Wild Flower

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  Apparently undaunted by Taylor’s unfriendly stare, the woman shrugged, her smile not the least bit friendly. “I suspect you’re much more than that. But I don’t know yet what exactly to make of you.”

  That amused Taylor. “Most people do not.”

  Mrs. Talbott gripped the gate’s rough edge. Her knuckles were white. “I see you’re not going to be the least bit forthcoming. All I know is my son’s housekeeper was seen this morning buying feminine apparel—clothing obviously not meant for her—at a dress shop. And now my son tells me his maids have all flown this morning. Then, quite out of the blue, he says he is thinking of settling down and getting married. I thought he was teasing me until you came into the room. And now I’m wondering if all those other things are connected somehow by the thread that is you.” She leaned in over the stall gate. “Is it my son’s intention to marry you, Miss … uh?”

  “Mother. There you are.”

  Saved from answering her, Taylor turned with Mrs. Talbott to see—she tried his name out in her mind—Greyson striding their way. With his collarless white shirt still open at the throat and his dark trousers stretched taut with each step, he was an imposing figure. The man seemed to fill the entire barn with his presence. His brow was lined with the frown that claimed his mouth. His dark eyes sparked fire. He wasn’t happy. And he was looking directly at Taylor. “Should you be inside that stall, dressed like that?”

  He spoke to her in the reproving tone of a father or a husband. Taylor didn’t like that … and retaliated. “What choice do I have? You took my clothes away last night.”

  Mrs. Talbott gasped and spit out her son’s name: “Greyson!”

  Greyson ignored his mother. He didn’t seem capable of taking his angry gaze off Taylor. “I will need to speak with you inside the house, please.”

  She refused an answer, but her pulse quickened fearfully. What had he and her father discussed? Her palms suddenly felt clammy. Red Sky nudged her arm. She absently stroked his velvety nose while matching Greyson’s angry stare with one of her own.

  He turned away first, attending now to his mother. He took her arm. “Come, Mother. I’ll escort you to your brougham. I have thoroughly enjoyed your visit. But I’m afraid you must go now. My peculiar household is about to combust, and I would not have you standing anywhere near the line of fire. You understand, of course?”

  Her eyes wide, her mouth open, the older woman was clearly startled by her son’s abrupt manner and his rude handling of her. “No, I do not, Greyson. Not at all. I—”

  “Good.” He turned her with him, stopping only to again address Taylor. “Would you be so good as to conclude your visit with your horse and return to your room upstairs, Miss James?”

  He’d said her name. Taylor froze, her knees stiffening until they felt locked. Greyson’s eyes widened.… No doubt he’d just realized his unthinking blunder.

  “James? Miss James?” Her voice shrill, Mrs. Talbott questioned her son. “Greyson, did I hear you correctly?”

  “Damn.” Greyson spoke through gritted teeth.

  Mrs. Talbott jerked her disbelieving gaze to Taylor and raked it over her face, as if only now seeing features there she hadn’t noticed before. Taylor didn’t move. Mrs. Talbott evidently saw what she’d feared. She shook her head and all but whimpered out a “No.” She sought her son’s attention. Her expression could only be called imploring. “Don’t you see? This will ruin everything. Everything. She just cannot be, Greyson.”

  Taylor actually saw Greyson’s hold on his mother’s arm tighten. He pulled her closer to his face. “She can’t be who, Mother? What do you mean?”

  The woman shook her head vigorously. A lock of her hair came undone from its pins and brushed her shoulder. Her face was wreathed in fear. “Nothing. I don’t mean anything.”

  “You’re lying, Mother.”

  A transforming calm came suddenly over Mrs. Talbott, like a mantle settling about her. She stood erect, looking cold and distant. The change was frightening for its speed and its effect. “I will not discuss this in front of a—out here. You will take your hand off me, Greyson. You’re being disrespectful, and you’re hurting me.” He did as she asked. “Thank you. I will see myself to my carriage.”

