“Were we home, Una would have a Boston cream pie for all of us, at the very least. She prides herself on desserts, don’t you, my dear?” Henry said, winking at his wife as he pushed back his chair and accepted a smoke from Boyd. “Don’t mind if I do.”
I was at last able to turn to my left, towards Sawyer, and my heart fluttered and skipped along as I looked at him to my heart’s content, if even for a moment. The sun set as we’d dined, prompting Una to light two tin lanterns. The children had finished and were swarming the table, one of the little boys climbing atop Angus’s lap to show him a wooden toy, Boyd and Henry smoking and chatting while Una bustled to clear plates.
“May I help?” I asked her, moving as though to rise.
“No, no, please, you’re my company. My mother would faint if she thought I’d allowed company to clear the table, even one on the wild prairie,” Una assured me, and I smiled at this mention of a mother much like my own.
Sawyer leaned near me and murmured, “Look at the kid,” nodding towards Malcolm, who was busy showcasing his strength, holding out his arms and allowing the Spicer girls to hang suspended from them, though they had to lift their feet to do so, and then nearly bowed him over in the process.
I smiled, and Sawyer’s gaze held me steadily as he smiled too. It was as though he was making up for all of the stern and impassive expressions he’d worn thus far, and my heart jolted to see his smile. He appeared almost boyish in the fading light, his eyes upon mine. I had never longed so utterly for someone’s attention.
“He always used to beg for me or Boyd to do that to him,” Sawyer went on, back to watching Malcolm as the boy straightened and readied himself for another go. “That kid is something else. I would do about anything for him, even if he is a devil at times.”
I giggled, though I couldn’t look away from Sawyer.
“When he knocked you to the ground, I thought Boyd might actually take a strap to him,” Sawyer said.
“No, heavens no, it was all in fun,” I said. “It was good to laugh.”
“He’s rather taken with you,” Sawyer informed me, his gaze coming back to mine. “In case you hadn’t gathered.”
I felt my cheeks heating, glad for the gloaming light. I said, “He did propose two days past,” and Sawyer leaned back to laugh. I watched, fascinated.
“I mighta known,” he said, his Tennessee drawl more pronounced than ever. “Then he swims naked in front of you. That kid.”
I felt shivery all along my limbs and could not seem to keep a smile from my lips. I was clasping my hands in my lap, almost trembling as he continued to study my eyes in the din of everyone else chatting and laughing, the scent of tobacco smoke drifting pleasantly over our heads.
“We didn’t try fishing again,” I said inanely, because I had to say something, my voice hitching a little.
“It was better to talk,” he replied, low, while my mind was once more flooded with a picture of riding home, to our camp, wrapped in his powerful arms and against his chest, with Whistler beneath us. I drew a tight breath and the expression in his eyes changed subtly, I could see it even in the apricot glow of the candles, his lashes lowering just a fraction as his gaze moved to my lips and the smile fell slowly from his.
I realized with a start that everyone was standing and we looked instantly apart, breaking our absorption with one another, though Sawyer stood to draw back my chair over the uneven ground, as would any gentleman. I stumbled as I rose, but he caught me securely about the waist with his right arm, not lingering even a fraction after he steadied me. It was, however, enough time for arrows of heat to arc through my body.
“Have you been at the whiskey?” he teased. The men were moving the chairs to the fire, and Sawyer took both of ours, one in each arm, effortlessly.
I walked just ahead of him to the fire. I saw Boyd fetching his fiddle case from our wagon, and noticed that Henry Spicer was likewise settling himself on a dining table chair and proceeding to tune his own. Sawyer set down our chairs just as one of the girls shouted, “Look!” in a tone that indicated alarm, and everyone’s heads turned at once.
Before I realized that he’d moved, Sawyer had put me behind him with one arm, angling himself, shielding me.
“No cause for concern, it’s just lightning bugs,” Una called; she had a better angle to catch a glimpse of where her daughter was pointing.
