by Vivi Holt
What was he doing? It sounded like he’d found a place to gamble on the trail. Camilla wouldn’t be happy about that, Charlotte was certain of it. She wasn’t entirely pleased about the idea herself. He wasn’t her responsibility, of course, but it put all three of them in danger when he began winning money – or worse still, losing it.
What if he lost everything? She’d certainly heard of that happening to many a gambler before, even in her social circles back in England. It wasn’t uncommon for a lord or lady to throw their estate into ruin at the card table. Camilla and Charlotte were relying on Harry to get them to Cutter’s Creek and to ensure they didn’t starve once they got there. If he lost everything and their aunt and uncle weren’t around or didn’t want them, what would become of them?
She scurried down to the creek to fill the pot with water for the stew and trudged back to camp. The water sloshed back and forth in the pot with each step and Charlotte had to lay it on the ground every few feet to rest. When she made it back to camp, Camilla had all of the ingredients prepared for the stew and pushed them into the pot to simmer.
Harry sat beside the fire with a mug of hot chicory coffee between his hands, a look of contentment written across his handsome features. “What are your plans for this evening, Harry?” Charlotte asked, as she poured herself a cup of coffee.
“Hmmm?” His face flushed red and he sat up straighter, pushing his hat back from his forehead.
“Tonight, what do you think you’ll do?”
Camilla watched the exchange with interest.
“Oh, I don’t know. I thought I’d visit with some of our neighbors.”
“To do what?” Charlotte wasn’t going to drop it. She wanted Camilla to find out what he was up to, but she wasn’t about to be the one to share the bad news.
“Oh, just gab and, you know …”
“No, I don’t know. What?”
“What’s going on?” asked Camilla with a frown.
“Charlotte’s trying to get me in deep water,” said Harry with an embarrassed grin.
“Charlotte, what’s he talking about?”
Charlotte shook her head and took a sip of the steaming black coffee.
“Fine. I’m joinin’ a game with some of the fellows next door. That’s all.” Harry slipped his hat from his head and rifled his fingers through his hair, sending it into wild disarray.
“What?” Camilla’s eyebrows shot skyward and her hands landed on her hips.
“It’s not a big deal. Just a dime game.”
“Not a big deal? Harry, it’s always a big deal with you. One way or another you always end up in trouble. Either you win big and upset everyone, or you lose and can’t pay them. Either way, we’ll end up with enemies we can’t afford to have in the middle of the wilderness. You know what can happen out here – there’s no law, anything goes. People live by the gun or knife, and we’ll be fair game.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, little sis.” He sighed and pushed himself to his feet to refill his mug.
“I’m not being dramatic. You know it’s true.”
“I’ll be good, I promise.”
“I’ve heard it all before, Harry. I told you what I’d do if you took up gamblin’ again.” She sniffed and ran to her tent, her apron pressed to her eyes.
Harry rolled his brown eyes and slumped back down beside the fire with one hand behind his head. He leaned against his rolled-up oilskin mat and sipped his coffee in silence.
“You know she’s right,” said Charlotte, sitting beside him.
“Thanks for that, by the way.” He was obviously upset with her.
Even though she wasn’t happy about causing the rift between he and Camilla, she was certain it was for the best. “Harry, you couldn’t have kept it from her. This way, she’ll have a chance to cool down before tonight if you still insist on playing the game.”
“I suppose you’re right. You don’t think I should play either, do you?”
“It’s none of my business,” Charlotte stared into the fire, her hands cupping the hot drink.
“Perhaps not, but I still care what you think,” said Harry in a gentle voice, his eyes trained on her, watching closely for her response.
“You want to know what I think?”
He nodded and lifted the coffee to his lips.
“Fine, I’ll tell you. I think you’re a wonderful, warm, funny, loving man. I do …”
He grinned and tipped his head to one side waiting for more.
“… it’s just that … well, I don’t think you’d make a good husband.”