  She picked up her skirts and turned an angry, disbelieving expression Taylor’s way. Taylor, her chin up, her eyes narrowed to an answering glare, inhaled and stood up taller herself, refusing to look away first. Mrs. Talbott’s expression broke, showing a flash of cold hatred. “You have no business being here.” With that parting shot, she stalked out of the barn. Not once did she look back.

  Taylor met Greyson’s eyes. Her gaze locked with his. An encumbering silence enveloped them. The moments passed like heartbeats. Then Red Sky suddenly stamped a hoof and whinnied. The sound was shrill, startling. It spoke of terror, as if the animal had picked up on the human emotions and the dark secrets that lay behind them.

  * * *

  Alone and in a state of high agitation, Taylor paced her room. She’d only just come upstairs after leaving the barn. She believed that she and Greyson—the name was coming easier to her—would still be standing out there staring at each other had not Calvin, hearing Red Sky’s whinny, as he’d said, blundered onto the scene and broken the spell that had wrapped her and Greyson in its spidery wisps.

  The door to her room, the one that adjoined it to Greyson’s, opened with a vengeance. Taylor pivoted, facing the doorway, waiting. As she’d expected, it was Greyson who filled the opening. Her heart felt like a heavy stone in her chest. She skirted her bed and dispensed with greetings, going immediately to the crux of her concerns: “What did my father want with you?”

  Greyson stopped short, as if she’d struck him. His expression was a mask of reproach. “If he is your father.”

  Taylor gestured her frustration. “He is. You know it to be true.”

  Greyson’s hand was still on the doorknob. “I know nothing. Only what you’ve told me. But earlier this morning, before Charles’s appearance here, I had convinced myself that you were telling the truth. But now, I don’t see how you can be his daughter.”

  Taylor went rigid with indignation. She was tired of being questioned. “I am who I say I am. You yourself said my name to your mother after you’d spoken with my father.”

  Grey exhaled sharply. “Yes, I did. For one thing, I have no other name to call you. And for another, it was an honest slip of the tongue. But one I’m glad I made.”

  Taylor nodded, secretly glad he had, too. Because his mother’s response upon hearing him call her Miss James had screamed that she indeed knew something about Taylor … and why she couldn’t possibly exist.

  Redirecting her attention outward, Taylor noted that Greyson’s attention hadn’t wandered. He still stared at her and his expression had hardened. “Explain something for me, Taylor—if I may address you so? It seems more natural than ‘Miss James,’ given our predicament here. And I confess that addressing you as Miss James lends a validity to your story and a respect to you personally that I’m not yet willing to confer.”

  Taylor wasn’t sure she understood everything he’d said, but she nevertheless nodded … and returned the insult. “You may. But know that I will call you Greyson.”

  His eyebrows rose as if she’d surprised him with that. “Fair enough.” Then he got on with the subject at hand. “Charles—your father, so you say—only this morning received a very troubling message, one that put him on my doorstep. It said his daughter had been found guilty of murder and was hanged weeks ago in the Cherokee Nation. Now, how could that be … if you’re her?”

  Taylor felt certain her bones had just turned to water. She fisted her hands. Her nails bit into the flesh of her palms. When she spoke, it was slowly and in measured tones. “Who sent this wrong message to him?”

  “He didn’t say. And I don’t know that it’s wrong.”

  “It is wrong. I suspect my mother may have sent it. Maybe before she had the idea to send my uncle to bre
ak me out.” It made sense. There would have been no way of recalling an already dispatched messenger. Taylor figured it was pure luck that she’d arrived here first—one day before the messenger with the incorrect news of her death.

  Greyson was staring at her. A suspicious cast lit his features. “Did you send him the message, Taylor?”

  She made a sound of disgust. “Did you not hear what I just said? Why would I send it? I know I was not hanged. And if you will recall, I meant to make myself known to my father last night—before he received this message.”

  Greyson absently scratched at his brow. “Well, you’re right there.”