Sawyer’s shoulders relaxed a hair; my heart was still dashing my chest. Malcolm scurried to get a gander, pausing to clasp my elbow and haul me along.
“Lorie, look-see!” he enthused, and I lifted my skirt to keep up with him. He paused just past the wagons, where the prairie opened out, seemingly endlessly. Evening had descended, the sky pitch-black above our heads, seeping into an indigo-blue with a faint yellow stripe at the extreme edge of the western horizon. Among the tall grasses, what were surely hundreds upon hundreds of fireflies flickered and sparked and swirled. It was almost as though we were no longer upon the earth but instead some magical and otherworldly place, and I drew a delighted breath, clutching Malcolm’s arm and absorbing the sight greedily, unwilling to blink. Their little lights were intermittently green and golden.
“Look at them bugs,” the eldest girl, Annabel, whispered.
“It’s like magic,” Malcolm whispered, his voice reverent, echoing my thoughts.
“Them things surely ain’t bugs,” said one of the younger children.
“They surely are,” Malcolm informed.
“But their behinds glow,” she protested.
“Don’t you wish yours did?” joked Cole, prompting Malcolm’s laughter.
I felt a flash in my gut as they giggled and teased, a radiance that flared unexpectedly, filling me with outright joy. It wasn’t their words, but more a sense of the entire scene sprawled before me, the evening on the prairie and the moment in time that found me here. I let the sensation permeate my senses, and as I had somehow known he would, Sawyer joined us, moving to my left side, near but not touching. I was so buoyed by the feeling of rightness, so utterly safe, protected between him and Malcolm.
“Would you look at that,” Sawyer murmured.
I longed to tuck my hand around his arm, but I didn’t dare.
Behind us, at the fire, Boyd and Henry skipped through a few notes on their instruments and I shivered, again with delight.
“Are you cold?” Sawyer asked me softly, his eyes moving to me at once. I thought of how he’d wrapped the blanket about me, early this very morning.
I looked up at him and again smiled with all of my heart. As improbable as it was, I said, “No, not at all. Just happy.”
Later I was to think back to my comment, made whole-heartedly, and wonder if because I dared to speak it aloud, dared to defy fortune enough to feel such a thing, let alone name it…
“C’mon, you-all, let’s listen!” Malcolm whooped, spinning around, tugging me along.
“Kid, you can’t drag Lorie like that,” Sawyer reprimanded, carefully appropriating my arm from the boy’s grip.
Oh how I loved hearing my name on his lips.
As though uncertain if it was proper, Sawyer removed his hand from my elbow, though he touched me gently on the back to lead me forward, to the fire, the children flowing in our wake. We had hardly sat when Malcolm flew to me and begged to dance. Una was clapping along, her youngest on her lap, as Boyd and Henry fiddled a reel. The girls clutched hands and moved beyond the chairs, to twirl wildly.
“Pleeeeeease, Lorie,” Malcolm begged. “I been practicing.”
“All right,” I agreed, though I hated to move from my chair and therefore away from Sawyer.
Malcolm led me amongst the children, his face a picture of concentration. He held out his right hand and took my left and then led us through the three-step rhythm. He was trying so hard not to step on my toes that hi
s eyes nearly crossed. When Angus cut in on him, I floundered, my laughter dying away.
Angus asked politely, “Lorie, may I simply show Malcolm how it’s done? I can’t bear to watch any longer, I must intervene.”
I smiled at him then, relief spreading over me. Una set aside her youngest and joined us too, her eyes sparkling in the fire’s light. She said, “Young fellow, allow me,” and held out her hands to Malcolm. He grinned and accepted Una’s offer, as Angus took me into his own arms, turning to request, “A waltz, gentlemen, if you would.”
Angus said to Malcolm, “You must lead your lady around the floor, but with grace, son, with smooth motions.” So saying, he nodded at me, his gray eyes warm and nearer to mine than they’d been since that hour in my room, when he’d kissed me and pressed me back upon my bed. I gulped at this unwelcome and visceral reminder of my previous life.
