“Not bad.”
Clara scoffed and pointed her knife at the marmot hide in Callie’s hands. “Not anywhere near as good as yours, nor as quickly done.”
Callie bumped her shoulder. “I’ve had a few more years’ experience. For a first effort, it’s mighty neat.” She reached over to take the fox hide, holding it up to the sunlight. “See? There ain’t as many light spots as you’d expect.” She turned it over and laid it, inner side up, on the sledge. “Though there doesn’t seem to be as much artistry on this side.”
Clara returned the shoulder bump, both blushing in embarrassment at the evidence of hacking on her hide and secretly pleased with the praise. “Like you said, I’ll get better with experience.”
“That you will.” Callie scooped up the hides to place inside the woodshed.
Clara carefully wiped her new hunting knife on a cloth and sheathed it at her hip. It felt strange and exciting to wear trousers and a hunting knife. If only Emma could see me now! The thought caused a brief flurry of confusion—would her best friend applaud Clara’s daring challenge of societal mores or would she disapprove of Clara’s strange ways? Depending on the day and her mercurial moods, Emma could jump to either side of the argument, a character idiosyncrasy that had inspired many a lively debate between them over the years.
Does it matter? Clara admired the masculine cut of Callie’s feminine form. Emma had never understood Clara’s draw toward women like Callie, nor was she here to experience the wonder of the wilderness. Why should Emma’s opinion matter? The fact was, Emma Whitman’s views had little to do with Clara’s current life. Though she loved Emma, Clara was glad there was no constant reminder of her Boston debutante lifestyle. Here on the frontier, on Callie Glass’s land, Clara had the freedom to be herself without the constant reminder. The sensation liberated her and brought giddiness to her heart.
She helped Callie put the sledge up, tilting it onto its side against the smokehouse to allow any blood or bile to run off and dry from its surface. Then she hooked her arm in Callie’s as they crossed the yard. “This is your second day on the line. How are you feeling?”
Callie arched her back. She massaged the muscles of her lower spine. “A mite sore.” She patted her side. “And I think the bandages have slipped a little.”
“I’ll rewrap them for you before dinner.” Clara hugged Callie’s arm. A week ago, Callie would have backpedaled, hands waving as she hastily explained that she didn’t need any help. It was satisfactory to know that she’d become much more comfortable with Clara’s touch and proximity.
Inside the cabin they doffed their coats. Clara shooed Callie toward her bed. “Off with the shirt. Let’s have a look.”
Dutifully, Callie followed orders and sat down on her bed, She unbuttoned her shirt, face red with embarrassment as she revealed her union suit underneath. Clara lit the stove and started a pail of water to heat. She didn’t need the water for anything, but the activity gave Callie a moment of privacy. By the time Clara turned toward her patient, Callie’s blush had faded. Her shirt lay on the bed beside her and she’d shed the top half of her long underwear. It was a summer set with no sleeves and short leggings, made from linen rather than heavy cotton. Bandages swathed her torso from waist to armpit, twisted and rumpled at the top where the day’s exertions had been too much for the bindings.
“It looks like we’ll have to unwrap them a bit to return them to their place. Do you want to turn around?” Clara fully expected Callie to do exactly that and stepped back to allow her room to stand.
Fiery color returned to Callie’s face. Her eyes remained on the floor and her butt on the mattress as she shook her head. “No need. You’ve seen most the rest of me already.”
Clara froze for an instant that seemed like forever. She’d only seen Callie’s breasts when the doctor had wrapped her ribs that first night at the hotel. Since then, Callie had protected her privacy by presenting her back to Clara when her bandages needed to be changed or adjusted.
“Is that all right?” Callie’s flush deepened.
“That’s…that’s fine!” Clara croaked. She cleared her throat, and dusted her hands off on her hips. “That’s fine. I just…” She trailed off, with a sharp shake of her head. “I’ll just need to…get closer.” She closed the distance between them and began to unravel the bandages. As she did so, she chattered to distract herself. “You haven’t complained much about the pain…not that you complain much anyway. And the cuts and bruises have healed up nicely.”
