Nothing appealed to her today. Not since Jake had told her after breakfast that he wanted to do some visiting this evening.
“It’s a waste of time,” Samantha murmured, resuming her seat on the bench tucked under the sloping porch eaves. Taking up the wooden dasher, she pulled the churn between her spread legs and continued her up-and-down motion. Her eyes scanned the prairie.
Fall flowers peeped through the undulating grasses as the relentless wind whipped across the land. A white crow circled lazily overhead then came to roost in the stand of sycamores to the east of the cabin. What did he hope to accomplish by asking her neighbors for help?
He’d get nothing more than her father had. They’d talk a good show, agreeing with his assessment that something needed doing. But when push came to shove, they’d back down and hide in their homes, their tails tucked neatly between their legs.
And the most amazing part was that Samantha couldn’t blame them. Not a one of her neighbors. They’d done the wise thing. They were still alive. Only her father lay in a grave because he resisted. And for what? The war had taken care of the slavery problem. So he accomplished exactly nothing.
The jingling of a harness stirred the late afternoon silence and Samantha squinted, searching the distance for the wagon. She saw it coming from the direction of the cornfield, shimmering in the waves of October heat. It didn’t take long for her to make out Will sitting on the seat, driving, and Jake walking along beside. Behind her brother, the wagon bed was heaped with ears of corn.
Pushing to her feet, Samantha went into the cabin and, after storing the butter, set to work making biscuits. The stew she’d started earlier that afternoon filled the cabin with rich warm scents. Samantha was certain Will and Jake would appreciate the hearty meal.
And maybe after the long day he put in, plus eating a good dinner, Jake would be too tired to worry about visiting neighbors.
He was, but Samantha could tell Jake wasn’t going to let a little fatigue stop him. She watched as Jake pushed away from the table and stood. “I’ll go hitch up the wagon.”
“Jake, I—”
“I know you don’t want to do this, Samantha, but there’s no other way.”
“We could wait for the army.” It was no good. She was offering the same arguments he’d already rejected. Showing patience she never expected, he sat down across from her. She thought he’d take her hand, but instead he folded his on the table.
“You have a hell of a lot more faith in the Union Army than I do. Maybe they’ll come. Maybe they won’t. But in the meantime something has to be done.” Jake shifted.
Her mind knew that—even agreed with him—but it was hard to fight the demons from her past. In the end she didn’t try. Pushing away from the table, Samantha scooped up her plate and piled it atop Jake’s and Will’s. “No one goes visiting in the evening around here... especially during harvest.”
Samantha poured steaming water into the dishpan. “This isn’t Richmond.” She turned to catch his eye. “That is where you’re from, isn’t it?” Seeing his nod, she went on. “Folks around here are exhausted by sundown. Best to let this wait till Sunday.”
He seemed to accept her logic with a shrug, but he still stood and reached for his hat.
“Where are you going?” Samantha voiced her question before she could stop herself.
“Where I should have gone first thing this morning. Into town.”
“But—”
“I know you don’t put much store in the sheriff.” Jake blew air through his teeth and gave his head a shake. “And frankly, from what I’ve seen, I don’t either. But damnit, Samantha, someone was out here last night shooting up this place, and I’m pretty sure I wounded one of them. And I’m going to see that the sheriff knows about it.”
~ ~ ~
He could have saved the time and effort, Jake thought again as he waited for Samantha to come out of the house early Sunday afternoon. The sheriff had listened to him, rubbing his bristly beard and watching Jake with pale, washed-out eyes imbedded in fleshy folds. He even promised to look into it—soon. But he didn’t seem overly concerned.
“Just some of the boys lettin’ off steam,” he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing scarred boots on an equally scarred desk. “You should know how that is, boy.”
Should he? Jake didn’t think there was any steam left in him to escape. Of course, he’d decided there wasn’t much of anything left in him until Fate had dumped him on this farm in the middle of nowhere. Now he was lusting after a woman, getting attached to a kid, and fighting for a cause he didn’t completely understand, and that sure as hell wasn’t his.
