The Barefoot Bride

by Paisley, Rebecca

  "Three wanderers come up here. I kilt one of 'em afore the other two tied me up. They found the likker jug and got so snockered, they started a-knockin' each other around. One of 'em crashed inter the fireplace, and embers got spilt out all over. I knowed thur was gwine be a far, but thur warn't nothin' I could do. Anyhow, I reckon them varmints was gwine rape me, but Khan came back from wharever the hell he was, and chased 'em off. I suspicion he got holt of 'em from the looks o' all that blood on him. After that, I reckon I passed out from all the smoke."

  Saxon glanced at the huge wolf, did indeed see a scarlet stain around Khan's mouth, and was certain the other two men were dead. "Why didn't George Franklin—"

  "Him and Betty Jane went to town to git salt. They—"

  "Never mind that—are you sure you aren't hurt?"

  "I'm only riled at you fer a-takin' yore own sweet time to git up here! Now I ain't got nothin'! Ever'thang I had is burnt up! It ain't that I cain't build another cabin... but I come up in that one." She shook her head to throw off her self-pity. "Well, Saxon? What the hell was you a-doin' in that ravine? How come it tuk you so dang long to git up here?"

  He didn't know whether to sympathize with her or curse at her. Finally, his anger won out. "How the hell was I supposed to know you were in danger? I didn't even see the smoke until I'd almost reached your cove! I—"

  "Didn't you notice all the animules was in franzies? Ever'thang out here was shorely a-runnin' from the far!"

  Now that he thought of it, he had seen a lot of fleeing animals. But he hadn't paid much attention. "Well, I... Well, excuse me, Miss Know-Everything-About-Nature McBride! Excuse me for taking so damn long to come to your damn rescue! Excuse me for ignoring all those damn animals running around all over the damn place, and excuse me for taking three damn hours to get out of the damn ravine my damn horse threw me into, dammit!"

  His wrath made her smile and, before long, she was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. "Oh, Saxon, I'm so glad you come back! You jist cain't know how much I missed you! Yer gwine stay, ain't you? You ain't gwine go back to that Boston city?"

  "Keely—"

  "'Course, we'll have to build another cabin. You ever builded a cabin afore? Well, it ain't hard, but it—"

  "Keely, I'm not staying here, but neither are you. You're going to marry me, and we're going to—"

  "Yore the hardheadedest man I ever knowed, Saxon! What's it gwine take to make you understand, I ain't—"

  "Hear me out." He stood and gazed down at her. "I need you, and you need me."

  "Well of all the—" She bolted to her feet. "I chew my bakker jist once, Saxon Blackwell, so you better listen real good. I'm so poor now I cain't buy hay fer a nightmare, but I still got my pride. And iffen you thank I'm gwine marry you jist on account o' I lost ever'thang I had, yore—"

  "Keely, let me finish explaining."

  "Keep my name outen yore mouth."

  "But—"

  "Yore the biggityest man a-walkin' this here earth. I don't need you fer nothin'. I been by mysef fer nigh on five years now, and I been jist fine. I—"

  "You need me, and I need you, and that's final! And if you'll shut that caustic mouth of yours, I'll tell you why!"

  "Spit on the apple and then git outen my way!"

  "I'm going to ruin Barton Winslow. I'll hire detectives to find him, and when they do, I'll destroy him."

  She took a step backward. "Yore gwine kill him?"

  "If he's as greedy as you described him, losing everything he has would hurt him far worse than death. In fact, death would probably be preferable to a man like that."

  "But what iffen he don't got nothin'?"

  "He'll lose what little he has. I promise to make him suffer. I'll do whatever it takes to give you the revenge you've wanted all these years. And when he's ruined, no matter where he is, we'll pay him a little visit so you can tell him exactly who was behind his destruction. I'll let you have all the credit."

  She smiled spitefully. "And after I tell him, I'm gwine fill his ass with buckshot. I'll—"

  "You have to marry me first. Marry me and go back to Boston with me. Those are the conditions."

  Her face fell. "But Saxon, I jist cain't."

  "Don't you want revenge on Winslow?"

  She kicked at a stick. "Do you love me, Saxon? Is that why yore a-tryin' to make this lay with me?"