“Complaining won’t make it better.” Callie wouldn’t look at her, and her jaw was set at its grumpiest level.
“No. But sometimes it feels good to vent your frustrations.” Clara’s concentration drifted away as the procedure slowly revealed Callie’s breasts. The long strip of linen had left angry indentations against the perfect milky skin. Callie’s breasts weren’t large. To Clara, they were the perfect size for her shape, with rosy nipples that peaked when she uncovered them. Clara didn’t know how long she paused, her initial discomfort superseded by desire. She wanted to touch the tender skin, ease its irritation, feel its softness. Did Callie’s nipples feel as hard as they looked? Were they as sensitive as her own? Did they ache for attention? It would be so easy to…
“Clara?”
She smiled into Callie’s pensive face. “Sorry. Woolgathering.” With brisk efficiency, she rewrapped the bandage that hid Callie’s beauty. She didn’t want to give Callie a reason to distrust her, especially after their recent discussion on the trapline, and reminded herself that Callie did not necessarily share her predilection for women. “I have some salve in my things. Perhaps you could rub it into your skin. It may help with the chafing caused by the bandage.” As she tied off the linen, her knuckles brushed against Callie’s warm inner arm, strengthening the urge to caress her.
Callie twisted at the waist to test her bindings with a satisfied grimace. “That would be nice. My back itches something fierce; I’d appreciate an application of salve on my back.”
I’d much rather apply it to your front. Clara blushed at the ribald thought. Her heart raced as she spun and walked away. “You get dressed while I get dinner ready.” Her hands shook as she slapped a dollop of bacon grease into a frying pan. As it warmed, she prepared a simple dough of flour, water, baking powder and salt, tossing in a handful of rosemary to add flavor. A little fry bread to supplement the pot of beans from the day before would make a fast and filling dinner, one that wouldn’t require Clara to pay close attention to her work. The last thing she needed to do right now was chop vegetables. She’d lose a finger for certain. As she diligently focused on the cooking, she heard Callie’s approach.
“Are you all right?”
Clara focused hard on the pot of beans, giving them a vigorous stir. She couldn’t look up. Would Callie be angry, denigrating Clara for her evil thoughts? Clara couldn’t stand that. She forced a brittle brightness into her tone and plastered a smile onto her face. “I’m fine.”
“No you’re not.” Callie leaned over the stove in a failed attempt to catch Clara’s eye. “Was it something I said?”
“Of course not.” Clara tapped the wooden spoon against the pot before setting it on a spoon rest. Callie’s nearness was too much. Clara had only recently discovered her deviant feelings for the woman and had almost made a fool out of herself not two minutes ago. She whirled away from Callie to put distance between them. The tactic seemed to work. She wet a rag and scrubbed the dining table. Clara could see her out of the corner of her eye, no doubt frowning as she crossed her arms over her chest. Goodness! What is wrong with me? I must control myself or she’ll send me away!
“I’m sorry.”
Clara froze, mid-swipe.
Callie did indeed have her arms crossed over her chest, but the frown on her face wasn’t obstinate or confused. Her expression was worried as she stared at the floor.
Clara straightened and swallowed, rag on the table. “What are you sorry for?”
<
br /> “I shouldn’t have…” Callie flushed. She shrugged her shoulders. “You don’t need to rub anything into my back. And I shouldn’t have let you…” she waved vaguely at her bed, “you know, do the bandaging like that.” Her hand returned to cup her elbow as she hugged herself.
She thinks she did something wrong. A rush of dismay neutralized Clara’s embarrassment. “Oh, no!” She laid a hand on Callie’s shoulder. “That was fine. That has nothing to do with—anything!”
The smooth skin between Callie’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you sure? You were fine before, happy even. Then you couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”
“It has nothing to do with you, I swear.” Clara rubbed Callie’s arm. And it has everything to do with you. She was unable to hold the intense gaze. Her heart pounded in her chest. She felt the heat of a flush throughout her body. How could she explain herself and avoid banishment?