Will banged shut the barn door and skipped across the chicken-pecked yard, Charity trotting along at his heels. The boy was dressed in what Jake guessed were his best clothes. For once you couldn’t see a couple inches of leg sticking out of his pants. Dressed to go visiting, Jake thought, then looked down at his own pants. He’d made some changes too.
“You bringing your mouth organ with ya?” Will stopped to lean against the wagon just as Jake was doing.
“Hadn’t thought to.” Jake looked at Will from beneath the brim of his hat. “This isn’t exactly a social call we’re making.”
Will shrugged. “Still couldn’t hurt.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Jake wondered, not for the first time, about the boy’s existence. Far as Jake knew, neither Will nor his sister did much of anything but work the farm. Samantha had gone to town once since he came, but he figured she didn’t do much but work on that trip.
It didn’t seem right, them stuck out here their whole life doing nothing but hard work. But then he guessed with just the two of them—a young woman and a boy—to run the place, it took most all their time.
Still, it was easy to tell from the expression on Will’s freckled face that he was excited about their upcoming visits, no matter what the reason for them.
Removing his hat and backhanding the sweat off his brow, Jake turned toward the boy. “You want to run and get the harmonica for me. It’s on the ledge over the—”
“I know where it is.” Will was halfway to the barn when he called back over his shoulder. “I seen where you put it.”
“All right.” Jake settled the hat back on his head. “And then, how about seeing what you can do to hurry your sister up.”
“Sam! Sam!” Will halted in front of the barn door and hollered toward the house. “We needs get moving, Sam!” With that he disappeared into the barn and Jake just shook his head.
Samantha quickly tied the ribbons of her best but hardly new—bonnet under her chin and sighed at her reflection in the mirror. She was running behind, and she didn’t need Will’s shouting to let her know. She heard the harness jingle when Jake first brought the swept-out wagon from the barn. But the pies she’d baked this morning took longer than she thought and then her hair didn’t seem to want to stay in the upswept do that fit best under her bonnet. Hurrying out of her bedroom, she grabbed a large basket off a hook and carefully fitted the still warm pies into the bottom, covering them with a checkered napkin.
Jake straightened, slipping the harmonica into his pocket as the cabin door opened. He shifted, turning his head to comment on how long he’d been waiting, but the words never came out.
He was certainly used to seeing her—for over three weeks now he’d run into her most every day. Hell, he’d even lain with her, though the darkness had veiled all but a tantalizing peek of smooth shoulder or long moon-kissed thigh. But he’d never seen her dressed in anything but wash-worn calico dresses. Drab things that did nothing but hide the sweet curves of her body.
Not today. Today she wore a gown of blue—not light or dark, but bright like her eyes. The dress wasn’t fancy, not by Richmond standards, but it fit her well. And Jake would wager his harmonica she wore a corset under the soft material.
The bonnet, trimmed with the same blue fabric, wasn’t going to afford much protection from the glaring Kansas sun, but i
t sure did make her look pretty. Beautiful.
Jake wasn’t sure how long they stood there staring at one another but Will’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
“What kind of pies did ya bake, Sam?”
“Ah, apple.” Samantha hurried to the wagon and placed the basket under the seat. Her face felt hot and her blood seemed to strum through her veins. She knew she looked different today—in truth she’d tried to fix herself up. But she hadn’t expected the reaction she received from Jake.
Whatever he was thinking, he didn’t say anything, and to look at his expression now, you wouldn’t think he’d noticed a thing. He helped her into the wagon, then climbed up himself. After checking to see Will hurdle himself into the wagon bed, Jake let loose the brake and “clicked” the horses into motion.
The farm lane was no more than wheel ruts with tufts of prairie grass sprouting in tracks down the center. Samantha held tight to the seat to keep from jostling too much, and to keep from bouncing against Jake.
