“D’you think they could still be following us?” she whispered through chattering teeth.
“No.” He mouthed the word against her ear. From his very stillness she knew he was listening.
“Why did we cut through the settlement instead of going around?”
A long moment passed before he answered. “They expected us to take the road. Your friend might even have told them that’s what we were planning.”
The meaning of his words sunk in slowly. Would Varnelle have done that? Eleanor didn’t want to think so, but the woman was half-Miller. Her allegiance must surely lie with her family. Besides, even Miss Lucy, matriarch of the secretive, obsessive clan, recognized the dangers of too much inbreeding.
“What do we do now?” she asked, pressing her back against his reassuring warmth. Except for a few scattered drops, the rain cut off as suddenly as it had begun. A faint iridescent glow marked the position of the moon as the clouds moved off to the northeast.
“We cut across that low ridge up ahead until we’re clean out of sight of the valley, then we find a dry place and rest until morning.”
A dry place to rest until morning. It sounded like heaven. No matter how tempted she was to simply slither to the ground, fall in a heap and let the mud keep her warm while she slept, she knew they had to get as far away as possible. If the dogs tired of chasing chickens, they might pick up the trail.
“I hope none of the chickens got hurt,” she said, knowing that some might even have given up their lives for her freedom.
“I expect they’re all safe for now. What are they, fryers?”
Well, she thought—that put things into perspective. “I’m ready whenever McGee is.”
“How about it, fellow? The lady’s ready to move on.”
An hour later, well clear of the last of the outlying farms, they crossed a low, thickly wooded ridge. The rain had stopped some time ago, but the air was still damp. And cold. From nearby came the sound of running water.
“Cave would be nice,” Jed said. Hands on her hips, he steadied her for a moment, then slid down and led the horse under the shelter of a stand of black gum trees. Eleanor sat like a lump on the creature’s back, bereft without Jed’s arms to support her, his warm thighs no longer cradling her hips, but too tired even to attempt to slide off.
Moving unerringly in the darkness, he lifted her down. “Don’t try to walk yet. Give yourself a few minutes.”
“I think it must be the color of your eyes.” Her voice was flat with weariness. Leaning her head against his chest, she said, “Dark absorbs light. I think I read that somewhere.”
“Mm.” He held on to her for a moment until she no longer swayed on her feet. “You all right now?”
She nodded, then, in case his light-absorbing eyes hadn’t seen her, said, “I’m fine, just fine. Thank you.”
Unexpectedly, he laughed aloud. It was the last straw. When she burst into noisy tears, the laughter ended abruptly and he caught her to him again, rocking her in his arms and murmuring soothing sounds against her wet hair. “Easy now, it’s all right, you’re going to be just fine.”
“I know, I know,” she sobbed. “I don’t know why I’m acting like a baby, I’m just so…”
“So relieved to be free,” he finished for her, and she nodded, her matted hair tangling in the buttons of his shirt.
It took both of them to untangle her, too many fingers for true efficiency. Lacking light, she was ready to ask him to cut her free when the last snarl was freed.
“There now, no harm done,” he said, sounding so endlessly patient she felt like bawling again.
“To think I could have done this months ago,” she said bitterly.
“What, tied yourself to my shirt?”
“Asked Varnelle to help create a distraction. Instead, I kept sneaking away and getting caught. Over and over. Did I tell you that?”
“Over and over,” he said solemnly.
Her watery chuckle was weak, but it was better than weeping. “Lord, I’m hungry,” she whispered. “And cold. And wet. And tired.”
“Whoa, one thing at a time.” He used the same soothing tone of voice on her that he did his horse. She might have resented it if she’d had the energy.
He led her several feet away to an overhang that felt almost dry. “I’m going to collect enough wood to build a small fire, then we’ll see about something for supper.”
“Breakfast.”
“Mm.”
It probably was closer to morning, she realized. The night wasn’t particularly cold for a late-spring night in the mountains, but they were both soaked to the skin. At least she had a dry change of clothes. Jed had nothing.
She made out two pale shapes suspended from a dead branch. The pillow slips. Her monogrammed linen pillow slips edged in Cousin Annie’s tatting, that had spent countless years in Annie’s hope chest before being transferred to her own.
The wet pillow slips.
“Well, damn blast it all to hell,” she muttered just as a load of kindling was dropped at her feet.
“Not enough? I can find more, but I thought we could get started with this.”
“Not that—that’s wonderful. Where did you find dry wood on a night like this?”
“Deadfalls. What were you cursing?”
“My dry clothes. They’re all wet.”
