Always, Wyeth

by Reina Torres

  “So basically, I’m your partner in this plan to get back at the boys?”

  Anna shrugged, her eyes pleading with her. “Yes. I’m shameless, I know. I’ve always been the little sister, but having the riders here is like having a whole slew of older brothers. It’s a lot of fun, but it’s a little unfair.”

  “I think it sounds lovely!” Tillie’s cheeks flushed when Anna turned an unbelieving look in her direction. “I’ve always been the only child in my family. The only time I was able to see other children were at house parties or school. And when I began to show behaviors that my father thought were unseemly in a young lady, he brought me home to study under private tutors like Mademoiselle.”

  Anna’s brow creased a bit. “What kinds of behaviors?”

  Tillie gave her an arch look. “I once told my father that I didn’t agree with him on the way that banks treated their customers. I wondered if there weren’t better ways to loan money to people in need. I had no dessert for a week and my father withdrew me from school.”

  “That’s why he kept you home?” Anna shook her head. “Mama and Papa always encourage us to disagree as long as we say it in a polite manner.” She sighed. “But isn’t it wonderful to have one teacher all to yourself? I have that here with Mama. We don’t have enough children in Three Rivers to need a school and a dedicated teacher.”

  “I dare say there will be children and new families coming to live in town.”

  “You think?” Anna reached under the cloth and pulled out a cookie for herself. “That would be lovely!” She took a nibble and gestured to the plate. “Come on. Eat one. They’re supposed to be for you.”

  “Well, thank you and your mother for the cookies.” Tillie pulled a cookie free and set the plate on the bannister of the porch. “My father must be sure of it if he decided to put his bank here. A bank needs customers and with the Express Station here and Captain Merrick’s ranch-”

  “Oh!” Anna giggled as a crumb fell onto her lip. “And the miners in the hills. Most of them hide their gold dust near their claim until they bring it into the assay office. Now, I guess they could put it in the bank safe.”

  Tillie smiled at her younger friend. “That’s where my father is now. They’re installing one of the safes in the back room of the bank so the builders can close it in with the wall.”

  “Papa said Stone and Luke drove the freight wagon in late yesterday around candle-lighting. They’re likely there putting it in. Wyeth’s due in this afternoon.”

  Mention of his name distracted Tillie more than a little bit. Wondering if the rider had forgotten their conversation from her visit nearly two weeks ago.

  “Ottille?”

  She felt someone tug on her sleeve, and Tillie turned to look at Anna. “Sorry,” she smiled, “I was thinking.”

  “Thinking?” Anna rolled her eyes and fished out another cookie. “Thinking about Wyeth. It’s plain to read on your face,” she explained, “but don’t worry. He thinks about you too.”

  The words stunned Tillie, leaving her with a half-eaten cookie between her fingers.

  “Maybe,” Anna hinted, “you can get your tutor to make a lesson out of fishing at the river.”

  Tillie recovered enough to shake her head. “Mademoiselle doesn’t teach me reading or writing. I had more than enough of that. Arithmetic is the same. I easily learned my figures. She concentrates on other things that my father believes will add to my value. Pretty things like needlepoint, painting, and French.”

  “Add to your value,” Anna mused, “sounds more like selling a horse with good training and a sound form.”

  Tillie couldn’t very well argue with her.

  Anna perked up as a breeze blew through the porch. “Lovely breeze.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Tillie replied. “The afternoons have been dreadful. Mademoiselle falls asleep in the sitting room, and when she wakes, she can be frightful angry like the bears they say are in the mountains.”

  “Oh!” Anna reached out a hand and grabbed Tillie’s forearm. “I know what to do.”

  Tillie couldn’t help the hope that blossomed in her chest. “What?”

  Tugging Tillie from the porch and toward the door, she gave her a big grin. “We are going to wake the bear.”

  The next morning, Tillie deliberately set her hands in her lap while she waited at the table for Mademoiselle to finish her tea. She wanted to hurry the other woman along but knew that she didn’t want to give her any excuse to cancel their outing.

