Wilda's Outlaw

by Velda Brotherton

  Joshua, hmmm? Hadn’t the man on the train said the outlaw’s name was Calder Raines? Of course, if he was living in hiding, he would not use his known outlaw name.

  This stimulating meeting coming so closely upon the heels of her two hateful confrontations with Lord Prescott, had simply been too much for her. She found her way back into the house and upstairs to her room, where she lay on the soft bed and attempted to quiet the roil of tangled emotions that sent her heart racing and her mind whirling.

  ****

  Rowena’s Journal

  Friday, June 4, 1875

  Fairhaven

  Last night I crept down the back stairs into the kitchen and made my way silently into the library hoping to find something of interest to read. To my surprise, Lord Prescott sat behind his desk in total darkness.

  “Who’s there?”

  His gruff challenge sent my heart skittering and I almost fell into a dead faint. Leaning on the back of a large chair to keep from embarrassing myself, I gasped for air. “I’ll leave, I’m so sorry.” My voice squeaked.

  He bade me remain. Not sure what to think of his request, I felt my way on trembling legs amongst the clutter of furniture in the room lit only by a bright half moon. The smell of whiskey and cigar smoke hung in the air. A man’s fragrance, pleasant to me.

  I am not sure I can recall word for word what he said, but wish to write it down so as to never forget.

  “Keep me company for a moment, would you?” His request, a bit slurred from drink, held a gentle tone I had not yet heard from him. Why could he not speak so kindly to my sister, his wife-to-be?

  I nodded and sat, pleased he could not see me clad only in my gown and robe.

  “Are you frightened of me?” he asked after a while.

  I nodded, remembered he could not see me and said softly, “A bit, Sir.”

  “Too bad your sister is not.”

  “You wish a wife who is afraid of you?” I could have bitten my tongue once the question was asked.

  His silence stretched through many ponderous ticks of the old clock, before he spoke again. “Most men want a wife who bows to their wishes.”

  “But that is not fear, rather it is respect.”

  I knew what I wanted to tell him about my sister, about our mother, and myself as well, but could not bring myself to do so. I wanted to understand this man, learn why he was so sad and why he hid that sadness behind a cloak of severity. But how to approach the puzzle was beyond me.

  He took a sip from the crystal glass. “I have never understood respect. Not between men and women.”

  “In the army you must have learned respect of your fellow men, of the officers.”

  He remained silent for a long moment, as if wondering how I had known about his army service, but he did not ask. I was a little relieved, as Marguerite Chesshire had told us about his time with Les Zouaves under Napoleon III, and I did not wish to betray her confidence.

  When he finally spoke, it was almost a whisper. “Ah, man to man. That is easy. I have no idea how to earn your sister’s respect, nor am I sure I really want to. I fear it is much too late to do so. She despises me. Tell me, why did she agree to this bargain if she so hated the idea?”

  I didn’t know what to say to him without betraying Wilda’s trust, and I thought about it a while. He grew restless, and I watched his shadowy figure rise and move, or rather stumble to the window, where the silver moonlight shone on the sculpted planes of his face and cast dark hollows around his eyes.

  “Well?” he asked, a bit of the remembered harshness creeping back into his voice.

  Gathering my nerve, I asked, “If someone were to offer you what you absolutely must have, what you have dreamed of and lived for, what would you pay?”

  I wanted to go to him, touch his arm, seek out the humanity that surely dwelled in his heart, but must admit I continued to be a bit afraid of him.

  “My life. I would pay my life for peace.” The words cut through me like a sharp lance. He lifted the glass, emptied it in two swallows. Shuddered.

  I feared he had over indulged, but felt such compassion for him, I continued the conversation. “Death surely holds a certain peace, but would you not rather have it to enjoy in your lifetime?” We were straying from the subject of his bargain with Wilda, but I could not help but be intrigued by his revelation.

  “If it were possible,” he murmured. “But I fear it is not. Now, you must retire. It is late. Thank you for keeping me company.”

