Duncan massaged his neck, wondering if his business associate, Calvin Weston, had anything to do with what was happening at Sims Creek. Calvin had, on the occasion, given red flags as to his character since the day he’d approached Duncan about helping finance a railroad to Santa Fe, New Mexico, but Duncan had brushed the flags aside as a doggedness to succeed. Now he wondered if his partner had had something to do with the attack on Hamish that nearly left him dead in a dark alleyway.
Fortunately Duncan had been unable to sleep that night and had been out for a stroll when he’d come across the miscreants beating the old man. It was the start of an odd, yet cherished friendship nearly a year ago. Duncan twisted his lips, digging through his memories of conversations he’d had with Hamish over warm cups of coffee. Not once had he mentioned his home in the country until a few weeks ago. And the old man had never said a word about relatives until they’d made camp on the banks of Sims Creek.
“Would you like more coffee?” Ellie pulled the black kettle from the fire.
“Thank you.” He took a couple of steps toward her and held out his cup, which she filled with the dark liquid. “I am sorry for all this.”
“It is not your fault,” Ellie said, setting the kettle onto a trivet in the middle of the table. “I was just thanking the Lord that it was purely an accident and not a more purposeful deed.”
The bandage on his forehead pulled as he raised his brow. More mystery? She had accused him of being a thug for the railroad, just as Camy had. Had other accidents occurred, accidents that were not purely accidents? What would they say if they knew he helped finance the road to be built through Rusa Valley, if they knew he was on the committee? “A more purposeful deed?”
She looked upon her sister with motherly affection. “It is not something I wish to discuss with or without my sisters, as it’s been a source of contention between us. However, today’s accident has made me realize that I can no longer put off making a decision.”
“What decision is that, Ellie?” Camy uttered in a hoarse whisper.
Duncan set his cup on the table and then moved to her beside. He rested the back of his hand upon her brow. “No fever. How are you feeling?”
Camy tried to sit but fell back against the pillow. “Like I’ve been dragged by the oxen through a pile of rubble.”
Ellie’s skirts rustled as she neared the bed. “You should have listened to me then and not shot off the revolver while holding on the lines leading the oxen.”
“Th-then I wouldn’t have anything to compare my wound to,” Camy gritted out with a slight smile.
Duncan chuckled, believing the banter between the sisters to be true.
“Here, this will ease your pain,” Ellie said, holding a spoonful of laudanum in front of Camy.
“If I take that, will you tell me what decision you’ve made?”
“First, we need to know why Hamish felt the need to find you a husband.” Ellie slipped the spoon between Camy’s lips as she opened her mouth to argue. “And then I would prefer to wait for Mara to return, as it concerns her, as well.”
Camy grimaced, swallowed the liquid and then tilted her head to look outside. The curtains had been drawn hours ago. “They haven’t returned her yet? How long did I sleep?”
“As you know, the Northrops had her stay at their place with their sister until they could assess the situation here. The weather worsened and it wasn’t safe to bring her back, but Dr. Northrop assured me they will as soon as they are able. Of course, your fiancé wasn’t agreeable.” Duncan winked to let her know he was teasing.
Camy’s eyes grew wide. Ellie laughed as she handed her the spectacles. “You shouldn’t tease her. Miller’s obsession isn’t exactly her fault, nor has it been pleasant for any of us.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” Camy said. “And we should not discuss our personal matters with mere strangers.”
Duncan winced. True, they’d met hours before, but he felt as if he’d known her his whole life. Perhaps, given the distress in her eyes, it was his teasing her about Miller that caused her to be surly. However, curiosity about the personal matters between Miller Northrop and Camy stirred in his mind. Any man with a lick of sense would be obsessed with gaining her hand, which obviously proved Duncan didn’t have any sense. And he intended to keep it that way, at least until all was settled and he returned to the city far from the unsettling peace he experienced watching her rest.