  His heart thrashed wildly within the constricting cage of his chest. I can't love you, Keely, he told her silently, but said aloud, "You're very special to me."

  "But you don't love me and I still don't thank I love you. What sorter marriage would we have? Withouten love—"

  "We need each other. I already told you that. I'll destroy Winslow for you, and by marrying me you'll be helping me realize my dreams too."

  "Saxon, you ain't a-makin' no sense. Put the milk down whar the goats can git at it."

  He took a deep breath and prepared to be honest. "I've got to marry. If Grandmother dies before I have a wife, Desdemona and my inheritance will both go to a cousin in England. You're the bride I want to take home."

  She watched him carefully while she absorbed that information. The festering pain that came from speaking of his grandmother crawled across his face. Why didn't he just leave that woman once and for all? "Saxon, take Desdemona and run. If you hide her good, nobody cain't never send her to Angland."

  "Do you think that hasn't crossed my mind? I assure you it has. Dozens of times! But how would I support—"

  "Work hard jist like the rest of us, I reckon."

  Saxon paced the mountain floor. "I'm not afraid of hard work. I can't remember a time when I haven't worked hard. But if I stole Desdemona away, I'd have to start my own business, and it would be pretty damn hard to do that with the entire world crawling with Grandmother's detectives. One of her bloodhounds would find—"

  "Then don't start no business." She kicked the stick again. "Live offen the land like I do. Works fer me. It'll work fer you too iffen—"

  "Keely, you've never seen Desdemona. She's as fragile as a snowflake. She'd never survive a life of hardship."

  "Then leave her whar she is till—"

  "Until I have enough money to care for her? Do you know what Grandmother would do if I attempted that? Send Desdemona directly to a mental institution! And no court in the land would deny her right to do so. She has complete custody over Desdemona. Keely, can't you see? There's no way around the stipulations in Grandmother's will! I can't just kidnap Desdemona and expect to live happily ever after. I haven't the means to take care of her. Only money—"

  "Money! Allus money!" She kicked the stick clear across the yard. "You don't hardly never thank on anythang but money! Yore whole life, all yore decisions—ever'thang in yore whole world goes around a-bein' rich! You cain't never relax. Cain't never stop fer a dang minute to see how blue the sky is. Money! Allus—"

  "Only money can give Desdemona the life she needs to stay alive!" He went to her and looked into her eyes, willing her to understand. "Keely, I have to have my inheritance. Please say you'll marry me."

  She saw the hope, the plea in his azure eyes, and realized then he had his sister's best interests at heart. But she also suspected the thought of living in poverty was an uncomfortable one. He just didn't understand the fortune was blinding him to the more important things in life. For as long as Saxon believed money and well-being were the same, he would never find the one thing he needed to be happy. The thing called heartease.

  But though she understood all those things, she was also wise enough to realize such a drastic change had to come from within. She couldn't bring it about. Only he could.

  "Keely, think about this carefully," Saxon pressed. "It's not only Barton, but you'll see more of this country, like you told me you wanted to do one day. And Desdemona... wouldn't you like the challenge of making her smile, talk? You said all she needs is neverending attention. Wouldn't you like to see if that belief turned out to be true?"

  Her
stubbornness began to waver under the weight of all his arguments. "Well..." she began, still sorting through her thoughts, "I ain't a-sayin' yes yet, but... Well, iffen I was to marry you, who'd take keer o' the Beasleys, T.J., and Widder Tucker? They depend on me to take keer of 'em."

  He took her into his arms. "The money you abhor will take care of them all. Once I'm married, I'll receive a hefty sum of money each month from Grandmother until the estate passes to me when she dies. I'll hire someone to see that your people never lack for a thing. Surely there's someone you know who'd be willing to take care of all your friends? Someone you'd trust."

  "Well, thur's Johnny Webber. He lives down yonder in the next holler. And he's all sorts of a feller. Cain't track bahrs as good as I can, but he ain't a got a drop o' streaked blood in his veins. Big and stout too. Why, I reckon he could pack a log to hell and back afore breakfast."

  "And living up here, he could probably use some money," Saxon speculated slyly.

