The Negotiated Marriage

by Christina Rich

  Two nights ago, just as he’d finished praying for Camy, a fever had begun to attack Camy’s body. Although Ellie seemed competent, Duncan had refused to leave Camy’s side until the heat radiating from Camy’s skin diminished. He knew what happened when delirium came. It either broke the fever or broke the person. Fortunately Camy did nothing more than mumble a few words, which Ellie informed him was quite normal for the lass. However, he remained vigilant for two days and two nights, helping Ellie bathe Camy’s brow, taking turns napping in the chair beside her, praying for a quick recovery. It had been the wee hours of the morning when the fever finally broke and Duncan stumbled to the bedroom, falling onto the covers.

  The freezing slatted floorboards stung his feet. Still cradling his pounding head, he glanced around the small room that had only been shadows when he finally crashed onto the mattress. Crude logs formed three of the walls; bits of colorful fabric peeked out from holes in the mortar. Limestone and what had once been a source of heat made up the fourth wall. Rocks and debris rested at the bottom of the aging fireplace.

  Spots of colored fabric stuffed in holes in the ceiling caught his attention. He scrubbed his hand over his face. He’d noticed small things over the past day in the cabin, but his focus had been on reducing Camy’s fever. How long had the sisters been fending for themselves? And why hadn’t Hamish been caring for them? Duncan supposed he’d have to take a closer look at what other repairs were needed before he left.

  Duncan eased to his feet, the bed creaking as it gave up his weight. He took several slow breaths until the pounding in his head subsided. He grabbed the shirt and trousers, borrowed from things left by Camy’s father, and pulled them on over his flannel underclothes. His own needed a good scrubbing, stained from Camy’s wound and their muddied trek in the rain.

  A loud push of air sounded from under the door, followed by a high-pitched bark. Duncan swung open the door and was met by the same mangy-looking beast he’d seen lounging inside the barn when they arrived. A long tongue hung out the side of the mutt’s mouth as he panted. Duncan held out his hand for a sniff and was met with a slobbery lick.

  “He likes you.” Camy laughed. “Hound doesn’t like many people.”

  “Most dogs are a good judge of character.” Duncan patted Hound on the head and then brushed past him to Camy. He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. Although she was cool to the touch, her cheeks were overly bright. He slid his fingers to the soft curve beneath her doelike eyes. Her skin remained warm, but lacked fever. He pressed his fingers to her pulse and counted. Strong, steady. “How are you this morning?”

  “M-much b-better,” she stuttered.

  Frowning, Duncan wondered at the cause of her discomfort. He’d noticed her slight stammer before she’d taken ill with the fever, but he’d attributed it to the shock of her injury. Was this the shy wallflower Hamish had spoken of?

  “Ellie is out gathering wood for breakfast.”

  “Oh.” He glanced around the room and noticed they were alone. He released his hold on her wrist and took a few steps from the bed. “I would have done it.”

  “We know. I haven’t thanked you.”

  “For?”

  “For not abandoning me, and for helping me when I was so terribly rude. My apologies.”

  “None needed. Although I do appreciate it. I gather you ladies are under some duress, and that it has something to do with the railroad.” He intended to find out the facts before revealing his position.

  “You must understand that it is difficult to know who to take into our confidences. We have had some trouble, and when the people of Rusa Valley found out they began to split loyalties, which caused further trouble.” She glanced at her folded hands in her lap. “I do not wish to say more. Again, I feel as if I must apologize, but please understand.”

  Although he wanted her to trust him, he understood. He often kept things to himself until he was certain of who was his friend and who was not.

  “Are you a d-doctor?”

  He laughed. “No, why do you ask?”

  “You checked for fever and took my pulse.”

  “Ah, that. While I was recovering from a wound in the war, I assisted the doctor in our unit.” Far more than he liked, his assistance had been to hold the hand of a dying man, praying for his soul, reading his favorite scripture and writing letters to families. For many, it wasn’t enough.