  With a bob of my head, which of course he could not see, I murmured good night and left the library without a book. My heart beat so hard I could scarcely breathe. How kind he had been to me. I wanted to go back, shout at him to treat my sister in the same way. But I did not. I merely crept up the stairs and back to my room. Like a coward.

  Oh, Wilda, I am so sorry for the way I feel toward this man, but I wish to soothe his furrowed brow, bring him his whiskey and light his cigar, and, horror of horrors, lie with him. It will never be, I fear. But it makes me feel wicked just to think of such a thing. Wicked and guilty of betraying my sister’s confidence.

  I can only hope she never learns of my sin. My silent, dark sin.

  Chapter Six

  Long after the beautiful woman disappeared, Calder remained in the gaping barn door, not sure what to think or do.

  Run after her, grab her, say something not stupid, you dolt.

  But, of course, he didn’t. Amazing. He felt like warm, sweet oil had been poured over his skin, then rubbed over all his sensitive parts with hands as soft and beautiful as hers. Funny he could imagine the like, since nothing like that had ever happened to him. He put away the sensual musing when Smith approached.

  “Pretty little thing. You sure do get around fast. I thought you only come into town yesterday.” Smith grinned and rubbed his shiny head.

  “What? Oh, yeah, I did. First time I ever saw her.”

  “Tell me whatever you want, you don’t owe me no explanations. But if that was the first time you two have faced off, you sure skipped some steps mighty fast. Warmed up to each other quick like, didn’t you?”

  Calder grinned. “Pretty obvious, I reckon. I gotta get back to work on that wagon. It’s a mess.”

  Smith laughed. “Okay, we won’t talk about it. You need any help in there?”

  “Nope. This is something I’ve done a lot of. I’ll be having to forge a new brace for the doubletree.”

  Smith nodded. “I fired ’er up. Looks like we’ll be here a while. Those there wagon wheels need new rims too.”

  Best news Calder’d had in a while. Give him a chance to maybe get better acquainted with the pretty little lass.

  His muscles soon caught the rhythmic swing of the hammer, the turning of the iron. Sweat poured, and he mopped the sting from his eyes. It felt good to be doing something useful. Back before the war he and Pa had spent some of their best times doing this kind of work together. He cut those memories short, for he had no desire to remember the days that followed. The bloody deaths, the destruction of all he held dear.

  Keeping his mind on shaping the iron brace was tough. He wanted another good look at that little gal with the fiery red-gold hair and eyes clear as a Kansas spring sky. What was she doing out here, anyway? Clever of her to pretend she didn’t recognize him, when it was clear to see by her expression that she did. Idly, he wondered if she would tell anyone, but didn’t let the idea bother him too much. He’d been close to caught before. It was exciting. What happened would happen.

  Though he kept an eye on the house, he saw no more sign of her that morning. At midday, the cook sent them each a plate of food, brought by a funny speaking fellow who introduced himself as Simmons.

  Before sitting down to eat Calder went to the watering trough to wash up. As he raised from submerging his head and face and swiped his hair back, Wilda came out of the house with the young girl who’d been with her on the train. Both were handed up into a fancy carriage by that same Simmons fella who
then crawled into the driver’s seat, snapped his whip and whisked them away. Easy to see she was a pretty woman, even under all that folderol these Victorians wore. He watched until they went out of sight beyond the crest of the rise, then returned to the barn. He might ought to rein in his thoughts a bit. Wishful thinking could be enjoyable, but it would get him nothing but trouble.

  All afternoon he felt oddly dissatisfied with himself. Foolish of him to want a woman such as her. He could never hope to have the likes of that pretty little gal. He’d done too many wicked things, and there was no turning back. It sure would be fun to pretend different, though, at least for a while. But his course was set, as surely as hers, and he’d best concentrate on the bank job he, Baron, and Deke had planned.

  When he and Smith loaded up to return to Victoria City that evening, he was still thinking about her.