  The clock at the end of the room chimed the quarter hour and Tillie drew in a breath and started to count her blessings to keep positive.

  A soft knock at the front saw the desk clerk darting past the open dining room door. The two women shared a look with each other. They had agreed to meet the others at the Hawkins’ house, who could it be?

  Mr. Poston came to the doorway, blinking his eyes a bit more than usual. “There’s a gentleman here for you.”

  “For Miss Weston?”

  Reaching up to tug at his collar, Mr. Poston shook his head. “No, ma’am, not exactly. The gentleman asked if the ladies were in. I’m guessing he meant both of you.”

  Mademoiselle stood at the table, and her hand moved along the tablecloth, nearly knocking over her teacup. “Then ask him in, s’il vous plait.” She saw his confused expression. “Please.”

  “Ah, yes. Sure, ma’am.” He stepped back from the doorway and looked down the hall. “You’re welcome to go in, sir.”

  Tillie moved her chair back and stood as their guest stepped into the doorway.

  The driver of the stagecoach stood uncomfortably just inside the door with a couple of books tucked under his arm. “Ladies.”

  Tillie spoke first. “Good Morning, Sir.”

  They all seemed to wait for Mademoiselle to speak, but she didn’t. If it had been Tillie in the same situation, she would have been corrected instantly, but there was something about the way Mademoiselle stood stock still, her fingertips tapping the table in an anxious gesture.

  “Did you come in early today?”

  The driver turned to look at Tillie with an easing grin on his face. “Yes, miss. We had a beautiful full moon last night, and the passengers were happy to press on.” He hazarded a look at her companion and gave her a hesitant smile. “So was I, to tell the truth. I was hoping that I might find you ladies here… by chance.”

  Still, Mademoiselle was silent, gazing at the man as if she wasn’t quite sure how to speak.

  “We are always glad to receive friends, sir.”

  His smile widened. “It’s nice to be a friend, miss.” He reached his hand under his elbow and withdrew the books he had tucked against his side. “I brought something for you ladies.” He cleared his throat and stepped forward, holding out the tomes. “Some folks were headin’ further west on my last run and they decided to leave behind a crate. Told me to dispose of it how I wanted.”

  When Mademoiselle didn’t comment, Tillie met him in the middle of the room and took the books from him. “Goodness. These are lovely, sir.” She set the books down on the table and picked up the first one. “A book of poetry by Wollstonecraft. Prometheus Unbound by Shelley. I haven’t read either of these before. This is truly a lovely gift.”

  His shoulders came up a bit as if he wasn’t sure how to accept the kind words. “Like I said, they wanted me to dispose of their things.” He swallowed. “I didn’t want to see them go to waste.”

  “I can assure you that will not be the case. Both Mademoiselle and I have been hungering for something new to read.” Tillie looked at her companion tried to look for any signs of life, but Mademoiselle looked as if she had turned to stone.

  Feeling the awkward tension in the room, the driver began to speak, his tone a bit soft and scratchy like the texture of his beard. “If I’d left it at the station where it was,” he coughed, “they’d’ve likely used it for papers in the… in the…” he flushed and let the thought die away. “Anyway. I am sorry t
o show up without an invitation, but I hope you ladies will enjoy the books.”

  With one last hopeful look at her companion, Tillie turned a thankful and sympathetic look to the older man. She had no misconception about why he was there visiting them with such generous gifts. Even though Mademoiselle had boxed his ears and given him a cold or even a hostile tone at times, the driver had taken a liking to her companion.

  He took his leave and Tillie turned on her stock-still companion. “Are you still breathing?”

  The older woman seemed to snap free of her stupor. “Of course! Don’t be silly, Ottille. I was merely… shocked at his audacity.”

  Tillie nodded slowly. “Surely.”

  The clock became Mademoiselle’s unknowing cohort, chiming to remind them of the time. “We should go if we are to meet the Hawkins’ at their home.”

