Heartbreak Creek

by Kaki Warner

  “Nothing of consequence.” Motioning for Miriam to clear their plates, Lucinda waited until the young woman left before she spoke again. “But apparently your husband’s first wife was a bit flighty.”

  “Flighty?”

  Maddie leaned forward to whisper, “They say she was involved with another man. A gambler.”

  “Now, Maddie, we don’t know that for certain,” Lucinda admonished gently.

  Edwina blinked in disbelief. Declan’s wife was an adulteress? What kind of fool had the woman been to prefer another man over Declan?

  “There was quite the to-do when she disappeared,” Maddie continued over Lucinda’s halfhearted objections. “Some said your husband threw her out in a jealous rage. Others said she ran off with her gambler fellow. A few were even convinced that Mr. Brodie had killed her.”

  “Killed her?” Edwina shrank from the idea, a hand pressed to her throat. Not Declan, a man who could hardly discipline his own children.

  “He didn’t, of course,” Lucinda said hastily, sending Maddie a reproving glare. “An Indian war party killed both her and her gambler. A patrol from the fort found them, and . . . well, it was definitely Indians.”

  Edwina scarcely heard as everything suddenly fell into place—all the shuttered looks, the barriers he had thrown up, the distrustful glances. It all made sense now. It wasn’t because of her but because of his first wife.

  A sharp sense of relief rushed through her, and with it came a swell of sympathy for a man vilely maligned. Poor Declan. How unfair. No wonder he held himself aloof.

  “It’s only gossip,” Lucinda said. “Hardly worth mentioning. And I wouldn’t have, except . . .” A look passed between Lucinda and Maddie that immediately set off warning bells in Edwina’s mind.

  “Except that what?”

  “Well . . . there’s to be a gathering tomorrow evening. A shivaree for a newly married couple. The whole town is invited.” When Lucinda hesitated, as if debating whether to continue, Maddie jumped in.

  “It’s that horrid Alice Waltham. A wretched, nasty woman. She was a close friend of your husband’s first wife, and she insists there’s more to the events of her disappearance than has been told.”

  “Really?” Pru shoved her plate away, her normally bland expression tight with anger. “Like what?” Having been the brunt of gossip and the viciousness of evil people who despised all Negroes, she had little tolerance for cruelty.

  “She’s convinced Mr. Brodie killed his wife. Stupid woman.” Lucinda waved the notion aside. “Of course, no one really believes that drivel. But if you and your husband attend the shivaree tomorrow, you should be prepared for some sort of confrontation.”

  Pru shrugged. “Then we won’t go.”

  “Oh, yes we will,” Edwina snapped. “I refuse to be run off by some viper-tongued prevaricator. Besides, if we don’t attend, it might appear we believe her nonsense. No, we’re definitely going.”

  Pru sighed. “Oh, dear.”

  Knowing how difficult such situations were for her sister, Edwina tamped down her anger. No need for Pru to get caught up in something that might spill over into a personal attack because of her mixed blood. It had happened too many times in the past. “You needn’t go if you would rather not, Pru. I’ll have Declan there to make sure I don’t get myself into too much trouble. Besides, no telling how late this shivaree will last, and we really shouldn’t leave the children on their own for long. You know the mischief they can get into.”

  Pru crossed her arms over her chest. Stubborn woman.

  “Unless, of course,” Edwina added, struck by a brilliant idea, “Declan asks Thomas to watch them. Then you needn’t stay with the children. Although”—she put on a thoughtful face—“the last time he did, Joe Bill almost burned down the house. Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps you should stay, after all, just to help Thomas. Or not. It’s up to you.” Sometimes she was so clever she amazed herself.

  “Fine. I’ll stay,” Pru said ungraciously. “But don’t think it has anything to do with your manipulations.”

  “Heavens, of course not. I know exactly why you’re staying.”

  Looking distressed by the sudden downturn in a lovely afternoon, Maddie rushed into the breach. “I’m so looking forward to it. I’ve never been to a shivaree and I’m anxious to get tintypes for my portfolio, assuming the photographic supplies I ordered from E. and H. T. Anthony arrive in time.”