  A blustery wind burst through the cabin door as Ellie stepped over the threshold. Hound danced around her legs, yipping.

  “Here, let me take that.” Duncan gathered the pile of wood from her arms and set it beside the fireplace. He stirred the dying embers and then added a few logs.

  “Thank you.” Ellie patted the dog’s head and then she removed her hat, gloves and coat. “I will be surprised if Benjamin and Mara show up today. There are drifts higher than my knees, and the snow continues to fall. Who would believe it’s almost March?”

  “What of Hamish?” Camy asked. “I’m anxious to speak with him.”

  “I believe we all are,” Ellie responded. “He was not in the barn, and there was no sign of him.”

  “I am not surprised.” Duncan pulled back the blue curtain and looked outside. Snow piled up along the sill, nearly covering half the window. “Are there chores that need completing?”

  Camy laughed. “You have no shoes.”

  “I took the liberty of searching through Father’s things. I found a pair of boots. I hope they’ll fit you better than his clothes. Now that Camy is alert, I’ll tend to the washing.”

  The trousers were a good few inches too short, hiking above his ankles. “I’ve been a bachelor many years. If you don’t mind I’ll save you the trouble and wash them myself, but first tell me what it is I can do to help.” He looked at Ellie and winked. “Since your sister seems to want to lounge about all day, perhaps it would help if I did her chores as well as Mara’s.”

  “Oh no!” Camy argued.

  “Thank you,” Ellie said.

  Duncan shifted his gaze between the two sisters. Was Camy so mistrustful of him that she didn’t want him helping? “I promise I won’t cause you harm.”

  Camy closed her eyes. “I didn’t mean to imply mistrust. Ellie told me how you’ve helped these last two days. Certainly I would know you don’t intend us harm.”

  He knelt beside the bed and took her hand in his, so soft and small. “Then what is it?”

  Camy looked over his shoulder. “We haven’t been very good Samaritans to you.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “I promise, I will not speak a negative word against the Sims sisters. As far as the outside world knows, you have been the best of hostesses. Now.” He unfolded to his full height. “If you will tell me what needs to be done, I’ll get started.”

  Duncan sat in one of the spindle-back chairs and wiggled his feet into the borrowed boots as Ellie and Camy gave him a list. Feed the animals, check for eggs, clean the stalls and fill the bucket of water at the creek. There was much more that needed tending to. He could see it with his own eyes. And surely the ladies would prefer a heartier meal than broth. Once he was done with their appointed list, maybe he’d check out the hunting grounds. Perhaps he could catch a rabbit or two, and if not, there was always one of the hens in the barn.

  * * *

  Camy’s heart fluttered at the sight of snowflakes in Duncan’s hair when he shouldered his way through the door with the egg basket and more firewood. “How many eggs today?”

  “Only three.”

  She was surprised he hadn’t left for Rusa as soon as he pulled the boots on. No doubt, he wanted to, but then he’d been insistent on speaking with Hamish. And too, a man wouldn’t leave without his horse.

  The flutter in her chest plummeted. Why couldn’t a man covet her instead of what she possessed? At least she knew
what Miller wanted. After all, Miller’s father had claimed her father and Hamish had stolen this land. Hamish had documentation, and nobody had proved otherwise, but that still didn’t explain Miller’s anxiousness to marry her, not when the feud had lain dormant for years. Yes, it was beautiful here, and yes, the soil was good for planting, but it wasn’t worth the years of imposed hatred between two families by the crotchety old doctor and Hamish.

  Duncan set the basket on the table and the firewood in the crate. He rubbed his hands together and blew on them. In all the times Miller had been here, he never once helped. Instead he sat with his nose curled in disgust demanding to be waited on. Duncan’s windblown hair and reddened cheeks from the wintery cold brought a cheery disposition into the dreary cabin as if he enjoyed farm life. Would that make a difference to her? Could she marry him if he loved working on the farm, even if he didn’t love her?

  He held his hands near the fire. “I think the snow is lightening up a little and I can see a break in the clouds. It sure is nice to see blue skies after all the rain and snow.”

