Wild Flower

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  Augusta Talbott. Stanley James. They’d both raised her hackles on first sight, but now they paid her only the kindest of attentions. They watched her; she was aware of that. A time or two, she’d inadvertently caught their hard looks directed her way. But not once, by word or deed, did they give Taylor any reason to question them or to act against them. It was most disconcerting. She was sure they hated her for whatever reasons they harbored in their hearts. But they spoke kindly of her and to her. It was like being aware of being in the presence of evil, but having it cleverly disguised as innocence and goodness—and only you knew it, but still you doubted your instincts. So what could she do? Nothing.

  Uncle Stanley had even explained away his confrontation with her that night at her father’s by saying it was the shock of seeing her. Though not convinced, she couldn’t dispute it. Except to believe that danger was merely biding its time … like a rattler coiled and poised to strike, but hidden by shadows, awaiting only the misstep of its hapless victim before sinking its venom-laden fangs into innocent flesh.

  Taylor and Grey had rehashed all that this morning—and had moved on to another source of irritation … Taylor’s behavior.

  “Why do you ask me this?” she said, buttering a biscuit at breakfast in the dining room. “I must carry my gun. Someone will try to kill me.”

  Grey all but tossed his knife onto his plate of eggs and bacon. He leaned forward, bracing his forearms against the sturdy walnut table’s edge. His brown eyes danced with angry lights. “And it will be me, I assure you, if you do not stop carrying that gun around in your handbag. People are still talking about it going off at the Chalmerses’ supper-dance last weekend.”

  Taylor narrowed her eyes at Grey as she took a bite out of her biscuit and chewed it, all the while staring at him. Once she’d swallowed, she said, “My gun did not just go off. I fired it.” She sipped at her coffee and then added, “That silly yellow-hair girl should not have been hanging onto you like she was. She was rubbing her big cow’s breasts on your arm.”

  Over in his corner of the room, where he stood when not attending to the happy couple, Bentley choked and coughed. With Grey, Taylor spared the man-bird a glance, and then they went on with their disagreement.

  “I couldn’t agree more, Taylor, about Henryetta Chalmers. She is a silly girl. But we don’t speak of … women’s chests at the breakfast table, dear. But as regards Henryetta, she is one of Amanda’s friends and a bridesmaid for her. I’d think the least you could do is refrain from killing your cousin’s friends just because they happen to annoy you.”

  “I was not annoyed. I was jealous.”

  Grey chuckled. “You are also very candid, my dear.”

  “Does that mean ‘truthful’?” When Grey nodded, she continued. “Good. Then here is another candid thing. Amanda does not mind that I tried to shoot the girl. She doesn’t like her. She is not a friend.”

  Grey exhaled, a sound laden with exasperation. “Then why is she—no, don’t tell me. I don’t want to hear about Franklin’s political expediencies making their way into the bridal party. Instead, I will just remind you that I am paying for the repairs done to the wall in Senator Chalmers’s ballroom. You are very lucky no one was injured or killed. Now, what are we going to do about your carrying a loaded pistol to parties, Taylor? As it is, I fear that all the fashionable young ladies will be doing so because you are.”

  Taylor grinned. She knew of three such young ladies who now had guns on their persons … but no corsets. In a good mood, she suddenly relented and offered a compromise. “I will stop carrying the gun. But I will keep my knife with me.”

  Grey looked defeated. “Is that all I can hope for? An exchange of one weapon for another?”

  “Unless you wish me to be unarmed when someone tries to kill me. You won’t allow Bentley to be with me anymore.”

  “Bentley was quickly becoming a laughingstock—” Grey nodded to the reddening butler. “My pardons, Bentley.” Then he focused again on Taylor. “Bentley has duties here. If you need protecting, I will do it, Taylor.”

  She raised her eyebrows at him … and popped the last of her biscuit in her mouth. Slowly she chewed while eyeing him.