  Tillie gave her a smile. “Maybe you could bring one of the books to read. Anna said there are trees by the riverbank that are most delightfully situated for shade and naps if one is of a mind to close their eyes for a bit.”

  Mademoiselle harrumphed at Tillie, regaining some of her usual vim and vigor for disagreements. “I’ll bring a book, but only to read it before you do. I can not have your father taking me to task for allowing you to read something that is not befitting a fine young lady. You certainly,” she swallowed and her mood dampened a bit, “should be thankful for such a gift.”

  Moving toward the door with a decided flounce in her skirts, Tillie paused in the doorway to give her companion a smile and a wink. “Make no mistake, Mademoiselle… those books were meant for you. But, I will read them… gladly!”

  Chapter 5

  Tillie started their fishing expedition almost twenty feet from the edge of the river. In a word, it was frustrating.

  Sitting beside her companion, she was allowed to watch the others as they waded into the water from time to time or sat along the edge and dropped their baited hooks into the water. Anna was the only one to bridge the gap between the two groups, skipping back and forth to talk to Tillie and then back to the boys. Wyeth tried to come close enough for a bit of conversation, but Mademoiselle’s pointed looks would send him away sooner, rather than later.

  And nearly an hour into the excursion, Tillie had relegated herself to utter boredom, picking flowering weeds and gathering them into a tiny little bunch that would have been a perfect tussie mussie to press into her silver pin.

  Before she could stand and head back to the boarding house to retrieve the pin, a flower appeared under her nose. It was a shock, really. The wide purple petals fluttered in the morning breeze and tickled the tip of her nose, drawing a light laugh from her lips. “What’s this?”

  As she reached for the stem she heard a soft “shhh…”

  Looking up, she peered straight into the dark grey eyes of Wyeth Bowles. Her fingers tried to close over the stem of the flower, but found his fingers instead. She knew she should let go, or move her hand. She just couldn’t make herself do it.

  And for his part in the moment, Wyeth wasn’t moving his fingers away either.

  “Why are we whispering?”

  He smiled at her and the heat of the day increased, feathering heat over her cheeks. “So we don’t wake up your guardian.”

  “Wake up?” Tillie snapped her head around to look and found that Wyeth was right. Mademoiselle was leaning against a tree in a comforting shadow cast by the broad branches from the tree, her eyes closed, her lips parted in sleep. Her book, part of the gift they’d received from the stage driver, held open on her lap. “Goodness, I didn’t even know.”

  She turned back and gasped. Her nose was inches from Wyeth’s. From her vantage point, she could see the sparse sprinkle of freckles on the high points of his cheeks; the long lashes that matched the wheat gold of his hair lay on his tanned skin, and all of that was so dangerously close to her that she quite simply forgot to breathe.

  “Miss Weston?”

  She didn’t move, even when he repeated his words.

  It wasn’t until he drew the petals across her cheek to tickle the tip of her nose that she seemed to bring herself around. “I’m sorry, yes?”

  Wyeth pulled away and offered her his hand. “Now is the time to live dangerously. Care to try your hand at fishing?”

  She struggled not to laugh like a loon as the immediate answer in her head was a giddy mess. Tillie also longed for the warmth of his breath upon her cheek, but that was something she could never say aloud. She tucked the flower above her ear and took his hand. “I do.”

  In a word, Wyeth was stunned. As they walked, he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, but he certainly drew out the time it took to do so. The longer he could manage to hold her hand, the more he would enjoy every second of it. He knew none of the men would say a thing, and Anna had made her hopes abundantly clear when it came to the possibility of marrying off another rider. She did so long to be an attendant.

  Wyeth had laughed off her constant hints and wistful comments, tugging on her braids until they pulled loose out of her coiffure. Anna was as close to him as a sister, and he enjoyed her humor, but feeling the warmth of Ottille’s hand in his and the gentle pull of her stride beside his, his protestations were weakening. Quickly. Flying by like the world when he dashed along the trail.

  “I do.”