  Relieved to move on to a less charged subject, Edwina asked how her photography expedition was going. Maddie happily told them, and within a few moments good cheer was restored, as if the subject of Declan Brodie’s first wife had never come up.

  “And guess what?” Maddie clapped her hands in childlike delight. “I’m having a special wagon built with its own dark tent so I’ll be able to develop tintypes as I tour. Isn’t that exciting?”

  “She’ll be quite the gypsy,” Lucinda said with a fond smile. “I shall be distraught here without her.”

  “Oh, don’t be absurd, Luce. You have so many town projects in the fire you won’t even know I’m gone.”

  “What town projects?” Pru asked.

  “More than I can handle, I fear.”

  “Might there be room for a school for displaced Negroes?” Pru asked. “I saw several freedmen and -women when we were here before.”

  “We could make room. And perhaps open it to Chinese workers, as well, if the railroad lays a new line through town.”

  And so the tension was forgotten and the afternoon passed in delightful conversation—Pru talking about her dream of teaching, Edwina recounting her disgust at cleaning and preparing her first chicken, Lucinda telling how they’d ordered a bell for the little church steeple, and Maddie describing her first encounter with a buffalo skinner who didn’t want his photograph taken. Edwina was having such a grand time she didn’t even notice it had gotten dark until the tromp of boots through the lobby and Brin’s loud voice told her the family had arrived.

  Lucinda closed the dining room to outsiders and had the men push several tables together so they could all eat at one long table, including Amos, Thomas, and the Parker ranch hands. It was a lovely meal and reminded Edwina of the big Sunday gatherings on the shaded lawn at Rose Hill, when the smell of magnolia blossoms mingled with the delicious aromas of roasting sausages, boiled crabs, and shrimp gumbo, and distant laugher and music drifted on the warm breeze rising up from the bayou.

  While talk went on around them, Edwina turned to Declan, seated on her right. “How did the cattle sale go?” They were a bit crowded, but she was left-handed—another reason for Mother to bring out the cane—so they didn’t bang elbows. Yet she was acutely aware of him beside her—his bigness, his silence, the way his hand dwarfed his fork. Long fingers, nicked and scarred, dusted with dark hair. So different from hers.

  “Not as well as I’d hoped, but well enough.”

  “Well enough to stay another day?”

  He glanced over, a troubled look in his dark eyes. “Is that what you want?”

  “I’d like to, yes.”

  That shutter came down. “Whatever,” he said and looked away.

  Remembering what he’d said earlier about his wife, and all the nasty gossip she’d heard about his first marriage, she felt a sudden need to reassure him. “It’s just that I haven’t had a chance to shop yet. Have you?”

  “Shop?”

  She leaned over until her face was inches from his shoulder. “For Brin,” she whispered. “Haven’t you gotten her anything yet?”

  “Ah . . .”

  “You haven’t.”

  She drew in an exasperated breath, and suddenly her senses exploded with the essence of Declan, his heat, the smell of soap, horses . . . him. Her body instantly reacted—her heartbeat quickening, her skin tingling, her thoughts scattering like some addlepated adolescent sneaking her first kiss under the pawpaw tree. Rattled, she pulled back, straightened the napkin in her lap, sipped from her glass. Once her nerves settled, she cleare
d her throat and said, “And there’s a gathering tomorrow evening. A shivaree.”

  “For the Hamiltons.”

  “You know them?”

  “Tom took over as sheriff after I left. Good man.”

  Edwina watched him take a bite of roasted pork and wondered how the sight of a man chewing his food could be so fascinating. And swallowing. Mercy, the things it did to his throat.

  “Heard they were moving to New Mexico Territory.”

  She smiled vaguely, having forgotten what they were talking about.

  He studied her through dark eyes softened by lamplight. “I’m guessing you want to go to this shivaree.”

  “Would you mind? Pru said she would watch over the children.”

  “I don’t dance. Fair warning.”

  “I do dance,” she shot back. “Fair warning to you.” Grinning, she popped a piece of biscuit into her mouth.

  “Threatening me again?”

  “Perish the thought. A big man like you?”

  And there it was, the smile she’d been hoping for. And with it came that same strange, shivery, quivery reaction she’d felt when he’d kissed her. It startled her to realize how much she was actually beginning to like her stern-faced, unapproachable husband.