He cleared his throat. “My apologies. You’ve slept the afternoon, and beyond dinner. As I said, Dr. Northrop will escort your sister home tomorrow when he comes to check on you.”
Camy rolled her eyes. “Ellie is a fine enough doctor to treat me.”
“We’ve discussed this. I know nothing about these sorts of wounds.” Ellie laid the spoon in a pan of steaming water. “Are you hungry? Benjamin said you could have some broth as long as your stomach can handle it with the medicine.”
“Where is Hamish?”
Duncan had hoped Camy held no memory of her uncle’s announcement before entering the cabin. He didn’t want her upset any more than what she was, and any mention of marriage would certainly do just that.
“I banished him to the barn.” Ellie dipped broth into a bowl. “Mr. Murray, would you mind helping Camy to sit?”
Careful not to jar the arm held against her in a sling, he pulled back the heavy quilt and scooped one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back, and settled her against the headboard. He stuffed pillows and a folded quilt behind her back for support.
“And Pastor Hammond?” Camy whispered near his ear as he settled the quilt around her.
So much for her not recalling Hamish’s words. “Fortunately—” he smiled at her “—for both of us, winter decided to reappear. It gives us the evening to rest and enjoy one last snow.”
“But—”
He touched his finger to her lips. Soft and warm. Dangerous. He jerked his finger away and began tucking the blanket beneath her legs. “No buts. We will worry about tomorrow when the sun rises. Today has had enough cares of its own. Sip your broth, renew your strength and enjoy the peace. I have no doubts Hamish will be rambling before your rooster cries.”
Duncan stepped away from the bed and glanced around the small cabin for a place to escape. He’d kept his promise. She was awake, and seemed well, but he had far too much experience to believe she was truly well. Memories of men writhing around incoherently, only to slip beyond the here and now, pressed into his mind. He would never forgive himself if she died. He most certainly did not wish to watch her in the throes of agony. He could leave if he chose. However, he wouldn’t be able to until he knew for certain she was well. Besides, Hamish had yet to return his horse and his shoes, Duncan’s toes would freeze if he left. He’d been too concerned with Camy to interrogate Hamish. He believed what he told Camy, that tomorrow would be soon enough to demand the return of his shoes. For now, he needed to determine how to occupy the time without losing his wits, er, or regaining them. Massaging his neck, he contemplated making a run for the barn to seek shelter with Hamish. No doubt, he would be tempted to throttle his old friend for placing them all in a difficult situation.
“Would you like to join us for our nightly reading of scripture?”
He glanced over his shoulder to see Camy toying with an invisible string on the quilt. How long had it been since he’d opened a Bible? Since the war?
She lifted her chin and looked at him from beneath her thick lashes. “Afterward we pray, and then Ellie knits while Mara and I play chess. I suppose you could stand in for Mara.”
He was still caught on the word pray. “Pray?” he repeated.
Camy released a nervous giggle.
The last time he prayed, he’d been holding Geoff Walters’s hand as the young soldier took his last breath. He promised himself he’d never pray again. His
earlier mishap of releasing a prayer as she washed down the river was an act of desperation and he wasn’t yet convinced that it had been his prayers that had been answered, for surely she had cried out to God too.
Ellie laid a thick Bible on the table. “Do not feel obligated, Mr. Murray.”
“Are you not a praying man?” Camy asked.
He jammed his hands into his pants pockets. “I, uh, haven’t in a few years. Seems God doesn’t hear much of what a Murray has to say.” After all his father’s sins, who could blame Him?
“What would ever make you think that?” Ellie sounded dismayed at the idea.
“I didn’t realize God was selective when it came to surnames,” Camy added. “Selective when it comes to the intention of a man’s heart perhaps, but never with his name. Did we not read from the tenth chapter of the book of Acts last night, Ellie? I believe verse thirty-four said God is no respecter of persons. He does not show favoritism whether rich or poor, male or female, Murray or Sims. If He does not show favoritism, He certainly does not decide to ignore a man because of his name.”