Now that she sat under the hot sun, her body stiff and uncomfortable in the confining stays, Samantha wondered just what had been in her mind when she’d dressed that morning. Oh, she always wore something better than work clothes to visit, but this she did for Jake Morgan. And he hadn’t said a word.
If his expression was an indication, he didn’t like her looks at all. Well, that was fine with her. She didn’t even want to be making this silly trip. It wasn’t going to do any good. Samantha cast a quick glance to her side. Her eyes opened wider in surprise. She’d been so busy watching for his reaction to her, she hadn’t noticed him. She did now and a frown formed on her lips.
“It’s not going to help, you know.”
“What’s not?” Jake flicked the reins.
“Getting rid of your Rebel uniform. They’re going to know anyway.”
“What, do I have a giant R carved in my forehead?” Jake twisted to stare at her from beneath his hat.
Samantha ignored his sarcasm. “Word gets around. They’ll know. And they’ll wonder why you’re worried about protecting anyone from Landis Moore.”
“Maybe you should do the talking then.”
“That wouldn’t be much better,” Samantha mumbled.
Jake shifted when his knee brushed against hers. She appeared not to notice, just continued to stare off toward the horizon. Fields of wild sunflowers swayed in the breeze, their large heads bowing, but Jake didn’t think she even noticed. He didn’t know why she was so against talking to neighbors about their common enemy. To Jake it seemed the logical thing to do.
But then, he wasn’t an expert on logic of late. It certainly didn’t make sense for him to still be here.
Hadn’t he decided one night when the cries of the wounded precluded any sleep that there were no righteous causes? Yet here he was on his way to meet with a bunch of hardened Yankee sympathizers to push for a cause that wasn’t his. And worse yet, the person whose cause it was didn’t want him doing it.
He guided the horses off the main road, thanks to a nudge from Will. Samantha hadn’t said a thing, and Jake was sure she’d have let him drive right past the Nelson farm.
Like the Lowery place, Nelson’s buildings were crude by Virginia standards. But their house was larger than Samantha’s, having several additions fanning out from the main structure. They weren’t big, though Jake guessed one to be a kitchen and the other an extra bedroom.
Before Jake halted the wagon, a woman with a young child perched low on her hip and another tugging at her skirts appeared on the porch. She fanned back limp strawberry blond hair and used the same hand to shade her eyes.
“That’s Loni Nelson,” Samantha volunteered as she reached under the seat for one of the pies. She smoothed a napkin over the golden crust. “She lost her younger brother in the war, so I’d—”
“I’ll watch my step,” Jake grumbled before vaulting off the seat.
“How are you doing, Loni?” Samantha twisted away from Jake’s hands the moment her feet hit the packed earth.
“Doing fine, Samantha.” Loni brushed at an older child who peeked from behind her skirts. “Run and get your pa. Tell him we got company.”
Samantha held out the pie, her smile tentative. “I did some baking this morning and thought—”
“We don’t want no trouble. We just...” Loni’s voice trailed off as her eyes caught her husband coming toward the house.
“I don’t want trouble either, Loni.” Samantha paused and turned to follow the older woman’s gaze. “Hello, Seth. This is Jacob Morgan.”
To this point Jake had been standing, his hat hanging by his side, wondering what was going on. Obviously Samantha knew these people and they knew her, but there was none of the friendly hospitality he’d expected.
Jake stuck out his hand toward Seth Nelson and tried to ignore the slight hesitation before he took it. “I heard Samantha had herself someone working her place.”
“For a while anyway,” Jake responded, then nodded toward the woman.
“Well.” Samantha was getting mighty tired of holding the pie in front of her like some sort of offering. “If we could come in for a bit...”
“Suit yourself.” Loni Nelson’s invitation was hardly gracious but she did move herself and her brood away from the door.
“It was my idea to come,” Jake began after the adults were seated around a scarred oak table.
Will was in the corner by the rocking chair, his own piece of pie forgotten, while he helped the two youngest Nelson children with theirs.
