Land of Dreams

by Cheryl St. John

  Wanting to look away, Thea stared transfixed, nonetheless, as men, beasts, and iron waterwheel crossed the bridge.

  She and Zoe kept their distance, watching as the oxen's straining efforts took the turbine closer and closer to the dam. Just before reaching the destination, they encountered a small rise. Booker left Red Horse with the oxen and ran back with the others to push. His hat blew off, exposing his sweat-glistened black hair to the sun. His muscle-strapped back and shoulders bunched and flexed with the strain. Thea held her breath. If the iron wheel slid off, they'd all be crushed.

  Red Horse prodded and the oxen lurched forward. Booker gave one final lunge and the wagon and turbine came to rest on the flat spot of land above the pit.

  A dozen men headed for the creek. Booker stood, hands on hips, and surveyed the task ahead of them. His gaze sweeping the area, he discovered Thea and Zoe and waved.

  They met him halfway. "What now?" she asked.

  Sweat ran in rivulets down his temples. His ebony chest hair glistened with moisture, the golden skin of his torso and shoulders glowing in the sunshine. "Now we rig it to the frame we built," he panted. "And crank it down into the hole. What do you think of it?"

  "It’s something," she replied with a shake of her head.

  "Yeah," he said, inhaling deeply and blowing the air out through pursed lips. "It’s something."

  Thea smiled at the proud way he looked at the hunk of metal. "Booker, how will you pay all those men for their work?"

  "The farmers will get their first crop milled at no charge. The others get paid in flour and oats."

  What a clever man. He had business lined up for the mill already. "Bring everyone down to the house for the noon meal."

  "Oh, I don't—" He took in her raised brow. "You sure?"

  "I'm positive. You can't work men half to death in this heat and not feed them."

  "All right. We'll be home for dinner."

  MaryRuth and Lexie showed up to help Thea with the preparations. Thea watched her sister efficiently shave carrots and plunk the chunks into the kettle of boiling water. They needed both rooms, so Lexie busied herself with setting the dining room table.

  "MaryRuth?" Thea asked finally.

  "Hmm?"

  Thea edged closer and checked over her shoulder to make certain Lexie was still in the other room. "Do you think Mr. Hayes married me for Papa's land?"

  MaryRuth brought her head up sharply. "Why would you ask that?"

  Thea shrugged, knowing her sister would see straight through her if she tried to shrug the question off as unimportant. "I wondered, that's all."

  "Who put that idea in your head?"

  Thea picked up a knife and scraped a carrot.

  "Thea, has Booker done anything to give you that idea?"

  "No." But he hadn't done anything to make her think otherwise, either.

  "Well, then, don't put worries in your head that have no business being there. You're a beautiful, wonderful woman, Thea. He could have had a million reasons for marrying you. Think about those."

  "Okay. Tell me the reasons."

  MaryRuth laughed. She turned and took Thea's hand. "You're serious, aren't you?"

  Thea nodded.

  "Well." She handed Thea another carrot. "I'm not as tall as you are, but I'm taller than most every other woman in the county, and Denzel doesn't mind a bit. He used to call me..." MaryRuth paused and blushed.

  "What?"

  "Willowy," she confessed.

  Thea looked her sister over, then ran a damp palm down her midriff and over her hip. "Willowy, huh?"

  MaryRuth nodded. "And you know how we cursed this red hair when we were girls?"

  Thea nodded.

  "Denzel says it has more brilliant shades of fire than the most beautiful sunset."

  Thea widened her eyes in disbelief. "Denzel said that?" She couldn't imagine her staid brother-in-law waxing poetic. Did men talk that way when they were in love?

  Her sister nodded. "And besides that, you're fun to be around. You're sensitive, and you have a lovely, relaxing voice. I remember when you used to read to me at night."

  "You haven't said a word about me being a good cook or a good mother for Zoe."

  "Were those the things you wanted to hear?"

  Thea dropped the last carrot into the water and slanted MaryRuth a glance. "No." She turned to pull a stack of plates from the cupboard. "I needed to hear just what you said."

  MaryRuth scraped the shavings into a pail and gave her a smug smile.

  Lexie appeared in the doorway. "How much longer? I heard a wagon."