The tips of his ears burned at her chastisement. Their responses made him sound like a child seeking pity after not receiving bread pudding. They made it sound as if he pitied himself, because God chose to lend him a deaf ear whenever he prayed. Duncan despised some of his choices. Despised his past. He definitely despised his father. But he never pitied himself. Had he confused pity for self-loathing? He didn’t wish to examine the question any further at the moment, nor did he wish to discuss his reasons as to why he believed God seemed to ignore his petitions.
“My experience tells me otherwise, but maybe you are correct. Maybe it has more to do with my heart than it does my name.” He grabbed his coffee and sipped the hot brew. What would it hurt to read with them one night? “How about I listen while you ladies read, and then if you are up for a match I’ll play chess?”
“Nonsense, Duncan. We read every night and as you are our honored guest, we must include you. We would not wish it to be rumored that the Simses are inhospitable, would we?” The corner of Camy’s mouth twitched. The lass teased him. Very well.
Duncan gathered the heavy tome in his hands and settled in one of the spindle-back chairs. Ellie sat opposite him. “Where shall I read from?”
“The Good Samaritan,” Ellie announced.
Camy’s jaw slackened before she snapped it shut. Duncan dipped his head to hide his smile. He didn’t know what Camy’s sister was up to, but it seemed as if he might have an ally for the moment.
* * *
Camy glared at her sister. They should be reading the next chapter in the book of Acts, not some random story and one about a Good Samaritan. Everything Duncan had been and nothing Camy had displayed. And for what purpose? Was it to remind Camy of how she’d fallen short?
“Very well,” Duncan said without seemingly being aware of the tension between her and Ellie. She supposed it served her right for trying to push Duncan into reading and praying when he’d rather not. However, as much as she did not want to marry, she absolutely refused to marry a man who did not honor God, which was one reason Miller and his propensity to drink too much was off her list, not to mention that he only wanted the land.
“I believe that is found in the book of Luke, chapter ten, beginning with verse thirty,” Duncan said as he thumbed through the pages.
Camy stared in disbelief. If Ellie could read her thoughts she’d chastise her for judging a book by its cover. What sort of man didn’t pray, yet knew where to find an exact scripture? She nearly laughed aloud. Of course, she was being a ninny. Everyone knew about the story, didn’t they? Duncan didn’t have to be a minister to know the reference.
“Here we are.” Duncan laid the Bible on the table and leaned forward.
He brushed his hair from his brow, revealing more of the bandage.
“What happened to you?” Camy’s thoughts tumbled out of her mouth.
Duncan glanced at her, his brow furrowed. “Pardon?”
“Your head?” she continued. “I never asked since finding you at the creek.”
He touched the bandage, and then his fingers danced down to the bruising around his eye. He chuckled. “Hamish caught me unaware with the butt of his rifle. He hit me hard enough to knock me out. I landed on a large rock, causing the wound on the back of my head.”
“Oh.” She toyed with one of the ties on the quilt.
“Sometimes I don’t understand that man,” Ellie said as she scratched her nail over an invisible speck of dirt on the table.
“He was adamant I marry your sister,” Duncan responded to Ellie. “And when I didn’t agree...well, this was the consequence. I’ve known Hamish to act rashly, but I’ve always been able to reason with him.”
Heaviness pressed against her chest as she tried to swallow past the knot in her throat. She didn’t know what bothered her more, the fact that Duncan took a beating when it was obvious he could have won the fight, or that he was as determined as she was not to marry. She chewed on her lower lip. “Has he seen to reason?”
“I haven’t found an appropriate time to speak with him yet, but he will. He’ll either grant me the land without an agreement of marriage, or he’ll find another man to purchase Sims Creek and offer you marriage.”