  “What are your plans?” Her question came out sharper than she intended.

  Duncan glanced over his shoulder.

  She ducked her head. “I didn’t mean...” She pulled in a deep breath and released it. Her shoulders slumped. “I d-don’t know what I mean.”

  He moved from the fire and pulled a chair next to her bed. He sat and covered her hands with one of his. Warm from the fire, his palm over her hands settled peace in her thoughts. “We are all a little anxious to have things settled, but until Hamish decides to make an appearance, I’m in much the same position as you, stuck waiting.”

  Stuck. Like with a shoe sunk in the mud, no matter how hard you pulled, the mire suctioned tighter until you ended up on your backside covered from head to toe. Was that how he felt? Trapped, suffocating, pulling and pulling, knowing if he didn’t take care he’d be in a worse position. “So you’re not leaving now that you have shoes?”

  He squeezed her hand. “Even if I had possession of my horse, I’d stay. I’m sticking around until I’m assured everything is settled.”

  A part of her was relieved. Another part of her was scared. Who knew how long he would stay? But with every moment they spent together she found herself dreaming about what she’d never had before. Marriage, especially after Ellie told her how he refused to leave her side until the fever abated, insisting on bathing her brow. A wastrel wouldn’t do such a thing for a mere stranger, only a man with character above reproach. A man who laid his life down for another as he’d done when he jumped in the river after her.

  “Your sister was heading for the barn when I came in. I need to take the bucket to the river and get water. Will you be all right by yourself until one of us returns?”

  All right? She’d spent most of her life convincing herself and others she was all right. Through the abandonment, through the loneliness, through keeping her head for her sisters’ sake, through each of Mrs. Smith’s comments that made her feel like a pauper. “I’ll be fine.”

  He shifted out of the chair and placed it back by the table. He picked up the bucket and opened the door. “I’ll only be a few moments.”

  She nodded as he walked out the door, leaving her to the company of the crackling fire. She leaned her head against the headboard and closed her eyes. Her limbs ached from misuse, and her mind raced from one thought to the next. It always had. That was why she enjoyed doing chores, much more than inane talk at Mrs. Smith’s social gatherings. And she found more pleasure eating Mara’s burned biscuits than pretending to babble about nothing.

  “Hmm, biscuits.” Camy tossed the heavy quilt off and scooted to the edge of the bed until the tips of her toes touched the planks. She slipped off the bed and tumbled toward the table. She rested the palm of her good arm against the table surface and took a couple breaths before pulling out a chair. Clearly she hadn’t thought out her plan, but determined, she climbed to her feet and took the few steps to the shelf where the flour sat. She tugged on the sack of flour and then pulled. It fell against her chest, jolting her injured arm and causing a cry of pain before falling to the floor. She collapsed next to the sack in a heap of flour and cried.

  Cold air swished around her and she prayed Ellie had returned, not Duncan. She did not want him to see how much of a ninny she really was.

  “Are you hurt?” His deep tones rumbled through her. She heard the bucket settle on the floor, and then he was by her side. “Camy, what has happened?”

  Tears rolled down her flour-dotted cheeks. “Biscuits.”

  “Biscuits? Were they burning?”

  “No.” She shook her head and sniffled in the most unladylike manner, which caused her to cry more. “I couldn’t lie about another moment.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  The uncertainty in his words had her glancing at him through a watery fog. “You think I’m a ninny.”

  Duncan laughed. “Not exactly.”

  He scooped her up and sat her in a chair. He ripped a linen cloth from a hook and then pulled a chair in front of her and sat. Removing her spectacles, he drew the cloth over each eye, across her brow, down her nose and then over her cheeks. He paused when it came to her lips. His gaze shifted to hers. She drew her lip between her teeth and tasted flour. He brushed the cloth against the corner of her mouth and then along the seam of her lips, releasing her bottom lip from her teeth all the while holding her gaze. Her stockinged toes curled against the cool floor. He leaned closer, much closer than he ought. His breath danced over her tearstained cheek, followed by a gentle touch of his lips.