  ****

  Fleeing from the fitting of her wedding dress, three hours later, Wilda preceded her cousin Tyra from the shop onto the raw lumber boardwalk. The smell of newly cut timber stirred in the wind, the sound of hammering and sawing on all sides. This trip to town only brought her that much closer to an unwanted marriage. Despondent, she stepped into the dusty street straight into the path of a horse-drawn wagon. Blinded by fright, she froze and waited to be trampled. The driver shouted, behind her Tyra screamed, and the horse’s muscular shoulder grazed her, sent her staggering.

  Even as she fell, a strong arm locked around her waist. “Are you hurt?” a familiar voice asked.

  Her vision cleared and she looked up into the eyes of Calder Raines, alias Joshua the blacksmith.

  Pulling from his grasp, she brushed her skirts with hands that trembled. A useless gesture calculated to avoid meeting his gaze.

  Smith, who had been driving the wagon, appeared amid a flurry of concern that broke into her fantasy of being rescued by a prince. Or perhaps a knight in shining armor. He was, after all, an outlaw.

  Smith fussed about, blocking the curious crowd. “Are you hurt, little miss? I didn’t see you step out. Joshua here fairly flew off that wagon. Never saw a man move so fast. He shore did save your bacon.”

  The gigantic bald man appeared about to sweep her into his trunk-like arms and carry her off the street. But he settled instead for merely steadying her on one side while Calder continued to support her on the other, standing much closer than was acceptable. Men and women paused to stare while the two men made much of her near accident. When it became evident she wasn’t injured, the crowd went about their business.

  She tried to reassure both Smith and Joshua. “I’m fine, please don’t concern yourselves. It was entirely my fault. I wasn’t watching.”

  Smith moved back.

  “You need to be right careful where you step, Miss Wilda,” Calder said, and after a long, cool appraisal, brushed his hand over her skirt just below the waist, as if removing something.

  “Sir,” Tyra scolded with a frown that belied her sparkling eyes.

  He grinned, doffed his hat and stepped back out of reach. She considered berating him, but in truth hadn’t minded his touch, wished for it back, then silently reprimanded herself. The fitting had been an ordeal that sealed her fate. To have this man reawaken her earlier fantasy was too much. She would have to remain very far away from him in the future.

  A stammered thank you was all she could manage before stumbling toward the waiting carriage. Tyra trailed along, chattering with childish concern.

  Once in the carriage, Wilda watched the two men through tears she could not explain. Soon they flowed down her cheeks, leaving stiff trails dried by the arid wind.

  Tyra touched her arm. “Tell me what’s wrong. You said you were not injured. Why are you crying?”

  “It’s nothing. I mean, it is something, but I cannot discuss it. There’s nothing we can do about it, anyway.”

  “About what? You should be so happy. You will soon marry and live in a fine house. You can have anything you want.”

  “Anything but what I need,” Wilda replied.

  “What is that?”

  “My freedom. Oh, Tyra, I cannot marry that dreadful man Prescott.” She dabbed a handkerchief in her eyes. “What a quandary. We should have remained at St. Ann’s where we belong. We were prisoners there too, but at least I did not have to please such a dreadful man as he. Why did I allow him to trick me into such a marriage?”

  Against her, Tyra shuddered. “How can you wish for such a terrible thing? St. Ann’s was hideous. I was about to run away, live in the streets, anything to escape those nuns and their pointless rules and dreadful punishments. You freed us, all of us. I know I said he was old and a perfect sourpuss, but I did not mean it. He will make you a good husband, you will see.” But her normally cheerful voice held no more conviction than Wilda felt.

  Tyra attempted to soothe her cousin further, but finally gave up when Wilda failed to respond.

  Simmons returned to the carriage and climbed aboard. “Are you ready to return to Fairhaven, Miss?” he asked, properly ignoring her distress, as any manservant should.

  “Yes,” Tyra said, then turned back to Wilda. “If you really don’t wish to marry him, then why are you doing so?"

  Wilda motioned toward Simmons. “Shh, he’ll hear. I have no choice.”