  "By the time they wash up, we should just about be done," Thea replied.

  Sure enough, the men came through the back door as Thea set the last platter of chicken on the table. "Half in here and half in the dining room," she called out over their banter.

  On his way past, Thea saw Denzel touch MaryRuth's waist, and her sister turned, acknowledging his presence. Thea wondered about the situation MaryRuth had told her about before. The man was obviously in love with her, so why didn't he—?

  "Ma'am?"

  Thea turned and found Lucas waiting for her attention. She smiled. "What, dear?"

  He blushed. "Where do you want me?"

  She glanced around. Booker, Denzel, Preacher Newland and a number of others had settled themselves comfortably in the kitchen. Thea stepped to the doorway and discovered some empty chairs at the dining room table. She motioned to Lucas and he took a few halting steps toward her.

  It hit her, then, that he'd always sat in the one specific kitchen chair she'd originally offered him. He obviously wasn't familiar with routines others accepted as ordinary. "Take any seat you'd like in here, Lucas."

  The boy immediately scooted in beside Red Horse. Platters passed and the meal was on.

  Sometime later Thea delivered a full bread plate to the table and noticed Lexie sitting across from Lucas. The two studied each other with sly glances when the other wasn't looking. Thea hid a smile.

  The workers finished eating and filed from the house. Booker paused beside her at the sink. She glanced over and noticed the damp shirt sticking to his broad chest. He'd wet his hair before dinner and it stood in unruly finger rows. Leaning forward, he brushed her cheek with a kiss, and she caught his scent: sun and sweat and all man.

  "Thanks, Thea. You did me proud."

  Her stomach gave a tremulous lurch, and she watched him saunter out the door. All right, it had been her cooking, but she had made him proud. He'd said so. She caught MaryRuth's passing smile and turned back to the dishwater.

  She'd made him proud.

  * * *

  After her sister was gone, Thea carried a blanket and took Zoe outside. They had to walk a ways from the house to find a few shade trees, and there Thea spread the blanket.

  "It will be cooler out here for your afternoon rest," Thea said. Zoe pillowed her head on Thea's lap and Thea opened the book she'd brought.

  Minutes later, Thea glanced down and saw Zoe playing with the acorn, rolling it in her palm, studying each side.

  "Zoe, darling, what is your obsession with that acorn?" Thea asked, and placed her book on the blanket.

  Zoe's innocent blue gaze rose to her face, and Thea wished for the hundredth time that Zoe could speak to her. Zoe brought her tiny palm up to Thea's face. "Yes. It’s an acorn," Thea said.

  Blue eyes drifted beyond Thea's head to the green-leaved branches above. With her other hand, Zoe pointed to the branches.

  Thea glanced up. The green canopy protected them from the afternoon sun. Every now and then a gentle breeze rustled the leaves in a hypnotic, sleepy summer sound. Thea leaned her head back against the rough bark and let her eyes drift shut. It was a wonderful, lazy sound, one she'd listened to as a child, one she loved to this day. A sound that reminded her of home, of summer—

  Thea's eyes flew open and she took stock of Zoe's reflective expression. Zoe had been born in New York City. Thea's mind rolled back to the Apri
l day she'd first met Zoe and the little girl she'd thought of as Freckles. They'd been fascinated with the oak trees in her father's backyard, because they'd never seen trees before... hadn't known where apples came from, hadn't known so many things she took for granted.

  She racked her mind for what she’d told the children that day. Zoe had pulled the acorn from beneath a checkered tablecloth and held it toward Thea with a question on her pert face. Thea worked to remember how she had explained it to Zoe. It's an acorn. If the squirrels don't eat the acorns, they turn into trees. A nuisance, really, when one had to go out and pluck out all the little seedlings before they got out of hand.

  Zoe had looked at the nut in amazement and tucked it into the limp pocket of her pinafore. Thea hadn't seen her without it since. Almost as if she were waiting for something.

  Thea sat forward. "Oh, my." Zoe thought Thea's word was gospel. She was waiting for the acorn to turn into a tree. "Zoe, do you think that acorn will turn into a tree?"

  Zoe sat up, excitement on her features. She nodded.