  The words had been innocent. Her smile becoming. As they moved down the slope toward the river’s edge, he felt her grip his arm a little tighter, using him as her anchor and his heart swelled in his chest.

  She felt safe with him.

  She felt confident with him.

  He felt like a giddy mess around her.

  For all of his easy manner and gut shaking humor, Ottille Weston made him a complete romantic fool.

  Luke saw them coming first and stumbled to his feet to offer her a wave and a pleasant word.

  Stone, standing almost knee deep in the water, lifted his hand in a silent greeting, likely aware that her companion’s sleep was the only thing allowing them to enjoy Ottille’s company close to the river edge.

  Anna giggled silently, a feat for the youngest of the Hawkins family. She was normally the loudest of the bunch, but instead of calling out a greeting, she satisfied herself with scooting over on the blanket that she’d spread out on the ground.

  Ottille kept a hold of his hand while she gathered her skirts to sit down beside Anna with the tips of her boots nearly touching the shifting edge of water at the bank of the river.

  She sat down with a rush of breath and set a hand on her middle.

  Anna’s laughter was nearly contagious. “You’re wearing a corset; it will take some getting used to.”

  With a breathless giggle of her own Ottille sighed. “If I live that long.”

  Luke leaned on his side toward them. “Here, Wyeth. Give this to Miss Weston. She can use my fishing pole. I’ll ready another.”

  “Thank you.”

  She turned a radiant smile to his friend, and Wyeth felt an unaccustomed stab of jealousy through his chest.

  “I could have given her mine.”

  Luke fell back on the bank of the river, his hands beneath his head. “Maybe I was looking for an excuse to take a nap and not fish at all.”

  Ottille’s voice reached his ears and tempered his frustration. “How do I use this?”

  Wyeth’s smile returned as she sat down beside him on the bank. Taking his own pole from where he’d stuck it in the soft soil, he pulled the hook from the water. The hook was empty. “Looks like a fish had a bite while I had my back turned.”

  “Oh,” her smile was more of a frown at the corners of her mouth, “I am sorry.”

  Wyeth shook his head. “I’m not. I got to hold your hand for a moment,” he told her and leaned a bit to the side to look at the flower tucked against her ear. “I got to give you a flower. It will,” he grinned, “be the first of many if you enjoy such gifts.”

  He watched a flush of color wash over her pale cheeks. Her ink
y dark hair was the perfect backdrop to the purple-ish bloom and her becoming blush.

  “I do like flowers,” she replied, lowering her lashes for a moment as her hand stole up to trace the edge of a wide petal, “any flowers at all.”

  “Oh,” Anna added a comment, “we’ve plenty of pretty flowers in the hills and fields around Three Rivers, and Mama has been nursing her rose bushes for years. She keeps hoping that one day she’ll see a bloom on one of them.”

  The wistful sigh from Ottille struck a chord in Wyeth.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She waved off his concern, but he saw the moment of sadness in her eyes. “Nothing is wrong, I assure you. I just love the idea of staying in one place long enough to nurse a plant for years. As long as I can remember, we’ve only stayed in one place long enough for father to open up a branch office, and then we moved on. This is the first time he’s ever had a house built for us, but I don’t think we’ll live in it long after it’s completed. Father doesn’t seem to like Three Rivers as much as he thought he would.”

  Wyeth didn’t like the sound of that. Not at all.

  Affixing new bait to his hook, he showed Ottille how to hold the fishing pole and drop the hook into the water.

  She directed her focus to the line as it moved back and forth in the current of the river, giving Wyeth a chance to watch her closely. A breeze lifted the ends of some of her loose strands of hair, and it took effort to keep his hands on the fishing pole before him. He’d already done more than enough touching to get him in trouble.

  Sure, it was innocent enough, but the sheer number of times he’d managed to hold her hand or get close enough to breathe in the soft scent of her skin could be construed in a negative light, especially by Mademoiselle. A quick look back over his shoulder told him that the woman was still asleep, and he thanked his lucky stars that the breeze and shade had been enough to lull her into a nap.