“I suppose I will,” she agreed, squeezing the stack in her lap. “Reading these helps.”
“Do you ever read them to Sera Dear?” Caid asked while he removed his arm from her slender shoulders.
Greta smiled. Then she cut her eyes at him as if to wordlessly chastise him for giving her daughter a nickname to which Seraphina would forever insist upon being referred. But her expression softened when she answered, “Some of them I do, especially the ones that were written when she was a baby.”
“I’m sure she appreciates it.”
Greta nodded, but she had already become engrossed in the words on the paper in her hands. Giving her privacy, he moved his eyes forward to search for Marty and he found her strolling just ahead of the wagon.
Marty walked with Seraphina, holding the girl’s small hand. And when she marched toward the grave, she paused only long enough to notice the crude wooden cross that one of the metaphorical mourners had fashioned for it. She had to smile with gratitude and her mood seemed to lift into high spirits again. She strolled with her niece while Seraphina swung their arms in merriment. Hours of blissful bonding passed while miles where stepped away.
But when Seraphina asked her the question that she was not ready to answer, she was speechless. At first, her niece started the conversation by reminding her that Mr. McAllister called her Sera Dear, to which Marty smiled and told her that it was a nice nickname.
“I think so,” she said before she asked without taking a breath, “Do you love Mr. McAllister?”
“I—I” she stammered, trying to find the right words to say to the seven-year-old that she would understand. “I like his company.”
“He loves you,” she said quickly and precisely, peeking up at her through shimmering blond curls.
“How do you know?” Marty asked, her heart beating wildly in her chest at the thought of that man, any man, loving her.
“He told me,” the girl answered with a shrug.
“He told you?” Marty asked with an exasperated and perplexed expression on her shocked face.
“M-hmm,” she said, skipping ahead of Marty as if enticing her to run after her for an explanation.
“When did he tell you that?” Marty questioned when she caught up to her niece and stopped her by grabbing her slim arm.
“When he pulled me out of the water,” she said before she wrenched her arm free and skipped away with a sheepish grin, for she was not stopping to answer any more questions.
Marty stopped in her tracks and thought. When he had pulled Seraphina out of the water was when he had also pulled her out of the water. Before that, they had only conversed a few times and those times were filled with tension and anger. How could he know even then that he loved her? How could she not know at that time that she loved him? Maybe she did love him, which caused the tension between them, she wondered while she took a step forward without watching where her feet fell.
Suddenly, she stumbled on a wagon rut and lost her balance. Her flailing body sprawled into the path of the team of oxen that walked forward without caring what they trampled over. She could see their large, heavy feet coming closer to her and she cringed, raising a hand against them as if that hand would ward off the crushing blow that would certainly break her bones, if not kill her. Her heart stopped beating and she drew in a breath in terror. A scream tried to escape from her frozen mouth, but all she could hear was the rattle of harnesses and the foreboding footfalls of the giant animals as they overtook her.
But just as the hooves stamped around her, she was dragged away by the same hands that had pulled her from the swirling river’s angry waves. She felt her arm scrape against the hard Texas ground but she didn’t care. A little pain was nothing compared to death, which she suddenly wanted to avoid. Her heart began to beat again when it was pressed against Caid’s strong chest and his arms enveloped her in an embrace that told her without words that he did, indeed, love her.
Caid held her to his body, not wanting to ever let her go. When he had seen her stumble, his heart fell and he’d jumped from the wagon to save her from the heavy hooves of the ox that inched toward her head. And after he had yanked her from impending death, he had wrenched her body toward him and into a death grip that he would have continued forever if he’d had a mind to. But he wanted to see her face, to kiss her lips, to hold her sweet cheeks in his hands. Searching her eyes, he asked her if she was hurt and feeling her shake her head beneath his fingers, he pulled her back into his embrace and groaned his relief.
Marty clung to him, her heart pounding into his skin, and she cried against his shoulder as he held and consoled her and kissed her head in elation that she was safe. Time passed them by and they were unaware of the wagon that also passed them, leaving them in a silent dialogue that reiterated their ardent emotions, which reverberated between their hearts and rejoiced within their rescued souls. He loved her! He loved her!
And she loved him!
Chapter Fourteen
As Caid had said, it took almost three more days to get to Fredericksburg. The terrain was beginning to become very hilly and the oxen and horses strained against the weight of the wagons that they had to pull up the small mountains. And then, they were almost overrun by those same wagons when they headed down into the valleys again.
As they approached the foothills, Caid pulled back on the reins, allowing the oxen to graze while he climbed down from the wagon and strode to the edge of a stand of trees. Marty watched from the seat, wondering what had caught his attention. When he returned, he carried a long eagle feather in his hand. It had been tied at the quill with a thin leather strap and fastened to the limb of a cedar tree for Caid to find.
Caid climbed back into the wagon and handed the feather to Marty, explaining, “Black Bear says good-bye.”