“Here, Malcolm, like this,” Una instructed, guiding him. Her daughters were watching with obvious amusement, standing with their hands cupped at their lips, giggling.
Angus was a good dancer. He led me over the uneven ground with grace, and I found to my relief that I wasn’t uncomfortable at being in his arms; I trusted him and, if truth be known, I cared greatly for him. If there was a hint of something else in his eyes, buried deeply, I must pretend that I did not notice, not any longer. But as we danced I unwittingly recalled stepping from my whore’s costume, letting down my hair with the calculated movements of practiced seduction. I hated the falsity, the insincerity of that, of Lila, despised that she would always remain a part of who I once was.
And Angus had spilled his seed within me and I’d not used the potash.
You will bleed soon, Lorie, you will.
When the waltz was through, Boyd set his fiddle on his chair and asked, “Sis, would you care to dance?”
His dark eyes were merry as he swept me into his arms, leaving Henry to fiddle solo. Angus danced with Una, while Boyd twirled and spun me and Malcolm yelped, “My turn, my turn!”
I was laughing as Malcolm claimed me, my eyes flashing over to Sawyer, who sat with his arms folded and a smile on his lips, watching me steadily.
Come dance with me, please, come dance with me, I begged him silently.
But he remained near the fire. I tugged free of Malcolm, who next offered his hand to Annabel Spicer, and slipped back onto my chair, just to be close to Sawyer.
“Don’t you dance?” I asked him, perching as near to his chair as I could while still remaining upon my own.
“Not much,” he admitted, his eyes caressing mine, and I felt a glowing warmth, as though too near the fire. He reached suddenly and plucked something from my shoulder, startling me, before I realized he was withdrawing a firefly. He held it in his cupped hand, his strong hand with its broad palm and long fingers, where the insect crawled and then flashed its cold green light. I bent closer and curled both my palms around his, creating more darkness to showcase its glow. Our heads nearly bumped looking down at the little creature, flickering rapidly now, as though frightened. I let the sides of my hands rest lightly against his, a flame licking along my skin where we touched.
Sawyer said softly, “We’ve scared it.”
I looked up and his eyes were so close I could have counted his lashes.
This must stop, Lorie, this must stop right now.
But, God help me, I didn’t want it to stop. For so long I had been unable to feel, to allow myself that luxury. Feelings were contrary to survival in a whorehouse. Every action I had made for years had been for a specific pre-determined purpose, or else was mechanical, wooden. I studied his eyes, which held fast to mine, and could hardly breathe. I thought of his full name, which I had learned only this afternoon.
Sawyer James Davis.
I dropped my eyes to our hands as my blood spilled and rushed like a waterfall, roaring in my ears. The firefly spread its wings in the next instant and flew away, leaving me no excuse to continue touching his hand. I sat upon my own chair and forced myself to watch the dancing, where Boyd was now twirling with both Spicer girls, Malcolm with Una, while Angus stood behind him, directing the boy’s movements.
“Lorie, look there,” Sawyer said, gently nudging my arm, and pointed to the eastern horizon, where a full moon the size of a wagon wheel was just rising. It was luminous in the heavens, creamy white and solid, as though it could be plucked with little effort from the sky and held as a round weight in one’s hands. He went on, softly, “When I was off soldiering, I would look up at the moon as often as I could, and remind myself that there was still a whole world out there where there was no War, no killing. It made me feel like I was still a human, still whole. I can’t tell you what it means to watch it rise now, when I’m not sick with fear that I might die before I would see it full again.”
My heart ached horribly at even the thought of him in harm’s way, even the memory of it. I said, “It’s beautiful tonight. I used to watch it rise from the window in my room at Ginny’s. Sometimes I felt comforted by it and sometimes it seemed sinister, by turns. But at least it was constant. Sometimes just before dawn I’d sit with another girl who worked there, on the upper balcony, and we’d watch it set and listen to the coyotes.”
He looked at me as he said, “I have been thinking all afternoon about what you told me today.”