“What are we talking about?” he frowned, “I thought you were giving me your opinion on the game tonight and now we’re discussin’ my potential as a husband.”
“Yes, well, it’s just that … the drinking and gambling, well, they make you less appealing. You know, as a husband.”
“To whom? You?” He raised one eyebrow and took another sip of coffee.
“Yes, to me or whomever you chose to set your cap for.”
“Really?”
“Yes. You’re unpredictable. Unreliable. The drinking, the gambling – it makes it hard for a woman to see past those things. To see the wonderful man beneath the surface. That’s all. That’s my opinion.”
“So are you sayin’, you’d consider me as husband material if I didn’t drink or gamble?”
“Well, any woman would be more likely to.”
“Including you?”
“Perhaps.” Her face warmed and she stood suddenly to her feet.
“You know, I don’t usually drink.” He stood beside her and stepped closer, his eyes searching hers.
“Is that so?”
“Yes. That night with Ben … I hadn’t drunk that much in years – and haven’t since. It was a one-off thing. I was feelin’ tortured – about you, actually. Livin’ just across the hall from me, but so far out of reach. It was more than I could take. I shouldn’t have done it, I know that. But I drowned my sorrows. I chastised myself for it the next day, you know. My Da is a drinker and I’ve always vowed I wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t live that way. I sure wouldn’t do it with a family of my own. You can ask Camilla, if you like – I really don’t drink. If that’s what’s troubling you …”
“It’s not just that, Harry. It’s the gambling, too … and, well, everything. You scare me. I don’t ever know what you’ll say or do next – you’re unpredictable. And we’re just not right for each other — for so many reasons.”
He stepped closer and slipped one hand onto her arm, running his fingers gently down the length of it and covering her skin with goosebumps. “But life would be so dull if everyone was predictable. You, for example, are definitely not predictable.”
“I suppose. It’s just that you make me uncomfortable.”
“You mean, you can’t control me.”
“No … yes … oh, I don’t know.”
“Charlotte, if you’d only consider me … consider loving me … I’d never gamble again. I’d do anythin’ for you, don’t you know that?” His eyes blazed with passion and he lifted his other hand so that he grasped her arms firmly between both.
She shivered at his touch and closed her eyes for a moment to gather her thoughts that were scattering quickly under his gaze.
“I just want to give you the best of everythin’. That’s all.” He leaned closer and she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek.
Her eyes flew open and narrowed. “But Harry, I don’t want that. I don’t need those things. Everything I had back home – if you’re trying to give me that, it would be futile, because I ran from it. I ran from all of it. I didn’t want it. Don’t you see? I left it all behind because what I wanted was love, adventure, a life of my own. Material things aren’t important to me. Well, they are in a way — but what I really want is … so much more than that. Oh, I can’t put it into words, but if you’re gambling in order to be able to buy things for me, don’t!”
She spun free of his grasp and
stumbled away from the campsite and back down to the creek bed. Her head whirled with thoughts – of Harry, of home, of everything she’d lost and everything she dreamed of. It was all so confusing. She didn’t know what to think.
She heard Harry call her name, but didn’t turn back. She needed time. Time to clear her head, order her thoughts, figure out what it was she wanted. She couldn’t think clearly when she was around him – her head spun and her mind went blank. He made her forget everything she wanted from life, and she couldn’t afford to do that, not now. She had goals, dreams, plans … and Harry Brown was getting in the way of all of them.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Camilla Brown was a long way from home, but this was the first day she’d awoken feeling homesick. She missed her family – the mother she’d resented for so long, the children she’d helped to raise. She missed them. She stood up, exited the open door of the tent and stretched her arms above her head with a yawn.
Meadowlarks and sandpipers cavorted nearby, their calls filling the crisp morning air. The sun sparkled on the bowing heads of the tall grasses beside the wagon, where the dew had settled in the early hours. The empty sky above her stretched thin and blue, masking Heaven from the earth below. All these things usually brought her a sense of peace and anticipation, but today they gave her no joy. She felt tired. Defeated. As though the future was grim and held nothing to entice her forward.