Marty smiled in spite of herself. This gesture of friendship between the white man and the Indian was far beyond that which she could comprehend. To her, every Indian, no matter their tribal association, was a savage. But, she was beginning to rethink that perception.
However, she was not in the mood to contemplate the relationship between men of different races. She was ready to jump down from the wagon and race toward Fredericksburg and a bath! She would be happy to relax for a few hours and to think of nothing—well, almost nothing. Thoughts of the man beside her seemed to overtake her mind these days.
The animals would certainly be glad to have a few days to recover from their journey and have the energy to undertake the efforts to get those wagons up the higher hills that loomed into even higher mountains ahead.
Before they arrived in Fredericksburg, they had already decided to stay for two days to rest. Marty and Greta and Seraphina stayed in the Nimitz Hotel along with Elsa and her family, but the other families and Caid decided to camp just outside of town so that they could keep an eye on the wagons. Marty knew that secretly the others thought it frivolous to spend good money on a room in a fancy hotel, especially that nosey Mrs. Bader, who lifted her head to the Heavens and looked down at them with her narrow, pious eyes. The woman was even more miffed when her son Daniel volunteered to drive Marty’s wagon along with the others to the camp outside of town. But Marty, Greta and Elsa all ignored her and climbed down from their wagons, dusted themselves off then squared their shoulders and walked into the hotel as if they were royalty.
”It is such a quaint town,” Marty marveled while she and Greta walked the business district near their hotel after they had checked in and freshened up.
“Yes it is,” Greta agreed, turning her head back and forth, taking it all in. “The streets are laid out just like the ones back in Wasserburg.”
“Yes, it reminds me of home, too. Look there’s Main Street running along that creek.”
“That is Town Creek,” a woman who had been laying out her wares on tables informed them. She spoke in their native German, which surprised and amazed them.
They turned to her and asked in unison, “Are you from Germany?”
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“That, I am,” she said with a quick nod of her kerchief-covered head. “I’ve been here going on twenty-two years now. Are you new to Fredericksburg?”
Again, they said in unison, “We’re just passing through.”
They all laughed and when the merriment dissipated, Greta asked of the older woman, “What do you recommend we do for entertainment?”
The older woman smiled wide, revealing a row of straight white teeth before she answered with a wave of her hand toward her left, “There’s always the theatre. Very entertaining. Actors, grand sets and an orchestra!”
“That sounds wonderful!” Greta said to her sister before she thanked the woman and they walked away.
“Shall we go tonight?” Greta asked Marty, who shrugged as if not interested in the lady’s recommendation.
Truthfully, Marty could not think of doing anything but going back to the hotel and soaking in a hot, steamy tub and then crawling into bed to dream of the man who entertained her heart, her mind and her soul. She shook her head and apologized, saying, “I’m too tired. Perhaps Elsa will go with you.”
“Mm-hmm,” Greta hummed, for she knew what her sister was thinking and that Marty would be no good company as long as she was away from the man that she obviously loved, yet would probably never admit it to her sister, much less to herself.
A few blocks down the street, Marty noticed a storefront that boasted women’s necessities in an enticing display in the window. With excitement in her voice, she suggested, “Let’s go inside!”
“Why?” Greta asked as if she would not be interested in anything inside the store.
“I want to get some bath salts,” Marty said with excitement in her voice.
“That’s all you’ve talked about for the past two days!” Greta joked but she followed her sister into the store.
“May I help you two ladies?” a thin man asked them, looking up from a stack of receipts on the glass countertop.
“I would like some bath salts, please,” Marty replied with a smile, her eyes darting around the store in search of the product that she sought.
“Ah, we have a wonderful selection! Some even from Paris,” the man said walking away. He indicated with a wave of his hand that she should follow him to the back of the store where a beautiful display of bathing articles were arranged as if they were waiting for some special woman to come and enjoy them.
“What a beautiful bath tub!” Greta marveled as she stroked the curled copper edge.
“They are all the rage now,” the man touted with pride. “The Nimitz has them in every room.”
“We’re staying at the Nimitz!” Marty said excitedly.
“Wonderful,” the storekeeper exclaimed. “They have my linens as well!”
“Your linens!” a strange woman’s voice interjected from behind a wall of kitchen utensils.
“Now, Josephine,” the man scoffed with a shake of his head. “You know what I mean."
“What does he mean?” Greta whispered to her sister.
“Maybe they are married,” Marty whispered back while she lifted a silver brush to examine its carved handle.
But the man explained in a hushed voice, “She used to own the store. Well, her husband did. Now she just comes in to make sure that I’m running it correctly.”
Marty and Greta looked at each other as if that information was not any of their concern, yet Marty could not leave it alone. She whispered to the man, “You are doing a marvelous job! I’m sure that she doesn’t have many unpleasant things to say about the way you are handling the store.”
“You don’t know Josie,” the man said. “By the way, I’m Tyree Parnell.”
When Marty took the hand that he had extended, she introduced herself and her sister, “I’m Marty Ingram and this is my sister Greta. We are only here for a few days. But I’m sure that we will see you again before we leave, Mr. Parnell.”