  Money again. She sighed. Still, who was she to deny financial aid to her people? Just because she didn't need it or want it didn't mean her neighbors felt the same way. "Well, heared tell Johnny's sweet on T.J.'s sister. Yeah, I reckon he could use some money iffen he's a-plannin' on a-takin' him a bride. Prob'ly make thangs a sight easier fer em."

  "Much, much easier," he agreed quickly.

  She withdrew from his embrace and went to sit by Khan. "I jist don't know, Saxon. I cain't stand the thought of a-leavin' these here hills ferever. I don't know nothin' about Boston. What iffen I don't like it thar?"

  Saxon's mind whirled with possible ways to get around this problem. "All right," he said hesitantly. "You can return to your mountains whenever you want. Just marry me, let me present you to Grandmother, get to know Desdemona, and then you can come back here. Or, if you'd prefer, you can wait until the Winslow business is over."

  "You'd let me leave you and never go back to you?"

  He swallowed convulsively. Why was that thought so appalling? "I... Our lives would go on as always," he said, his voice wavering. "All I need is your name on a marriage certificate, and then—well, then you'll be free to do whatever you want. I'll have met the conditions in Grandmother's will, Desdemona might show some response to you, and you'll get revenge on your father. What's to think about? We'll both win, for we've nothing to lose."

  He pulled her to her feet. "As my wife, you'll have everything you need. If—when you return to the Blue Ridge, it'll be with the protection of my money. You say you don't need it, and you don't have to use it if you don't want to. But if anything ever happens to you or your friends, the Blackwell money will be there for you always. You'll never have another worry, nor will your people here."

  Chickadee laid her head against his chest. Life was hard up in these mountains, she admitted to herself, and despite everything she did for her neighbor-people, they still lacked many things she had no way of giving them. It would be mighty selfish of her to deny them those things just because she resisted the idea of marriage without love.

  Besides that, it wouldn't be a real marriage. Saxon said she could leave Boston whenever she wanted to go. In a few short months, she'd be right back here. She'd have avenged her mother, cheered up a sad girl, and done some traveling. Saxon was right. What was there to think about?

  "All right, outlander. You done got yoresef a bride. But I ain't a-stayin' in that thar Boston city long, hear?"

  Once again, he experienced a bizarre feeling of loss. He could barely manage a nod of agreement.

  *

  When the Beasleys returned, they found Saxon and Chickadee in their cabin. After hearing about the fire, Betty Jane insisted Chickadee stay in bed for a whole day. But on the second day, no amount of pleading could keep her there any longer. "Lord o' mercy, you-uns! I ain't sick, and I ain't gwine stay in bed! And pull in yore horns, Saxon, or I'll cloud up and rain all over you."

  "But—"

  "Got wood to chop. I'm gwine fell ever' tree—"

  "I already spoke to Johnny Webber," Saxon said. "George Franklin took me down there yesterday morning. Johnny will see to everything."

  "'S'what he said all right, Chickadee." George Franklin moved his chaw of tobacco to the other cheek. "I was thar. And Saxon here give Johnny a pile o' money, the bigness you ain't never seed in all yore days. Right gen'rous of him. 'Peared to me it was more'n enough money fer what ole Johnny'll be a-doin'."

  "And look here, Chickadee." Betty Jane pulled out a thick roll of bills from her apron pocket. "He done give us some too. I warn't gwine take it from him, but I thought I could use it to buy some boughten cloth to make curtains fer the new cabin George Franklin's gwine make you whilst yer gone. I can git some new skillets fer you, and I was even a-thankin' o'—"

  "Hesh up, woman." George Franklin shook his head. "Yore the talkin'est woman in these here hills. I reckon you could talk the legs offen a stove, and that ain't no lie."

  "You—"

  "I said hesh! Dang it, Betty Jane, the last time I seed a mouth the bigness o' yores, it had a hook in it."

  Chickadee smiled. Lord, how she'd miss these two. She quickly bent her head and successfully controlled the sadness that surged within her, "Well, Saxon, we may as well be on our way."

  Betty Jane gave her two packages. "This-un's yarbs fer iffen you ever git to a-feelin' low. And this other-un's breeches and shirts. And the shoes George Franklin made fer you too. We know you'll be a-wearin' boughten clothes up thar whar yore gwine, but sometimes you might git a hankerin' to wear what yore used to."