The music was sweet in the background, the notes of it seeming to rise up and then fall over us, dusting our hair and shoulders. He went on, “This other girl, she was your friend?”
I whispered, “She was.”
I couldn’t bear to talk long about her.
Sawyer said then, “The other night, I dreamed that you were in danger. I woke, knowing it.”
I stared at him, wordless.
The music had stopped, though everyone was still laughing and chattering, Boyd and Malcolm heading our way, and we were forced to look apart. With fond farewells and well wishes to the Spicers, we headed for camp shortly thereafter, Angus driving the wagon this time, with Malcolm and me leaning on each other, Malcolm half-asleep. The moon continued to rise over our heads as we lumbered through the darkness, brilliant enough to cast shadows. Sawyer and Boyd rode close to the wagon, Boyd in a boisterous mood, howling at the moon after we heard coyotes in the distance. I could hardly remove my eyes from Sawyer, hearing his words again; I had been right, there was a connection that flowed between us, inexplicably. I couldn’t explain or justify its existence, I only knew that it bound us.
At camp, the men watered the horses while I lit two of our lanterns. It was late and there was no excuse to linger, though I wanted to see Sawyer, be close by him, at least once more before I went to bed. I knew it wasn’t proper. I was still a former whore and I would be, always. I walked carefully around my tent to watch the four of them at the riverbank, Whistler so easy to spot with her paint markings gleaming in the moonlight. I imagined riding her today, the gift of that, and folded my hands and brought them up to my chin. When I could linger no longer, I slipped into my tent with a lantern, checked the bedding for snakes or other undesirable creatures, and then blew out the candle and undressed.
I lay awake, sensitized and terribly restless; the bright moonlight spilled whitely over the canvas walls, adding to my agitation. I listened intently as the horses were tethered, the men talking quietly as they came back to camp, though within minutes it was silent. And then at the entrance to my tent I heard someone settling in as though to sleep, and my heart seized within me; before I knew what I was doing I crawled on hands and knees to within inches of the opening. A second later I nearly jumped from my skin when Angus said softly, “Lorie, are you awake?”
I took a moment to answer, disappointment weighting me as I crept back to my bedding. Once there I whispered, “I am.”
“I’ll be out here, so you needn’t worry,” he told me, low, and my heart ached again at their collecti
ve willingness to do so. Dear Angus, who had been displaced from his tent.
I said softly, “Gus, I’m not afraid. You needn’t sleep outside, I feel terrible.”
“No, we’ve decided. If there was room enough, you could sleep in the wagon, as you’d be less exposed there. But this will suffice for now.”
“Thank you, Gus,” I told him, and again knew that I would never be able to thank him enough; words were paltry, pitiful offerings, at the least. “Good-night.”
“Good-night Lorie,” he whispered, and I curled around myself on the bedding and thought of Sawyer, relentlessly.
- 14 -
I dreamed that night, of the red Tennessee road, which I knew well. I was barefoot and my hair loose, though this time I walked with certainty, faster and faster, until I lifted my skirt above my knees and ran, aching with desperation to get around the bend in the road, though it appeared much farther away than I recalled. I inhaled raggedly, with breaths that clogged my throat, but as I came around its curve at the last, gladness and relief overwhelmed me, heating my blood.
“You’re here,” I cried joyously, and flew to him.
“Lorie,” he said, his deep voice that echoed within me, a voice I had always known, would always know, anywhere. He moved swiftly to me, reaching to collect me against his chest, where I wanted to be more than I’d ever longed for anything, even my own life. Whistler was behind him, waiting patiently, watching us with her tail swishing.
But just as I would have been in his arms my fingers touched a cold windowpane, forcibly halting my forward motion. Sawyer reached it at the same instant and pressed his hands to it, shouting my name, though I could no longer hear his voice. He slammed his fists violently against the glass, and I clawed at it, raking my nails until they came loose from my fingers. I sobbed then, scrabbling through mounds of blood-smeared dead leaves on the ground, searching for a branch to smash against the window, anything that I could use to shatter the smooth, cold hardness.
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