  This time, with this man, the stolen kiss wouldn’t get Duncan Murray dumped in the creek. Yet she also knew at that moment that if Pastor Hammond entered the cabin she couldn’t willingly say “I do.” Duncan didn’t love her.

  He jumped from the chair, knocking it to the floor with a loud clatter.

  Had she said the thought aloud? She dropped her chin to her chest as fresh tears spilled onto her lashes.

  “Don’t.” He lifted her chin with his finger. “You have no need to hide. Not from me.”

  She pulled away from him and stared at the bright flames in the fireplace. Besides Miller’s gruff smash of his mouth to hers before Camy had pushed him in the river, no man had kissed her, and now that one did, and with tenderness, he seemed to regret the action. Even if it was only a brotherly peck on the cheek. “I am sorry.”

  “Again, you have no need to apologize.” He raked his hand over his face. “It was I who overstepped bounds. I should have called your sister in to help clean the flour from your face.”

  He turned in a circle, fingers thrust through his hair. He righted the chair, plopped the flour onto the table and then held her spectacles out to her. Sensing his displeasure, she hesitated. She wanted to right the situation but was at a loss as to how. She took her spectacles from him but did not place them on the bridge of her nose. Instead, not wanting to see him leave, she laid them in her lap and waited, ears tuned, listening for his departure. Somehow she sensed he’d leave.

  The door popped open and slammed closed. A stone fell from the wall of her heart and settled in her throat as she choked back a sob. It was just as well he left before he made her feel a spark of something. Something like what she’d seen between Ellie and Benjamin when they thought nobody was looking, something that was best left alone for the preservation of her well-being. If he stayed, he’d truly turn her into a woolly-headed ninny.

  Chapter Seven

  Duncan lengthened his stride across the snow-covered yard, snatched up the ax leaning against the barn and headed for a stand of trees near the river. How could he have been such a fool? Sure, he’d given her a peck on the cheek. Brotherly affection, right? Bah!

  The bubbling pool of tears spilling off her lashes and down her cheeks had been the furthest
thing from his mind when he walked through the door. Contacting his partner Calvin Weston, finding Hamish, patching holes in the roof. Daydreaming of strolling along planted fields with Camy by his side, gathering eggs, holding her hand as they prayed before their meals. Things he shouldn’t be thinking about lest he find himself following his father’s footsteps.

  He halted before a rather large tree and rested his palm against the rough bark. A piece beneath his hand loosened and fell to the ground. Its girth, nearly the circumference of a wagon wheel, suspended a good fifteen feet above the river with half the root system protruding from the bank. Duncan pushed his weight against the tree. It didn’t budge. The other half of the roots anchored to the earth. Arching his neck, he glanced up to the highest branches. Smooth patches where the bark had disappeared told him the tree had suffered some sort of wounds, but one tiny green leaf budding with the new spring proclaimed some life continued to flow. Large and imposing on the surface, clinging to life.

  Duncan took a step back, swung the ax and halted before the blade made contact. He knew that with enough blows it would eventually fall. He also knew if left unattended the tree would fall victim to the weather. However, that one little leaf called to something deep inside him. It stirred a smidgen of hope in the depths of his being, just as that peck on Camy’s cheek had.

  Resting the ax handle on his shoulder, he said, “I’ll leave you for the moment.” And then descended the path to the river and walked alongside it until he came upon the first fallen tree he’d stepped over only days before. Swinging the ax near the base, he severed the last threads remaining and dragged the small log up the path and settled it near the chopping stump.

  “Ellie! Ellie, quick!”

  Duncan angled his head to see Camy dashing out of the cabin and around the backside, a bucket of water bouncing against her leg. Hound sped past her with a series of high-pitched barks. Ellie flew out of the barn. Duncan glanced around. Nothing seemed out of place. Excepting the wisps of smoke rising from the back room where he’d been lodging, several feet from the fireplace in the front room.