  Thea leaned back. "Oh my." She took Zoe's hands in hers. "Darling, you have to plant it first. The acorn is like a seed. It has to be in the dirt and have rain and... How will I ever make you understand?"

  Zoe climbed into Thea's lap and laid her head against her breast. The contact made her hotter, but Thea didn't care. She smoothed the baby-fine silken locks and kissed her damp forehead. Zoe was hers now. Thea'd already begun teaching her the alphabet on a slate she'd found in one of Julia's trunks.

  She wanted to teach her so much, give her so much, open the whole world up to her. How was she going to turn that acorn into a tree? Zoe had carried it around for so long, it was likely dried up, no good.

  Zoe slept, and Thea made plans for after supper that evening. She couldn't let Zoe down. Zoe thought that acorn was going to turn into a tree, and by golly, it would.

  She hoped.

  bookmark:Chapter 11

  Chapter 11

  image:flourish.png

  Zoe followed Thea into the barn. The gray kitten, now good-size, discovered them and brushed against Zoe's leg. Thea found the gardening tools in a corner and carried the shovel out of the building, Zoe and the kitten trailing behind.

  Thea sized up the land gently sloping upward behind the house and pumped a bucket of water from the well. Zoe followed eagerly.

  "This should be a good spot," she said, setting the bucket down. "A shade tree here would be just right for picnics in the backyard." She pointed the shovel into the hard-packed earth, stood on it and made a dent. She stabbed it a few times and tried again, wedging the shovel into the ground. Finally, a chunk of sod came up.

  How deep did the acorn need to be? Not very, since they fell from the trees and grew on their own, she figured. She poured the water into the hole, creating a white foam on the black liquid. Slowly, the water seeped into the earth, leaving a puddle.

  "Okay, Zoe. Drop the acorn in."

  Zoe looked at the nut in her hand, glanced at Thea, and trustingly plopped it into the hole. Thea chopped the dirt until it was fine and ladled it back into the pit and smoothed the ground over the top. The gray kitten sniffed the spot.

  Zoe looked from the ground to Thea.

  Thea, leaning on the shovel under her arm, raised a brow. "It'll need water every day in this hot weather. We've done the best we can." She glanced around, helplessly. "It’s awfully late in the summer. I really don't know when the best time is to plant an oak tree."

  Zoe picked up the kitten.

  "Come on, let's go put this stuff away."

  From the corner of the house, Booker watched Thea carry the shovel to the barn, metering her pace so Zoe could keep up. He wondered what she was she up to. He appreciated the fluid stride of her long legs, the late sun glinting off her hair.

  Thinking of that night—their wedding night—he cursed himself for the hundredth time. He'd messed it all up somehow. He wanted to bring it up again, tell her exactly how he felt, find out how she felt and what she thought, but he couldn’t. She'd made her decision.

  She'd decided to sleep in her own room, and he'd promised to live with that decision. He couldn't get out of it now without going back on his word.

  But he wanted to. Oh, yes, how he wanted to. He wanted to throw his word out the window and storm down that hall, roll her up in that colorful quilt and carry her back to their room.

  Take her prisoner.

  She'd be hot. Wild. Eager.

  Booker's body responded to the thought. He shifted uncomfortably. He hadn't spent so much time in this embarrassingly aroused condition since he was sixteen.

  Maybe not. Maybe she'd be shocked. Maybe she would never want to advance their relationship. Heaven help him, how would he live with that? But he'd promised her he would. And a man was only as good as his word—even if he'd given his word hastily and without thought to the days and endless nights of torture that lay ahead.

  He'd take one night at a time—and live with her decision. Somehow.

  * * *

  Face buried in the pillow, Lucas awoke with a start. Someone was in the room. Instinctively, he threw up his arm to protect his head, but instead of the blow his sleep-clouded brain anticipated, a cool touch rested on his spine.

  It had been too hot to wear his sleep shirt last night. Lying on his stomach, his back and shoulders were exposed in the morning light. He craned his neck and took stock of Zoe beside his bed.

  She wore a lightweight cotton gown, and her near-white hair was tousled prettily. With one finger, she traced the scars on Lucas's back.