  His grimace was one of exasperation. “All right, yes, you are a better shot than me. And I couldn’t hope to best you with a knife. Or a bow and arrow. And you can outride me. Outdrink. Outsmoke. All that. And I do appreciate all the, uh, wrestling holds you’ve taught me.” He cut his gaze to Bentley, who was discreetly coughing, and back to Taylor. “But it is still my place to protect you.”

  Taylor swallowed her food and, bland of expression, asked, “Who would you be protecting me from?”

  Grey jumped up and paced about, gesturing broadly in his anger. “We have been over this, Taylor. I don’t have a name I can give you.”

  Taylor wiped her mouth and laid her napkin beside her plate. “You mean you don’t have a name you will give me. I believe you know who it is who would do me harm.” She cut her gaze Bentley’s way, wanting to include his guilty presence in this. “Both of you do. The troubles did not end when Bentley worked his magic on the bad shadow two weeks ago. The troubles are only more cautious now. I know it. And you know it. Otherwise, why would you have your men following me? I see the men when I’m out riding, Grey—”

  He’d shot to her side and was clutching at her hand. His expression bared his fear. “What men? I have no men following you.”

  Taylor’s mouth dried with the shock. “You do not? I thought they were yours. I never would have put my knife to the throat of one—”

  Grey cried out hoarsely, letting go of her and jumping back. “Sweet Jesus! You confronted one of them?”

  Taylor calmly shook her head. “I did not confront him. I was behind him. He was following me while I rode with Amanda and Franklin in the park. I made an excuse to them and doubled back, catching the man unaware. He was behind a tree. I put my knife to his neck and told him to stop following me or I would slit his throat.”

  Grey collapsed onto his chair and covered his face with his hands. While he mumbled into his palms, Taylor sought Bentley’s gaze and shrugged at him. For his part, Bentley … who stood openmouthed … said nothing.

  At last, Grey lowered his hands, resting his arms on his chair. He looked as if his favorite pet had just died. “And did he, Taylor? Did he quit following you?”

  “Yes. But I have seen others.”

  “When did this start, these men following you? And how do you know they are following you?”

  “They are. And it started about a week ago.”

  “What do they look like?”

  “White men.”

  “I see. Was there anything at all about them that would distinguish one from another for you?”

  “No. They all look alike to me.”

  “Of course. As you’ve said before.” He sighed dramatically. “What am I going to do with you?”

  Taylor shrugged. “There is not much you haven’t already done with me.”

  Bentley again made choking sounds and coughed horribly.

  Grey turned on him. “For heaven’s sake, Bentley, will you please go get a drink of water? Or better yet, whiskey. And bring me one. And her. In fact, everyone. I’m sure the entire staff could stand a rousing all-out drunk about now.” He eyed Taylor accusingly.

  “Because of me, you mean?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Did you really wish me to get you a whiskey, sir?” Bentley’s voice was strangled.

  “No, Bentley. Just go get some water or something, will you?”

  “Yes, sir.” Bentley exited by way of the door that led to the kitchen.

  Taylor figured she was next. And she was right. Grey was eyeing her as if he’d just caught her stealing the silver.

  “What do you have planned for your day, Taylor? No more dress fittings or ladies’ rallies, I hope?”

  “No. I mean to exercise Red Sky. Outside of the city. By the river. I have found a place the
re that I like.”

  He nodded … as if he knew her secret. “By yourself, then, I take it?”

  Taylor raised her chin defiantly. “Yes.”

  Grey leaned forward in his chair, bracing his elbows on his knees as he reached out and took her hands in his. “You mean to draw these men out by going out alone, don’t you?”

  Taylor never even blinked. “Yes.”

  “I see.” His voice was dangerously calm. “And what if there were more than one?”

  “I have fought more than one man at a time before, and I have lived.”

  Grey’s expression changed. He appeared to be awash in a swamp of emotions that had him shaking his head and grinning at her. “You are one wild little hellion, aren’t you? You make every day shine, every night sing. You fill my heart with your love and you scare the living hell out of me—all in the same day.”