Harry was up to his old tricks again – gambling his savings away, making enemies where there once were only friends. She shook her head and felt her eyes prick with tears. Would they ever find a place to settle? Would they ever be able to build solid relationships with the kind folk surrounding them without him whittling those away? She’d gone to bed early the previous evening, not wanting to witness the chaos that his behavior would bring them, not wanting to know the outcome.
She scanned the empty campsite, wondering where he was. Charlotte still lay sleeping in the tent, her pretty face peaceful as she dreamed. Camilla would wake her when it was time to ready the campsite to leave, but she let her sleep for now. She’d seemed tired yesterday.
Camilla was feeling it too, the relentlessness of this journey. The days all dragged from one into the next as though there was nothing to time but a repetition of the same events, the same scenery, the same day over and over again. Only this day was likely to bring something different than the one before it – ostracism.
She shuddered. Oh well, better to get it over with. She stepped out to take a walk through the circle of wagons to look for Harry. Honey was still tethered and grazing by their wagon, so he hadn’t gone riding. His oilskin bed mat was rolled neatly and stacked by the wheel of the wagon, and the fire had been built up though not yet lit. He must be close by.
She wandered through the campsite, waving at folks beginning their breakfast and preparations for the day ahead. Although they’d tried to keep mostly to themselves, she was now able to recognize every face on the trail with them. Apart from a few brawls and drunken arguments over the course of their time together, the group that made up the wagon train were mostly families who stayed out of trouble.
She noticed Harry’s head bent over a fire up ahead and hurried toward him. A group of men and women sat around the fire, each with their heads bowed. One man murmured in a low voice and soon they all looked up.
Harry’s head raised and she saw a smile light up his face. He caught her eye and beckoned her over. “Everyone, this is my sister Camilla.” The group greeted her warmly and she smiled at them, nodding and shaking hands. “Cammie, this is Justin and his brother Winston.”
“Justin and Winston, so pleased to meet you.” She shook their hands with a smile, noticing the blue of Winston’s eyes and the curve of his muscular arm as he lifted his hat from his head to greet her. Her face flushed hot and she quickly looked away. As soon as she could, she pulled Harry aside. “Who are these folks, Harry?”
“It’s a prayer group. They meet every mornin’. Winston here invited me some time back, but I’ve never attended. I decided I would this mornin’.”
“A prayer group?”
“Yes.”
Camilla’s eyes widened. She’d never imagined Harry would voluntarily attend a prayer group. Granted, they’d been raised in the church, but as soon as he was old enough to make up his own mind he’d stopped attending. Their mother still took the younger children each week, but she and Harry had given it up long ago. She wondered what had brought on this sudden change in him.
No doubt it had something to do with Charlotte. Camilla had noticed the lingering glances shared between the two of them, and she worried for her brother. The last thing he needed was to have his heart broken by their friend. And that’s all that could come of it. Charlotte wasn’t likely to accept him as a serious suitor – she was a lady, Lady Charlotte of Beaufort Manor. He was a commoner, a poor man from a poor family in the village. It was improbably Charlotte would ever see him differently. She could tell Charlotte was fond of him. Would that fondness ever result in her viewing him as a potential husband? She couldn’t say.
“What made you join a prayer group?” she asked.
“Something Charlotte said.”
“Oh?”
“I didn’t join the game last night. I know you’ll be pleased about that.”
Camilla’s heart thudded in her chest and a smile lit up her face. She raised a hand to her cheek. “Oh, I am pleased.”
“So instead I decided to join a prayer group.” He laughed. “Bet you didn’t see that coming.”
