, no aristocratic privilege to protect me—only myself. I won’t take any chances, I promise.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything, dammit,” she hotly retorted, “when you’re riding out to face an army of hired thugs led by a man who kills anyone in his way. Why did you have to shoot his brother?”

  How did she know, he wondered, when he hadn’t told her! And his surprise must have shown because she fretfully said, “Papa mentioned it by mistake. He can’t keep track of what you withhold from my innocent ears. Dammit, you shouldn’t have killed Frank Storham.”

  “I tried not to the first time, but if I hadn’t killed him, none of us would have ever been safe.”

  “So you just shot him?” She wasn’t being reasonable, only thin-skinned and maternal.

  “You don’t understand,” he said, the rising anger in his voice tightly restrained. “This isn’t Mayfair or Pall Mall,” he said, “but a territory where you survive as long as you can defend yourself. There’s no one but myself to protect my land. Out here people take things from you if you’re weaker. Do you know how many men I’ve seen shot down or hanged in cold blood?

  “This isn’t civilization with civilized rules or expensive lawyers to fight your battles in court where no one gets bloody. They want to kill me, do you understand?” he softly said. “And unless I kill them first, they will. I’m sorry you’re upset. I wish I could comfort you. I wish I didn’t have to constantly fight off encroachments on my land. I’d like to die of old age in my bed with you beside me. But to be able to do that,” he slowly enunciated, “I have to kill Ned Storham and probably someone else next year or next month or tomorrow. I have valuable land—some of the best range land in the territory. And I’m keeping it.”

  “I hate when you talk like that, I hate your warrior code!” Flora exclaimed, agitation trembling in her voice. “I don’t want you to die!”

  “I’m not going to,” Adam firmly said. “I’m coming back to you and Lucie and”—he smiled—“our child.”

  “Promise?” A small, fearful whisper. Defeated by her own sense of logic, justice, and reason, she resigned herself to the inevitable. Ned Storham wasn’t going to disappear without violence.

  “Promise,” he softly said, reaching across the buffalo robe to draw her into his arms.

  “When?” With her cheek pressed against his shoulder, the sound was muffled and low.

  “I don’t know.” When Ned Storham is on his way to hell, he thought, and Isolde traveling back to Europe. “Very soon, I hope. Kiss me now and tell me about the baby. I want to talk of more pleasant things. Are you wishing for a boy or a girl?” he softly queried, holding her gently. “Do you think Cloudy will ever let us hold it—or will Lucie? Are you as happy as I am that we’re having a baby?” He gently stroked her hair.

  “I’m so happy, there’s no measurement, no words. And if you weren’t leaving me …”

  “Not for long,” he whispered.

  “Truly?” She felt like a small child in her fear, a stra
nge sensation after a lifetime of successfully facing challenges.

  “Word of honor.”

  But Adam had been gone only half a day when Flora found herself debating a variety of ways she might be of help to him. She understood why he had to face Ned Storham and that her presence would add risk to his undertaking. But why couldn’t she offer aid in some adjunct role? She wasn’t a novice with a weapon.

  Wasn’t she obliged to support him for the sake of their child, and for Lucie? she reflected. Shouldn’t she help diminish the odds against the man she loved? Why shouldn’t she assist in protecting their future too?

  Walking over to her father’s lodge, where the men were packing an assortment of Absarokee clothing to send back to the museum in Göttingen, she casually declared, “I’ve been thinking of following Adam and James. Would you be willing to come along?”

  The earl looked up, saw her face, and set the basket in his hands aside. “I know how you feel, but Adam wouldn’t approve,” he said. “He’s concerned for your safety.”

  “Are my concerns for his safety inconsequential?” Her voice held a restless edge.

  “I’m not arguing the point, darling,” her father soothingly replied. “I’m only suggesting Adam would rather you stay in camp.”

  “Well, I’m not staying. Are you willing to come with me?”

  Henry stopped folding a beaded shirt and looked at the earl. Alan and Douglas, too, watched their employer.

  “Of course you know I will.” If the earl had been averse to danger and adventure, he’d be living in Yorkshire. He’d found it as difficult as Flora to stay behind. “But what of Lucie?” he queried. “Will she be alarmed if we leave?”

  “Why don’t I ask her?” Flora promptly said, feeling in control of her life again.

  Dressed like the other children in camp, Lucie was indistinguishable from her friends and cousins, and in the way of children having fun, she had to be cajoled away from her play for a moment of conversation.

  Kneeling before her, Flora said, “Would you mind if I followed your father and James on their war party?”