  "Ow," he saw her lips say without a sound coming from her mouth.

  "Yeah." He rolled over, keeping himself modestly covered, and sat in the center of his narrow bed.

  Zoe climbed up and sat at the foot.

  Lucas rubbed sleep from his eyes and squinted at the child. "You got it awful good here, Zoe, an' don't you forget it. You 'member the Home? That big, big room with all the beds. The whole place smelled like wet sheets. Nobody there at night. Nobody to hear if ya cried or hurt or got sick. Even that was good compared to places I seen."

  Her wide blue eyes offered understanding.

  "I ain't never seen food like here, Zoe. I ain't never gone so long without bein' hungry. At the Home we usually got milk an' sometimes fruit, but never, never all at the same time." He scratched his head and stretched. "One family I stayed with, the man used to come out to the stable an' wake me up by throwin' the milk pails at me."

  Zoe cocked her head.

  "I learned real fast to wake up when the door squeaked."

  Her blue eyes sympathized.

  "I used to save scraps from the compost pile 'cause if'n I didn't work fast enough they wouldn't feed me. I think I was nine."

  Zoe crawled over to Lucas. Her plump little body radiated warmth through her nightgown into his arm. She smelled fresh and kind of flowery. She snuggled against his side, and Lucas experienced an awkward, unfamiliar surge of feeling.

  Reaching out a tiny hand, she patted his arm and slid her fingers into his.

  A rush of disciplined emotion broke through Lucas's learned reactions. Distrust and caution were his nature. Anyone who'd ever shown the least bit of kindness had a motive he wouldn't like. Fact. That ingrained reservation kept him from returning her touch; his hard-earned skepticism prevented him from feeling too much.

  Even though his head told him Zoe didn't want anything from him, would never hurt him in any way, just allowing her touch was an enormous concession.

  They sat like that with the morning sun filtering through the filmy curtains, a warm breeze caressing the folds.

  "You got it good here, Zoe," he repeated. He thought about what it would feel like to have the angel lady for a ma. As good as it felt to eat her pie and wear the clothes she made? Yes. As good as it felt to sleep on the clean sheets she washed and hear her voice on the morning air? Better.

  But as good as it all felt, he couldn't help wonderin
g how long it could last. Nothing this good could last forever.

  As if his thoughts had conjured her up, her soft hum carried down the hallway. "Zoe? Where are you, darling? Lucas, are you up?"

  "In here, ma'am," he replied, and scooted away from Zoe.

  "Good morning, you two," she greeted them, and her smile shined brighter than the sunshine.

  "Mornin'."

  Zoe jumped down and wrapped her chubby arms around Thea's legs. Thea smoothed her hair.

  "Breakfast is ready. We're going into town this morning. Won't that be a grand adventure? Hurry down, now, Lucas. Mr. Hayes and I want to talk to you about something." She took Zoe's hand and led her out of the room.

  Lucas grabbed his dungarees and stepped into them. Sure enough. This was probably the bad news. He dropped to his knees and rooted beneath his mattress, pulling out the tobacco tin Thea's father had given him.

  Methodically, he counted out his money.

  He had enough to make a run for it when the time came. He hoped it wasn't today, but he stuffed the cash into his pocket just to be on the safe side.

  Good thing he'd planned ahead.

  Twenty minutes later, dressed in his best shirt, Lucas slid into the chair with which he'd grown familiar.

  "Where's the firing squad, Lucas?" Hayes asked, pouring a cup of coffee and sipping it while he surveyed the pretty picture the morning made from the kitchen window.

  Lucas gave him a baffled glance.

  Hayes just chuckled.

  Thea placed a platter of griddle cakes on the table. "Where's Red Horse?"

  Hayes seated himself. "He cooked himself something outside earlier. He's getting the horses ready."

  Thea poured thick maple syrup on a griddle cake and cut it for Zoe. Hayes forked a slice of bacon onto her plate, and she ate happily.

  "We're meeting Mrs. Vaughn in Omaha, Lucas." Hayes delivered the news like he was talking about the weather.

  Lucas watched golden syrup drizzle from his top griddle cake, down the side of the stack, one cake at a time, and pool on the plate.