  "And here's yore rifle," George Franklin said, and handed the weapon to her. "Found it throwed out beside yore cabin. Didn't even git scorched."

  Saxon took Chickadee's hand, and the little group went outside. Chickadee hugged her two elderly friends and mounted with no aid from Saxon. Grinning, he mounted behind her, and nodding goodbye to the Beasleys, he urged Hagen down the mountain gap, Khan trotting close behind.

  Chickadee squirmed around in the saddle to wave. Never in her life had she felt so afraid or dispirited, but she forced herself to smile. Her bright grin was the last thing Betty Jane and George Franklin saw as their special girl disappeared from sight and headed for the faraway—and unsuspecting—city of Boston.

  Chapter 8

  As they traveled toward Moore County, where Saxon had decided they would marry, they stopped to send Araminta a telegram requesting that she send one of the Blackwell steamboats back to the port of Wilmington. He made no mention of his new bride, only notifying his grandmother he was ready to return to Boston.

  No inns along the way would allow Khan entry. Saxon tried to convince Chickadee the wolf would be fine outside, but she refused to stay at a place where her pet wasn't welcome. And so, though the snap of autumn was in the air, they slept under the sable quilt of night, the Carolina stars twinkling down at them.

  Once in Moore County, they headed straight for the Mansfield home. Heath was delighted with Chickadee. The two became immediate friends, their closeness causing Saxon's eyebrow to rise frequently. He convinced himself it wasn't jealousy he felt, only surprise. He was learning many things about his fiancée, and her special ability with people was one of them.

  At Tyson and McNeill Mercantile, Saxon purchased Chickadee's first "boughten" gown. Since it was to be her wedding dress, he tried to persuade her to buy a white one. But Chickadee spied a tomato-red frock and would have no other.

  And so, when the day came, Saxon escorted his red-clad mountain girl to Bethesda Presbyterian Church at the head of Rockfish Creek, a rustic setting that suited her nicely. The Mansfield family and a few of Heath's friends were the only guests attending the small wedding, other curious spectators shying away from the white wolf who lay sleeping in the churchyard.

  After the reception at the Mansfields' home, Heath and his parents offered the newlyweds their bedrooms. But Chickadee wouldn't hear of it. The Mansfields argued, but her stubbornness won out, and Saxon soon found himself waving good-night to
the family as he and his bride headed out for another night in the woods.

  "Warn't it purty, Saxon?" Chickadee snuggled down into the bearskin with him. "The weddin', the cake—Miz Mansfield spended all mornin' on that fancified cake."

  Saxon smiled. The cake had been void of all the usual wedding decorations, the icing white and plain. He reached for Chickadee and held her close. "Keely, why didn't you accept Heath's offer to let us use his bedroom? I'd never have taken his parents' room, but Heath could have slept—"

  "That's a small house, and you make a lot o' racket when yore a-makin' love. Most times you jist moan, but ever' now and then, when it's a-gittin' real good, you holler. I was jist a-savin' you from embarrassment, outlander. Mr. and Miz Mansfield prob'ly wouldn'ta said nothin', but Heath woulda loved a-teasin' you about it tomorrer."

  Saxon chuckled. "Yes, I imagine he would at that."

  Chickadee ran her hand over his broad chest and down his flat belly, and slid her fingers into the soft matting of hair at the apex of his thighs. Slowly, her hand curled around his rigid masculinity.

  Saxon moaned.

  "See what I mean, Saxon? We ain't even done nothin' yet, and yore already a-groanin'."

  His laughter was muffled in her thick hair. "Am I really that loud?"

  "Iffen I didn't know better, sometimes I'd thank somethin' bad-awful was a-happenin' to you. The way you carry on, it's like you was a-bein' tortured or somethin'."

  "Oh, and you don't make a sound?" He pulled a piece of pine straw from her hair and tickled her cheek with it.

  She grinned impishly. "I don't go inter franzies like you do. I reckon I might holler when it's good enough to holler over. But till it is, you ain't gwine hear me carry on over it."

  "Just how much better do you think it could be?" Saxon jerked the bearskin up over his shoulder. "You're the wildest woman I've ever had in my bed, yet you—"

  "You been with other women? How many? Who—"

  "Jealous?"

  "What of? What you done afore we met up ain't none o' my business. I was jist a-wonderin'."