She chuckled with him, “No, I did not. Well, I can say one thing about you, Harry Brown. You never fail to surprise me.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Charlotte lazed on Honey’s back, enjoying soaking in the warmth of the sun as the wagon trundled through the grasses ahead of her. Behind her, the craggy mountain range receded into the distance. Much to Charlotte’s great relief, they didn’t have to go through the range, but had turned north before they reached its foothills, heading for Montana Territory. She kicked her feet up, straightening her legs. It felt good to ride like a man. She remembered back to the many times in England when she’d wished she could do just that, and smiled. As she stood in the stirrups, she squeezed Honey’s sides, urging her into a gallop, then shouted, “Hurrah!” in as loud a voice as she could muster.
The horse thundered forward over the plains, catching up to the wagon train in no time. They’d stopped to rest the livestock, and she found Maria Holloway and Camilla playing cards, seated on two upturned boxes.
“Who’s winning?” she asked, springing from Honey’s back and tethering her to the wagon.
“Cammy, of course.” Maria’s mouth twisted as she chewed on her cheek, and surveyed her hand of cards. “Hmmm…”
Camilla watched her closely, then her eyes widened and she stood to her feet. “Don’t be alarmed, Maria, but there is something on your head.”
Maria stood as well, dropping the cards into the grass at her feet. “Something? What do you mean by that? What kind of something?”
“I’m not sure. It looks a bit like a moth, but it’s enormous, and orange-colored.”
“A moth? Get it off, get it off!” She squealed, and swatted at her own head with both hands.
Camilla hurried to her rescue, but was soon waving her hands about and squealing as well. Charlotte laughed at the sight of the two women, in a frenzy over a simple moth. She strode to Maria’s side, and reached up to retrieve the moth from her hair. It crawled sedately onto her hand, and she pulled it safely away from Maria’s flailing arms.
“There you go, it’s gone Maria.”
The women ended their dance, and watched, wide-eyed as the moth crawled over Charlotte’s outstretched hand and up her arm. Then, with a flutter of wings, it took to the air and meandered off over the plains.
“Thank you, Charlotte,” said Maria with a sigh. She bent to pick up the scattered cards. “Would you like to join us?”
�
��I think I will…”
Harry had been collecting water from the river, and now marched over to the wagon with water sloshing about inside the kettle in his arms. “I thought I might go hunting, care to join me Charlotte?”
“I was just about to play cards, but…-”
“Never mind then, I’ll go alone.”
“- Actually, I think I will join you. I’d love to explore the area a bit. The riverbank is quite pretty.”
“Alright then, let’s go.”
Harry gathered his rifle and ammunition, and mounted Honey. He pulled Charlotte up to sit in front of him, reached around her to grasp the reins in his hands and they rode off toward the riverbank together. Charlotte squirmed in the saddle. She was pressed up hard against his body, and could feel every curve and swell through his clothing. A tremble ran through her body as his breath warmed the top of her head.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
“Let’s stop here.” He pulled Honey to a stop beside a willow tree that reached its drooping leaves toward the sparkling water of the narrow river beneath them. They both dismounted, and began exploring the river’s bank. Charlotte glanced at Harry out of the corner of her eye. She liked the feel of his body pressed up against hers. If only they could ride that way more often. She frowned. There was no use thinking that way about him. He wasn’t right for her, and she was only torturing herself.
***
The past weeks had brought a change in Harry. He was aware of it, but not entirely sure what had caused it. Things between he and Charlotte had settled, at least on the surface. He still fought within himself to control his feelings for her, but outwardly he’d accepted their relationship as one of only friendship. As a result, Charlotte seemed more relaxed around him – laughing and joking with him by the campfire at night and riding and hunting with him during the day.
Given her experience as a hunter, he’d finally relented to her pleading, allowing her to regularly join him in the hunt for their supper. It didn’t seem right somehow, seeing as none of the other women in the group joined their men in the hunt, but she was insistent. He hadn’t the heart to continue denying her request. And now he was glad of it. Their times together, alone under the summer sky through the grasslands, plains and valleys, had been some of his happiest.