  Taylor smiled. “I suppose you wish to come riding with me?”

  He nodded. “You suppose correctly.”

  * * *

  They sat on a blanket atop a bluff overlooking the Mississippi River. Between them were the remains of their picnic lunch packed by Cook. A bottle of wine was empty and lying on its side … no doubt knocked over somehow when they’d made love. The day was beautiful, the river idyllic, the sun bright, the breeze warm and barely strong enough to ruffle the leaves of a nearby stand of oaks and elms. Out here, free of the city’s congestion, free of the interference of other people, it was hard to believe that anyone would wish them ill. Well, wish Taylor ill … or harm.

  Grey looked over at her. Her long black hair hung down her back in a thick braid. Armed with her six-shooter and dressed again in the men’s clothing that Mrs. Scott had procured for her from Albert the stable hand a few weeks back, she sat in profile to him and cross-legged, her hands folded loosely in her lap. She stared intently at the ships clogging the harbor, her gaze flitting hither and yon as she watched everything at once. No movement escaped her intelligent inspection.

  Attired in a white shirt, brown vest, buff-colored riding pants, and knee-high polished black-leather boots, Grey sat with his legs stretched out in front of him and his ankles crossed. He leaned back a bit and braced his hands on the blanket underneath him. Filling his thoughts was just how little he really knew about Taylor’s life before she’d come here. Her day-to-day life. He felt he knew the high points—if the hair-raising details of murder and prison escapes could be called high points. Even so, there was so little he could broach, because of the truths that he knew about her, but she didn’t. He feared how one thing could lead to another in such a discussion.

  Still, there was one point he wanted to make. “I didn’t see anyone following us out here, Taylor. Did you?”

  She shook her head. “No. We would not have made love had we been followed. Or had I felt we were threatened.”

  “Exactly. But I still believe we would have seen anyone who had, what with the open trail and no place, really, to hide.”

  “Perhaps.”

  He grinned. She wouldn’t give an inch. “Perhaps your threatening to slit that one man’s throat did the trick, if he was even following you.”

  “He was.”

  “So you’ve said.” He let it go at that, fairly certain now that she’d attacked some innocent rider because she always felt watched. She didn’t really trust white people, anyway. Grey groped for something a little more innocuous to talk about. “Had you ever seen ships before you came here, Taylor? I mean to St. Louis.”

  She spared him a glance and a brief smile. “Not like these. And not so many. It is why I like this place. The ships. The sky. The water. It is nice here. Red Sky likes it here, too. It must remind him of home.”

  A pang of star-crossed love tore at Grey. He wished she could think of St. Louis—his home—as her home. But he knew better. Still, at the mention of the horse, they both turned their heads to see the big paint gelding grazing peacefully alongside Grey’s equally tall black steed. “They both seem to like it here,” Grey said quietly, finally looking back on the ships below. “I own quite a few ships like those, Taylor. Maybe some of those very ones down there. I can’t tell from here.”

  “You do?” Her inquisitive expression pleased Grey inordinately. “My mother said many times that my father owned great sailing ships such as these. I used to try to imagine what they looked like.”

  Grey willed away his momentary confusion when she spoke of her mother. Catching up to her train of thought, he added, “Yes. Your uncle and father and my father—well, my brother and I now—have some holdings in common, actually. Our money is tied together in one business venture or another.”

  “I see.”

  Grey grinned.… She was starting to sound like him.

  “So this is why the marriage of Franklin to Amanda is such a good thing. The money stays in the family and strengthens these bonds of business.”

  Grey was impressed. Her quick intelligence had picked up on the more intricate aspects of his statement. “Yes. That’s true. But it was never a consideration. I mean, nothing was arranged between them. They genuinely fell in love.” … He hoped.

  “I like Franklin,” Taylor said. This was the first time she’d ever mentioned his brother. “He is good for Amanda. I am glad she has him.”

  Grey thought he could hear an undercurrent in her words. “Why do you say it like that, as if there’s something wrong with Amanda?”