“Only if you run out of bath salts,” Greta quietly quipped, to which her sister laughed out loud.
“Here they are,” Tyree said as he rounded a table laden with an assortment of the very item of which he spoke. “We have scented salts of rose, lavender, lilac, honeysuckle and, of course, the very expensive imported salts. Would you like to smell a few?”
Tyree lifted the glass lid of one of the jars and let the lavender scent waft toward the prospective buyer. Then he lowered it again and lifted another, letting the smell of honeysuckle fill the air.
“I truly adore the lavender salts,” Marty said with exuberance in her voice.
“I’m partial to the rose scent,” Greta interjected with a sniff in the direction of the jar with the pink contents.
“It’s all costly and unnecessary,” Josie said as she sidled up to the table and lifted a lid from which the scent of jasmine escaped. “All a body needs is soap and water.”
“Sometimes, one likes to have enticing aromas surrounding one,” Tyree argued, hoping that Josie had not deterred his customers from purchasing his wares. But he found himself staring at her and could not be angry with her despite her countless efforts to start arguments with him.
“I know I do,” Marty said happily. “I’ll take an ounce of the lavender, please.”
“Pshaw!” Josie hissed. “A pretty thing like you doesn’t need to use such frivolous things to insure that you are noticed.”
“You are too kind,” Marty told the older woman who stood just inches away with her arms folded beneath her ample breasts. “But I’ve been on the dusty trail for weeks and I need to wash away the smell of ox and perspiration.”
“I suppose that is a good reason,” Josie agreed with a smile that showed yellow yet straight teeth. “Now, Tyree, you see that you don’t take advantage of the lady.”
“I won’t, Josie, my dear,” he assured her with a nod. He picked up the jar with the light purple contents and carried it toward the counter and the scales thereon.
Josie followed him to the counter where she continued badgering him, “Not in the paper bag! Get one those pretty silk bags from the storage room. That way, if she doesn’t use it all, she can put it in her trunk for a sachet.”
“Good idea,” Tyree had to agree, yet he knew that the silk bags were expensive and he was not sure if Marty would want to pay extra for it.
“I’ll pay for it,” Josie said, interrupting his thoughts. “It’s the least I can do for a woman who’s been on the trail for such a long time.”
“Ah, you are so generous,” Marty said. “But I’ll just take it in a paper bag.”
“Are you planning on using the whole bag?” Josie asked with a brow raised in questioning criticism.
“I plan to put a dent in it,” Marty joked, which gathered laughter from all present.
“Get the fancy silk bag,” Josie demanded of Tyree, who hurried to the back of the store to do as he was told. While he was gone, Josie whispered, “If we don’t keep men in line, they’ll take advantage of us. Better we have the upper hand than get the boot to our backsides.”
“Surely,” Marty argued with a brow raised. “Surely, there is some point of agreement between men and women.”
“Not as far as I’ve seen,” Josie said with a huff. “And I’ve seen it all!”
At that moment, Tyree returned with a small silk bag into which he poured the colored crystals. He had heard Josie’s comments but he chose to ignore them and he changed the subject, “Just a sprinkle of the salts and you are immersed in their magical aroma, chasing away all of your cares and all of your worries.”
“She’s already bought them, Tyree,” Josie complained. “You don’t have to convince her of their wondrous attributes.”
Tyree cleared his throat before he declared, “That will be fifteen cents. A-hum...and ten cents for the bag.”
“Add it all to my bill,” Josie said with arrogance in her voice. “No need to bilk a beautiful stranger out of her money.”
“But…” Marty started.
“No thanks are needed,” Josi
e declared loudly as she waved Marty’s words away. “You go and enjoy your bath. If you’re traveling across the hill country, it may be the last one for quite a while. I know that from experience.”
“You are too kind,” Marty said with a nod. “And we haven’t even been properly introduced.
“Josephine Winters,” the woman announced as if her last name had a distasteful ring to it. “Most folks just call me Josie. Right, Tyree?”
“That’s right,” Tyree said almost sheepishly, averting his eyes so that they would not betray his feelings for her especially when her name is mentioned. He began scribbling on a ledger, adding the figures with the aid of his fingers.
“Four dollars and twenty-three cents,” Josie told him. “Including the fancy silk bag. That’s how much I will pay you at the end of the month. Don’t you go frettin’ about the amount, Tyree. I’ll pay you every damn cent of it.”
Tyree coughed before he declared, “I wasn’t worried about whether or not you would pay me. You know as well as anyone that I am one for keeping the books perfect.”
“Not everyone is as perfect as you, Tyree Parnell,” Josie growled as she turned to leave the store. “God help the woman who has to deal with your obsessions!”
“I’m not obsessive!” Tyree yelled at her retreating figure. To Marty and Greta, he whispered as if Josie could hear him outside the store, “Sometimes I wonder why I allow her to talk to me that way.”
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