  “You’re doing it again.” The low rumble of his voice seemed to vibrate in the air around her.

  “Doing what?”

  Instead of answering, he pushed his empty plate away and turned to Lucinda at the end of the table. “Do you have a room I could rent?”

  Edwina almost dropped her fork. Reacting was one thing. Acting on it was an entirely different thing altogether. Heat rushed into her face. She couldn’t catch her breath and the urge to flee almost overwhelmed her.

  “A room? Certainly,” Lucinda said. “How many would you like?”

  “Just one for Edwina and Miss Lincoln.”

  What? Edwina blinked, her mind swirling in confusion. “But what about you?” she blurted out. Then horrified by what she’d said, she quickly added, “And the children? And”—unable to recall a single name, she waved vaguely in the direction of the men staring at her from the far end of the table—“And them?”

  The Indian fellow was grinning, his gaze darting from Declan to Edwina and back to Declan again. “Ho,” he said softly.

  Declan shifted in his chair. “I’ve made other arrangements for the family.”

  Other arrangements? What other arrangements? “But . . . ?” Edwina stared at him, the unfinished thought hanging in the air. Arrangements where? And why weren’t she and Pru included? Weren’t they part of the family, too?

  But before Edwina could ask him that, Lucinda said, “We have plenty of rooms available, Mr. Brodie. Take as many as you need. As my guests, of course.”

  Realizing her mistake, Edwina felt more heat rise in her cheeks, embarrassed that in her ignorance of her husband’s financial situation, she might have put Declan on the spot.

  “I appreciate the offer, ma’am. But I had a house here once. If it’s still usable, we’ll stay there.”

  And before Edwina could question him further, he pushed back his chair and rose. Immediately, the other men followed suit. “Thank you, ma’am, for this fine meal. Now if you’ll excuse us, Miss Hathaway, ladies, we have horses to tend and children to get situated.”

  “Of course, Mr. Brodie.”

  “Good night, then.” And without a backward glance, he ushered his children and the other men from the room.

  To Edwina, it felt like a slap in the face.

  As soon as the door closed behind them, she threw her napkin down beside her plate with enough vigor to rattle her teacup. “Can you believe that? He all but said he didn’t want anything to do with us, didn’t he, Pru? ‘I’ve made other arrangements for the family,’ ” she mimicked. “What are we, barnyard animals?”

  “Now, Edwina,” Pru began.

  Lucinda cut her off. “It did seem rather odd—”

  “See, Pru!”

  “—especially after the way he stared at you throughout the meal.”

  Edwina blinked. Then discounted the notion. “Ha!” She’d been sitting right beside him and had noticed no such thing. “If he looked at me at all, it was probably with disapproval. I gutted a chicken, for heaven’s sake! What more do I have to do?”

  “Chicken gutting always worked for me,” Lucinda quipped.

  “As I recall,” Maddie said with a smile, that dreamy look in her eyes, “Angus reacted rather well to something sheer. Maybe a touch of lace here and there. Nothing too revealing, of course.”

  “It’s me.” Battling an urge to weep, Edwina planted her elbows on the table and dropped her head into her hands. “Men have never found me attractive. Probably because I’m not pointy.”

  “Pointy?”

  “Here we go,” Pru murmured.

  “Well, look.” Dropping her hands, Edwina puffed out her meager bosom. “What man would be attracted to a woman who looks like a boy?”

  Lucinda started to laugh, then stifled it when Maddie sent her a stern look. “You don’t look like a boy, dear.”

  “Shelly thought so. He said I looked like a stick.”

  “He would,” Pru muttered.

  Edwina glared at her half sister. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Before Pru could answer, Maddie hastily cut in. “Oh, I’m certain Shelly found you attractive. I’m sure he loved you to distraction.”

  “Oh, Lord.” Edwina dropped her head into her hands again. She didn’t have to look up to feel the glances pass between the others. Dimly she heard the scrape of chairs and knew they were coming to console her. The flat-bosomed, unalluring, pitiful creature that she was.

  “After all,” Maddie crooned, taking Declan’s chair and slipping an arm around Edwina’s shoulder, “he did take you to wife, didn’t he?”