The heaviness pressed harder until she thought she’d split in two. She didn’t want to marry anyone, especially since his only interest was the land. No different than Miller. No better. She had an idea as to Hamish’s reasoning, but his plan wouldn’t work. She wanted to be worth more than a piece of land.
Duncan lowered his gaze to the Bible. “‘And Jesus answering said, A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves, which stripped him of his raiment, and wounded him, and departed, leaving him half dead.’”
Camy recalled the moment she’d first seen Duncan. Unmoving, beaten, thinking he’d been left for dead. Of course, once he’d gained consciousness, he’d seemed well enough, even if he had been a little unsteady on his feet.
“‘And by chance there came down a certain priest that way: and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. And likewise a Levite, when he was at the place, came and looked on him, and passed by on the other side.’”
Camy had done much worse. Seeing his injuries and lack of shoes, she’d demanded he leave her property. With good reason, or so the fear pounding in her heart at the time had convinced her. She should have known, she should have asked questions before threatening to shoot him.
Perhaps she had a bit of Hamish in her blood. They’d done nothing but abuse Duncan, even after he had attempted to rescue her from the river without thought to his own life. She had teased earlier about hospitality, but he still wore the same clothes he had on earlier. His feet were bare. How long had it taken for his clothes to dry?
“‘But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was: and when he saw him, he had compassion on him, And went to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and set him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him.’”
An apology clung to the tip of her tongue, but she feared if she opened her mouth the broth Ellie had made for her would reappear. She leaned her head against the headboard and closed her eyes. Duncan’s voice, as he continued reading the story, curled around her heartstrings. His accent thickened until it was no longer hidden beneath shame. The scripture filled the room with such a lyrical grace that it lulled her into a peace unlike any she could recall. He held more power and authority in the softness of his tone, than Pastor Hammond when shouting from behind the pulpit, shaking the rafters.
She heard the Bible close and the spindle-back chair squeak. “She’s asleep.”
No. She wasn’t sleeping, only resting her eyes a moment. Her lids refused to open. Her mouth refused to utter a word. She wanted
to hear his voice. For him to keep reading.
“Dr. Northrop believes your injuries need watching as well, so you may have the bedroom.” Ellie’s chair scraped against the floorboards. “I will sleep out here with Camy and keep watch.”
Camy tried to lift her hand to gain their attention. She didn’t want to miss their nightly prayers.
“Will you adjust her again while I see to the other room?” Ellie asked.
“Of course.”
Cold air infiltrated Camy as he pulled the quilt back. Strong arms tucked beneath her knees and behind her back and she no longer missed the blanket, until he gently laid her back down on the mattress. The heavy blanket fell over her. He tucked the quilt beneath her chin and then brushed his fingers over her brow, smoothing out her hair on the pillow. She felt like a child being cared for, cherished. It was a moment she would both hate and love until it faded from her memory, if ever. As she drifted further into sleep, she prayed she wouldn’t recall the tender touch.
“Dear God,” he whispered, “I’m reminded by this brave, beautiful woman that You are no respecter of persons. Will You forgive me for believing otherwise? I am laying my all here and now and asking You to keep her well.”
Even though her limbs grew heavy with each breath she took, she knew she’d never forget. This moment would remain with her all her days.
Chapter Six
A loud noise startled Duncan out of a dream of a dark-haired lass sitting beside him at the creek while he read passages of scripture. There were times in the dream he’d been no more than a boy watching his parents enjoy lunch by the loch. Then he’d changed into the man he’d become, only his heart was filled with joy and his belly bursting with laughter as he gazed upon—Cameron Sims.
He threw back the covers and jumped from the bed. His head dizzied from the jolt, forcing him back on the bed. The squeak and pop of the springs confused him for a moment, until sounds of female laughter, filtering beneath the door, warmed a spot deep in his chest and he recalled he wasn’t in the room he kept at Mrs. Williamson’s boardinghouse in Topeka.
The Negotiated Marriage Page 6