  “I am. But why would he come to you with this?”

  “Because I’m his friend. Because he wanted someone to talk to, someone to help him sort this out. Remember, he believed his child died as long as eleven years ago—”

  “Or so he says.”

  Greyson narrowed his eyes at her. “Yes, he does. And now this … this cruel joke. Or this hoax. Or this truth. I don’t know which. I asked him again, and he told me again, that I’m the only one he’s told about his daughter.”

  “Perhaps he meant that you were the only one outside our family he’s talked to. My aunt and uncle and cousin here in St. Louis know of my existence.”

  Greyson considered her … and apparently her words. “Well, that’s true enough.”

  Taylor nodded, moving on to another concern … one closer to the emotional mark. “Did you … did you tell him I’m not dead and that I’m here?”

  “If I had, you would already have seen him because I would have brought him to you. However, I should tell you that I had decided to tell him before I knew the reason for his visit. But in light of what he told me, how could I explain you? As a ghost? Or an impostor … which means someone pretending—”

  “I know what the word means. And I am neither of those things. Tell me this: if you are the only one my father has told about me, then how does your mother know? And she does know. You saw her face.”

  His expression hardened. “I did.”

  Undaunted, Taylor continued. “And you also know that here I stand in front of you. You know me to be real.”

  “You’re a real person. No ghost. I know that. But other than that, I don’t know the first thing about you.” He advanced into the room, pacing now and glancing her way each time he passed her. “And furthermore, I have no idea how to find out. I have only your word. And your presence here has upset my entire household and even my mother. I don’t know what to make of any of this. But I am about ready to tell you—whoever the devil you are—to pack your horse and leave. Just take your lies and get out.”

  “I do not lie.” Taylor stiffened with pride. She raised her chin. Her eyes burned as they did when the wind dried them as she raced Red Sky across the forested lands of the Nation. “And I did not ask you to involve yourself in my life. You concerned yourself for your own reasons, reasons you have not told me beyond friendship for my father. But I will do as you say. I will gather my things and leave. I should have done so before now.”

  Taylor started to turn away. Greyson grabbed her arm suddenly, holding her close to him. “Do you understand that before I stupidly confronted you last night and put my nose in your business, I was a happy man? Life was wonderful. I had my friends. My clubs. The card games. It was good. Uncomplicated. The way I liked it. The way I mean for it to stay.”

  Taylor could only stare up at him and note for herself how almost black his eyes really were, like the inside of a cave, or the bottom of a well. He hadn’t asked her a question or said anything she could respond to … and he didn’t release her … so she waited for him to continue. He didn’t disappoint her.

  “Before last night, I knew humor, Taylor. And laughing. I had a house full of happy servants. No one was fleeing me. There was no rancor between my mother and me. And I could sleep at night. Eat. Drink. And be merry. That was my life. And then there was you. And now it is all falling apart. You’ve taken my world—with your very presence here and with your tales—and you’ve turned it upside down until I don’t know what or who to believe, much less trust, anymore. How did you do that? How?”

  Taylor strove desperately to keep her expression impassive, and her heart unmoved, in the face of such passion … which could lead to violence. Monroe Hammer had taught her that lesson. “How, you ask? By telling the truth,” she said levelly. “If your happy world fell apart because of my truths, then it is because your world was a lie, one that you could not or would not see.”

  Greyson released her, practically shoving her away from him. He looked as if he was afraid, but he pointed accusingly at her. “Your words are the only lies in this house.”

  Taylor stepped into the space between them, caution thrown to the wind, her eyes narrowed to angry slits. “I do not care if you believe me. I do not need you to believe me. I did not come to St. Louis to see you or to ruin your life, Greyson. I came to see my father. And now I will go to him, as was my plan all along. This time do not try to stop me … or I will ruin your life.”

  His expression became mocking. “Or maybe you’ll just take my life, like the murderer you are.”

  “If I wanted to take your life, you would already be dead.”