  Edwina sniffed behind her hands. “More or less.”

  A pause. “Either he did or he didn’t, dear.”

  “Or tried and couldn’t,” Lucinda added from her left.

  “Or found me so unattractive, he got it over with as soon as he could.” Unable to hold back the tears, Edwina grabbed her napkin and pressed it to her leaking eyes. “What am I doing wrong?” she wailed. “Why don’t men want me? First Shelly, and now Declan. What’s wrong with me?”

  “It isn’t you,” Pru said, her tone more angry than sympathetic. “It’s them.”

  Edwina laughed brokenly. “Of course it is. One man could hardly consummate our marriage and the other won’t even try. It must be them.”

  “You mean . . . you and Mr. Brodie haven’t . . .”

  “I insisted on a three-month delay so we could get to know one another. So, no, Maddie, we haven’t. Which is just fine with me, I assure you.”

  “You don’t want to consummate your marriage?”

  “Why would I?” Edwina blew her nose, wadded the napkin into a ball, and tucked it beside her plate. “It was awful with Shelly, and I’m in no rush to repeat the experience. Although it would be nice to know Declan actually wanted to . . . you know . . . even if he couldn’t.”

  “You’re priceless.” With a sigh, Lucinda rose and began scraping the plates. “You don’t want him to take you to bed, but you do want him to want to take you to bed. What are you going to do when he finally does?”

  Irritated by the condescending tone, Edwina swiped the back of her hand across her eyes, took a deep breath, and hiked her chin. “I am not a coward, Lucinda. I will do my duty.”

  “Your duty.” Lucinda began stacking the dirty dishes.

  Muttering under her breath, Pru rose and joined her.

  Maddie continued to pat Edwina’s shoulder. “You must have had a ghastly experience with your first husband, dear. I’m so sorry. For all his shortcomings, at least Angus did that right.”

  “It wasn’t Shelly’s fault. I just wasn’t that attractive to him, I guess.”

  “Oh, for Lord’s sake!” Dishes clattered back to the table as
Pru whirled, hands planted on her hips. “This is ridiculous. I promised Shelly I wouldn’t say anything, but I cannot allow you to do this a moment longer.”

  “Do what?”

  “Blame yourself.” Pru took a deep breath, then said in a rush, “The reason you weren’t attractive to Shelly is because you weren’t a man!”

  Silence. Then Maddie’s soft whisper. “Does that mean—”

  “I wondered,” Lucinda said thoughtfully. “With a name like Shelly, one would.”

  Edwina blinked at her sister, trying to make sense of her words. “You mean . . . Shelly . . .”

  “Was a weak sister, yes!” Pru threw her hands up in exasperation. “Didn’t you ever wonder at his close friendship with Frederick?”

  Edwina rocked back. “Frederick, too?”

  “How does that work, I wonder?” Maddie asked Lucinda. “Two men. Together. How would they go about that?”

  “Maddie, please!”

  “It’s a natural curiosity.”

  “Save it for later.”

  Edwina continued to stare at her sister, shock and disbelief swelling into such a sense of betrayal she thought she might vomit. “Why didn’t you tell me, Pru?” she demanded in a wobbly voice. “Why didn’t Shelly tell me? Why would you let me marry a man who didn’t love me?”

  “He did love you.” Looking as if she might cry, too, Pru sank into the chair Lucinda had vacated. She took Edwina’s hand in both of hers. “Just not in the way a man loves a woman.”

  Edwina felt fury build as memories flashed through her mind. The ceremony, the toasts, the forced smiles and sly looks. Had everyone known but her?

  Shelly had seemed so desperate to have her, but without the joy or tenderness she had expected. It had been an awkward, almost frantic coupling. And afterward, tears. For both of them. Hers, from regret and shame and embarrassment. His, she had assumed, from disappointment or because he would be marching off to war in just a few hours.

  Damn him. Damn Pru. Why hadn’t they told her? Said something? Acid burned in her throat. All those years. “You let me think it was me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Emotion swirled in her mind. How could they do that to her? She wanted to scream and claw her chest open so the pain could get out. All those years wasted in regret and self-doubt. All those years thinking there was something wrong with her. Damn them.