  Taylor’s expression hardened. “Not Amanda. Her father. My father’s brother. I do not like him.”

  She was as disconcertingly honest as a child. What she didn’t know was that Grey had never liked the man, either. Even before Charles’s far-reaching confession at the club two weeks ago, Grey had always felt an unnatural tension between Stanley and Camilla, one he now knew actually existed. So, very carefully, Grey asked, “Why don’t you like him, Taylor—besides his behavior that evening at your father’s? Has he said anything else to you? Or treated you harshly?”

  “No. But he does not have to.” She looked genuinely distressed now.

  “What do you mean? You can tell me anything, Taylor.” He wasn’t sure he meant that because of everything he knew and therefore how he would be forced to respond. With lies.

  “I do not wish to speak of him. I would hear of your father instead.”

  “My father?” Surprised, Grey chuckled and leaned back on his side, facing her, a knee bent, and supporting his weight on an elbow. He plucked a blade of grass and picked at it. “Well, he was a rich old man—shipping, mining, railroads, banking, things like that—when my mother, still a young woman, married him. But the old rascal proved not to be too old to father two sons. Franklin and me, of course.” Grey rooted around in his memories for what to say of the man. “Let’s see; he was very formal and distant in his role as father. Franklin and I hardly ever saw him when we were boys. As I grew up, and despite his sudden illness and decline, the old man never let me forget what a disappointment I was to him. But he doted on Franklin. Let’s see.… He died seven years ago of a weak heart.”

  Taylor had listened quietly, only nodding as he’d spoken. Now she asked, “And with your mother … how was he?”

  Grey thought her question singularly odd, but nevertheless he answered it. “With my mother? Well, I don’t have the first idea what type of husband he was to her.” He laughed. “Actually I do. He was the perfect husband. Meaning, he gave her the means and the name to gain the social stature she wanted. And then had the good sense to die.”

  Taylor frowned … and stared worriedly at him.

  A prick of concern stabbed at Grey. “Taylor, why do you ask? Do you know something I should hear?” He tried to remember how they’d got onto this subject. All he’d done was remark on the ships down below.

  “Yes. Amanda told me something.”

  Grey’s insides felt cold. He paid studious attention to the blade of grass in his hand. “I see. What did she say?”

  “I will tell you. But first I will say
that I only speak of this because of what it can mean now. To me. To us.”

  “I understand. Go on.” Even though he’d encouraged her to speak, Grey found he couldn’t look at her. He felt certain the reason for all the hushed conversations and the tense family moments he’d been aware of growing up was about to be revealed to him—and by the most unlikely of sources. His hands stilled, and he waited.

  “Amanda told me what Aunt Camilla recently told her. That before your mother married your father … she was in love with my Uncle Stanley. And was heartbroken when he married my Aunt Camilla. Only then did your mother marry your father. You and your brother came quickly, but it was many years before my aunt bore Amanda.”

  Shocked, feeling betrayed somehow, Grey riveted his gaze on Taylor’s face. “I’ve never heard any of this before. Never. Why would Amanda tell you that? And why would your aunt tell her now, even if it is true?”

  Taylor looked away from him, staring out over the waters of the Mississippi. She could have been carved in stone. “She did not mean it as idle talk. And I am sorry if I hurt you with this truth.”

  “I’m not hurt,” Grey all but barked. Taylor gave him her attention again. Grey forced a calm reasonableness on himself that he didn’t feel. “I’m sorry I spoke harshly to you. Please blame it on the shock. But even if what you’ve said is true—and I suppose I have no reason to believe Camilla James would lie—then I see what you mean about it having consequences for us all. After all, there’s nothing like old jealousies, given a shift in circumstances, to cause people to erupt in ways they might not have otherwise.”

  “That is how Amanda sees it, too. And I agree. Grey, my uncle told me, when I saw him at my father’s two weeks ago, that there were old hurts I made people think of again. He said I had the face of a sin he could not forgive or forget.”