Callie pulled away from Clara, circling the table to sit at her usual place. Clara couldn’t help but notice that she’d put the table between them. Was it a conscious effort to build a barrier between them?
“Sit down.”
Clara placed the fry pan on the warming shelf and settled into the chair across from Callie. Her friend examined the tabletop studiously, hands clasped before her. Clara’s worry suddenly blossomed into dread. Was it just moments ago that they had discussed domestic chores and planned a life? This is all my fault. She’s disgusted with me!
Callie sighed. “There’s something I haven’t told you.”
Clara frowned at the apparent misery on Callie’s face. “What do you mean?”
“Something about me, about what I am.” Callie’s countenance became more wretched. One of her fingers traced an aged gouge in the wood surface of the table.
Relieved that this tableau hadn’t occurred because of her reactions to Callie’s nakedness, Clara reviewed her recent memories. She unearthed nothing that could account for Callie’s somberness. Grasping for anything that would cause her friend such distress, she thought, Did she kill Jasper? The idea was horrible and ludicrous, not to mention completely irrelevant to the situation, and she chastised herself accordingly. Something had happened in the last few minutes to have caused this abrupt mood shift; this wasn’t a reaction to or confession of Jasper’s demise.
Callie opened her mouth, closed it, and shook her head. A furious scowl crossed her face. She straightened in her seat. “I’m a tom. A deviant.”
A tom. Perkins had used the same word to refer to Clara at their first encounter. She hadn’t known what it meant then and certainly didn’t now. Thorough mystification quelled her anxiety. “I don’t understand. A deviant? In what manner?”
Familiar exasperation twisted Callie’s expression. “You come from Boston! I thought you knew of these things.”
Choler piqued after the emotional morass she’d recently slogged through, Clara lowered her chin. “Apparently I’m not as experienced as you assume. Please explain the term to me.”
Callie’s ire faded with a flinch. She gathered courage to speak. “A tom. Someone who likes women.” She paused. “A woman who likes women. Like men do.” She deflated as soon as the words left her mouth, sullenly slumping in her chair as she picked at the rough tabletop.
A tom. Is that what I am? Clara’s peevishness faded into wonderment as she discovered a new word that described her. She knew only a handful of terms, words that had become more significant as she’d come to know Callie—lesbianism, tribadism and Sapphism. She’d never heard this slang term before. “How interesting.”
Her intrigued tone garnered Callie’s rapt concentration. “Interesting?”
The implications of Callie’s confession became clearer to Clara. “Indeed. I’ve heard a handful of words to describe what I feel, but never that one.” She’s a tom. I’m a tom. We’re both toms!
Multiple emotions flickered across Callie’s face before it settled into lines of faint annoyance. “Wait, what you feel?”
A burble of hysteria broke past Clara’s throat. “Yes! What I feel!” Excitement and relief made it impossible to remain seated. She jumped to her feet and danced about the table, cajoling Callie to stand so she could take those work-worn hands in hers and reel her around.
Callie lurched backward and away from Clara’s grasp. Clara continued past without her, circling the table with gaiety. “You’ve gone crazy! Stop that!” Callie intercepted Clara, her hands grabbing Clara’s hips to hold her still.
Clara chuckled, and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “I’m not crazy. I’m happy! Ecstatic! Joyous! Elated!” With each word her voice grew louder until she shouted at the low ceiling.
Callie shook her head. “Because I’m a tom?”
“No! Because I think I’m a tom!”
“What?” Callie dropped her hands and took a step backward so fast that she stumbled. She fortunately caught herself on a chair rather than the hot stove.
Clara filled her lungs with the bracing breath of freedom, releasing it as she settled down. She clasped her hands before her, and focused on her skittish friend. “I’ve become quite fond of you during my sojourn here, Callie. I find you attractive, intriguing and quite the distraction.”
“Me?” Callie squeaked.
Clara bowed her head. “You.” The news was an obvious shock to Callie who put the dining table once more between them. Clara didn’t pursue. She hardly expected Callie to feel the same joy. Callie’s life had been fraught with intolerance, forcing her to be ever on the defensive in every situation.