  “You sound awfully sure of yourself. Then you are a murderer?”

  A heavy, ugly calm descended like a weight over Taylor. “I wonder if you hear your own words. Charles James has told you himself that his daughter was a murderer. So if you believe me to be a murderer, then you are saying you believe I am Charles James’s daughter.”

  Greyson blinked, as if taken aback, but he recovered. “No. If I believed you to be Charles’s daughter, then I would believe you are dead. Twice over.”

  “And yet I am not. I am alive … twice over. Ask yourself how that could be.” She meant those to be her final words. She took a step, meaning to turn away from him.

  “Taylor, wait.” She did. “You’re not the least bit shocked by that? By being called a murderer? Are you a murderer?”

  Taylor looked him up and down, trying to decide how much to tell him. But then she realized … what did it matter? She could not be prosecuted here in this white man’s land. Nor did she care what he thought of her. Maybe the more he knew about her, the more willing he’d be to leave her alone. “I did not kill the man for whose murder I was to hang.”

  A range of emotions … confusion, disbelief, uncertainty … played over his face, shadowing his expression much like a quick-moving storm did the plains darkened by its clouds. “You’re so calm about this. Either you’re a consummate liar, or you are telling the truth. But start here—why weren’t you hanged?”

  “I told you. I was broken out of the prison the day before.”

  “That’s right. How daring. But the way you said that … that you didn’t kill the man whose murder you were to hang for. Does that mean you have killed other men?”

  “Yes. But they all deserved it.”

  “No one deserves to be murdered.”

  Taylor smirked. “You have not walked in my shoes.”

  He was silent a moment, his gaze roving over her face. She had no idea for what he looked. “How many?” he suddenly blurted.

  “Three.”

  Greyson abruptly turned away, a hand planted at his waist, his other to his brow. “I’ve brought a murderer into my house,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

  Taylor suddenly recalled something he had said to her last night. To his back she said, “You told me that you had scalped a man. Is that true?”

  He pivoted just enough to be looking over his shoulder at her. “No. I just said that to … Well, I don’t know why. Just to scare you into behaving, I suppose.”

  Taylor nodded … and fought unsuccessfully not to admit to herself that she didn’t really want to leave this man’s house. Nor did she want to cause him any more pain. These feelings took her by surprise, rocking her sense of who she was. She told herself she felt this way on
ly because her man-bird spirit guide was still here. But she knew better, as she took in Greyson’s strong physique, his dark hair, and how it tumbled onto his forehead. But it was more than that. He had a good heart. An innocent life. And he was right. He did not need her trouble here. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she said, “I will go now.”

  Greyson turned to her. His eyes showed hurt and confusion. “Where will you go? I would beg you not to go to your … well, to Charles.”

  “I have thought about that. For now, I will go to my cousin Amanda’s house.”

  A light sparked in Greyson’s eyes. He became animated … almost hopeful-looking. “By God, I forgot about Amanda. She would know you, wouldn’t she?”

  Taylor’s heart pitter-patted. Greyson was still looking for proof that she was who she said she was. He wanted desperately to believe her. A spark of something warm caught hold in Taylor’s heart and had her answering a little more eagerly than she would have liked. “Maybe. We were only children, nine years of age, when she was taken away.”

  He frowned. “Taken away? From where? And why was she?”

  Taylor found herself telling all she knew. “I do not know the why. But for many years, from when we were babies until we were nine years old, we were together every day. I loved her as I would a sister. She and her mother lived with my family—me, my mother and her brother, and my grandparents. Then, one day, Amanda’s father came. My father was with him. And then, they left the Nation … my father, Amanda, and her mother and father. I never saw them again.”

  The light dimmed in his eyes. He shook his head. “No, that cannot be. Your story is absolutely fantastic. Unbelievable. I’ve known the Jameses since I was a young lad myself. And I’ve never heard any of this. Why would a white woman and her baby live among the—” His eyes widened with what he’d almost said.