Samantha looked up, her fork poised, when Jake spoke. “It wasn’t entirely his idea.” Her eyes met Jake’s. “I mean...” She couldn’t lie with him looking at her like that.
“Samantha... Miss Lowery has been having trouble with some raiders.” Jake pushed his pie aside. “She thinks it’s Landis Moore. And we’ve heard you might have a similar problem.”
Jake leaned forward, his elbows on the table, and watched Loni and Seth exchange a slow glance. “Now what I’m thinking is that we should get together and go to the sheriff, and if that doesn’t work, we could band together and fight this—”
“We don’t want any trouble!’ Seth Nelson echoed his wife’s words from earlier.
“And I’m not proposing any.” Jake shifted back, trying to keep his tone conversational. But he could feel the tension in the air and a quick glance around the room showed him that all the Nelson children old enough to talk were listening to every word. “Seems to me, trouble’s already here.”
“Maybe.” Seth rose, grabbing his platter with large, raw-boned hands. “But I’ll not be making it any worse.”
“How can you say that when he rides in and shoots up your place? He does do that, doesn’t he? Because that’s what he does at Samantha’s.”
“What goes on at my own farm is no concern of yours.” Seth dropped the plate back on the table. “I have chores to do.”
Samantha watched him stalk through the door. She knew it would be like this, but a tiny part of her had hoped differently. That same part turned her toward Loni, reaching for her sleeve with her fingers. “He has to see we can’t let Moore go on this way. He forced the Colts out. He owns their farm now.”
Loni jerked her arm away. “All I see is that if there’s trouble brewing, you seem to be in the twix of it.”
“That’s not fair.” Samantha let the hand she’d used to touch Loni fall to her lap.
“Lots of things ain’t fair out here.” Loni pushed back from the table. “Now I’ll be thanking you for the pie... and asking you to leave.” Her light hazel gaze fell on Jake. “And take him with you.”
Three more pies; three more less-than-enthusiastic welcomes.
His reception he could understand. He was a stranger—and one who’d embraced a different side in a war freshly over. But Samantha? What could have happened for her to receive the animosity of her neighbors?
By the time Jake had unharnessed the horses and fed them, shades of purple faded th
e sky into the horizon. He didn’t expect much in the way of supper but even Samantha’s warmed-overs were tasty. Still, Will headed for the loft before he did the stew justice.
The day had been tiresome and disappointing. On the ride home, Jake hadn’t mentioned any of what had happened, but he wasn’t going to let more time go by without getting some answers.
He suspected Samantha knew why he hung around after she cleared the table. Taking a deep breath, she sat in the chair across from him and folded her hands on the table.
Her eyes were direct; his question the same. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Chapter Twelve
What aren’t you telling me? Such a simple question with such a complex answer. Where should she begin? Taking a deep breath, Samantha decided on the beginning.
“I don’t know how much you know about Kansas history.”
“I read the papers.” Jake rubbed his fingers across his jaw. “Listen, Samantha, I’m not interested in a school lesson. I want to know why your neighbors treat you like you’re carrying the plague.”
“Because to them I am!” Samantha stood so quickly she had to grab the back of her chair to keep it from tipping over. She turned away from Jake’s astonished stare and paced to the stove. “Do you want some coffee?” she offered, lifting the battered enamel pot with her balled-up apron.
“No.”
Of course he didn’t. He wanted answers. Samantha set the pot down and returned to her chair. “I need to give you a little background.”
“I’m listening.”
“My family came here in ’55. We... my father was an abolitionist.” Samantha shook her head. “I told you this before, but I want you to understand. To my father, abolition wasn’t just a theory. He truly believed in the evils of slavery and was willing to sacrifice...” Samantha paused and her gaze collided with Jake’s before focusing on a spot behind his left shoulder. “Much,” she continued. “He was willing to sacrifice a lot.
Christine Dorsey Page 18