“You think you’re a tom?”
“I’ve suspected for some time.” Clara hugged herself against the need to dance again. Such action would spook Callie. “Women such as yourself have always intrigued and frightened me.”
Callie’s freckles scrunched with her nose. “I frighten you? That wasn’t my intention—”
“It most certainly was!” Clara smiled. “You tried to drive me away from the moment I arrived. Of course you intended to frighten me.”
Callie reddened and gave a sideways nod of acceptance. She sank into her chair as Clara followed suit across from her. “How long have you thought you…liked women? Instead of men, I mean.”
“I read some books two or three years ago with my friend, Emma Whitman. They were about the New Women.” At Callie’s blank expression, Clara grinned. “Women who believe that all women should be allowed to vote, to own property in their own right, to run for public office or attend university beyond the accepted societal courses.”
Amazement fought through Callie’s dismay. “Public office? University?”
“Yes! These women have gathered together to demand the vote—it’s called the Women’s Suffrage movement.”
Callie considered. “I recollect hearing something about that once. Jasper brought home a newspaper and we read it aloud to one another. One of the articles had those words.” She focused again on Clara. “And those women, the Suffrages, they’re all toms too?”
Clara snorted laughter. “No, not all of them. But some of the books I read were a bit more risqué than what you’d expect to find in a newspaper.”
It took a moment for Callie to comprehend. Her mouth dropped open. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” Curiosity ate at Clara. “How long have you known?”
The change in conversation momentarily confused Callie. “I don’t know. All my life, I reckon. I was a laddie boy as a child, running wild and helping Pa around the farm. Jasper left when I was a toddler, so it seemed right to pitch in.” She shrugged, fingers once again finding the wood grain of the table. “Mama tried to teach me my proper place, but it didn’t take.”
“And women? When did you know you liked women instead of men?” Clara pressed.
“About the time I was twelve. There was a girl at school—Adelaide Martin—who meant the world to me. I kissed her once, but after that she’d have nothing to do with me. You?”
“I believe I’ve suspected f
or the last couple of years…” Clara paused, suddenly losing the ability to speak.
“And…?”
You’ve traveled across half the nation alone. You’ve spent weeks in the wilderness. You can trap and shoot and have the necessary funds to build your own homestead if necessary. Don’t back down now. “It was you.” She saw Callie’s startled expression. “I’ve been intrigued by you from the beginning. Everything about you has caught my eye and my imagination.” She swallowed as she dry-washed her hands in her lap, her previous burst of ecstasy and excitement diminished into uneasiness. “I believe it would have been an absolute misery for me to have married Jasper because I can only think of you.”
They sat in long silence, broken only by birdsong and the sound of a steamer whistle down in the inlet.
Frightened that her confession had ensured her immediate expulsion from the homestead, Clara stared into her lap. She’d never spoken ill of Jasper before and didn’t know how well Callie would accept her words. Eventually Callie’s chair scraped upon the wooden floor, a harsh punctuation to the inevitable final confrontation. Her boots thumped closer until she stopped beside Clara’s chair and knelt beside her.
Callie covered Clara’s fidgety hands with strong, warm ones, causing Clara to gasp aloud. Clara felt such a pressure in her chest, making her head pound with the sound of her heartbeat.
“It would have been a misery for me too.”
“Truly?” Clara said, unable to do more than whisper.
“Truly.” Callie’s smile was sad as she reached up to caress Clara’s temple, running the rough pads of her fingers through the dark hair there. The sensation caused a ripple in Clara’s already overexerted heart. “I think it was too late from the first moment I saw you. You’re a beautiful and strong woman. I would have envied Jasper for having you when I couldn’t.”
Her words caused Clara’s eyes to tear. She laughed as she sobbed, cursing her cathartic heart at the same time as she enjoyed the release of tension. Her laughter grew stronger at the stricken expression on Callie’s face, forcing Clara to nearly double over with the guffaws.
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