  “I believe there is always a choice, though possibly an undesirable one.”

  Sometimes the child had a wisdom far beyond her years. “Well, exactly. My only other choice is to get us all three kicked out in this strange land with no place to go.”

  “Oh, surely no gentleman would do such a thing.”

  “You don’t know him. He’s a monster. Take my word for it. Oh, Tyra, what am I going to do? This is dreadful, simply dreadful.”

  Tyra remained silent for a long while, patting Wilda’s arm in a distracted way. Finally, she said, “Did you know that young man? He called you by name.”

  “What young man?” Though she knew full well who Tyra referred to, she didn’t wish to discuss Calder with her cousin.

  “The one in the wagon that almost ran over you. The one who held on to you as if you were a piece of delicate china. Who worshiped you with his eyes—gorgeous eyes, I might add. Who touched you where no gentleman ever touches a woman.”

  “Calder. I mean Joshua. The blacksmith’s new helper.” She dare not tell Tyra who Calder really was, the child could never keep such a secret. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, I was thinking. If you really cannot bear to marry that fuddy-duddy Lord Prescott, then what you need is to be…well, to have something happen to you over which you have no control. Something that would prevent the marriage. Like if you were stolen by some stranger. Carried away, as it were.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Wilda snapped out the words before truly considering her cousin’s suggestion. But the idea had some merit. Foolhardy, perhaps, and something she dare not think about, but it still had its possibilities.

  “What if you could convince him to come into your room in the middle of the night and carry you away, like a hero in a dime novel?”

  “And do what with me?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Wilda thought about that for a while. “Yes, of course it would matter, because I couldn’t live on the run forever. Besides, he could end up being worse than Lord Prescott. The law would probably find us. They’d punish him, and return me, so I would be right back where I began.”

  “Not if something happened to you that sourpuss could never forgive.”

  “You mean…”

  Tyra shrugged.

  “No, I could never allow that.”

  “You don’t have to, silly. Just pretend that you were you know…ravaged? Surely then Lord Prescott would not take you as his wife, but he would be too ashamed to turn you out in the cold, or us for that matter. A man like him often has only his honor.”

  “You’re a very wicked girl, cousin. And often too wise for your own good. But I think I couldn’t do such a dishonest thing, even t
o a man like him. It would be the same as lying, and that is clearly a sin. Besides, I dare not ask a complete stranger to do that for me. I hardly know him. Why would he agree to such a thing?”

  Despite her denials, her heart fluttered at the prospect of such an exciting adventure. It was much too near the fantasy she had experienced only that morning when she saw him leap down from the wagon at Fairhaven.

  Tyra shrugged. “Well, I don’t know, but he did look at you as if he might do anything you asked.”

  “You were imagining things, I’m sure.”

  Again her cousin shrugged. “If that’s what you think. But if I were you I would ask him.” She sat forward on the seat, her Duncan family blue eyes flashing. “I would ask him for you, if you like. He is a very handsome young man.”

  “Oh, no, you will not. If there is any asking to do, I will do it.”

  “Then you will?”

  “I didn’t say that. I only said I don’t want you to do it. I cannot imagine that he would agree to such a dangerous proposition. He could go to jail if he were caught.”

  Even if he didn’t agree to such a thing, he could still go to jail if he were caught at this very moment. He had robbed the train. And if the man on the train was right, he was already wanted by the law, so what possible difference could one more little crime do? Best to keep such thoughts to herself.

  She shook her head in amazement at her own temerity. How could she even consider such a thing?

  All the same, the possibility played around in her head during the drive back to Fairhaven.

  Simmons assisted her from the carriage, and if she hadn’t known better, she would have felt like the revered lady of the manor. Tyra leaped to the ground and quickly ran off toward the sanctity of the barn. Wilda wished to follow, but she knew better. Mind still on the near accident in town that had brought about a third encounter with the brash young outlaw, she hurried toward the stairs. Perhaps Prescott was elsewhere and would not summon her for a report on how the dress fitting went.