Without comment he knelt and built a small pyramid of sticks over a bundle of dried grass. She could barely make out the shape of his white shirt as she inhaled the subtle masculine scent of his body, taking comfort from his nearness. It occurred to her that in any wilderness, on the darkest night, she would have felt safe as long as this man was near.
Which told her something, only she wasn’t quite sure what it was. Probably be better off not knowing, she admitted silently. It was hard to be rational under the circumstances.
Arms wrapped around her knees, she shivered as she watched him arrange a circle of rocks around the kindling. When a tiny flame flared larger, sent up a shower of sparks and began to blaze, she asked wonderingly, “How did you do that? I didn’t hear the sound of flint striking flint. Was it a—a fire stick?” She had once seen a demonstration utilizing string, a stick and a wad of dry grass to spark a fire.
He chuckled. “You might say that. I dipped a few of your sulfur matches in melted paraffin before we left.”
His laughter warmed her even more than the thought of a roaring fire. “Jed, are you sure we’re far enough away to be safe?”
“Any luck, they’re still searching along the old wagon road. Probably stopped off at Alaska’s cove to refuel before they set out after us.”
The tiny fire popped and snapped as the kindling caught up. Eleanor untied her wet shoes and slipped them off, then peeled off her soggy hose. Cupping her bare toes, she tried to warm them with cold hands.
As light from the fire spread in a larger circle, she noticed that Jed was barefoot, too. “What happened to your moccasins?”
“Fell apart while I was tracking down lightwood.” He tugged a few scraps of shaped buckskin from his pocket and tossed them on the ground. “Don’t reckon I’ll ever be a cobbler.”
They spoke of inconsequential things while Eleanor wondered how a bitty little fire could keep them warm until the sun rose again. She hated to complain, but she was freezing and starving, and what’s more, she had no idea where they were or where they were going, much less how long it would take them to get there.
He’d said he was taking her home with him. She didn’t even want to think about his family’s reaction if he showed up with a dirty, bedraggled stranger. From what little he’d said, she gathered they weren’t at all close.
What if he changed his mind and left her somewhere along the way? “This Foggy Valley place you mentioned. Is it very far from here?”
Without answering, Jed moved over to where McGee stood, snorting occasionally, but otherwise apparently content. He returned a moment later with a bundle rolled up in the remnants of his
buckskin coat. “Bread, cheese and the last two eggs.”
“Oh, my mercy, my hens! They’ll starve!”
“I doubt that. Once the sun’s up, I expect there’ll be a steady parade up the hill, claiming everything you left behind. That includes your chickens.”
Jed produced her small boiler, filled it from the nearby creek, dropped in the two eggs and set it near the edge of the fire. “About where we’re going,” he said, settling down on the other side of the fire. “I think I told you this before—it’s a few miles from where Cane Creek flows into the Broad River. Fifty, sixty miles or so from where we are now. Maybe more.”
In other words, she thought, discouraged, we might be lost in this wet, cold wilderness forever. She didn’t know what to say. At least he’d brought her this far. She was no longer a prisoner.
“I reckon the dictionary’s ruined,” he said, sounding so wistful she was ashamed of her own lack of gratitude.
“We could dry it, but it would take forever and even then, some of the pages would probably stick together.”
They were talking about a book when they were lost in the mountains, miles from civilization? When she was wet, cold, hungry and destitute, totally dependent on the dubious hospitality of strangers?
“Eat a biscuit and some cheese,” he said. “You’ll have to wait until we’re done with the boiler to drink.”
Before they’d left she used up the last of her flour, knowing they would need food on the road. The cheese was moldy, a rind she’d been saving in case mice invaded the cabin again. Using the paring knife, he peeled the blue fur from the outside and divided the sliver that was left into two small squares.
“Oh, for a handful of dried apples to go with it,” she said.
He was sitting cross-legged on the other side of the fire. “Or apple dumplings.”
“Or roast beef and potatoes.”
“How about fried squirrel with baked sweet potatoes?”
They went on naming their favorite foods while they munched cold biscuits and nibbled the hard cheese. Then Jed emptied the pan, refilled it from the creek and they took turns sipping cold water while they waited for the eggs to cool. Eleanor said, “Should we save them for tomorrow?”
“We’ll do better than that tomorrow. You need food tonight to keep you warm.”
She needed more than food, but she didn’t see any point in saying so. Her quilts were back at the cabin. She’d thought about bringing them along, but they’d both had enough to carry. Besides, they’d have been soaking wet by now, and would probably weigh a ton.
But if Jed thought he was going to sleep on one side of the fire while she slept on the other, he was sadly mistaken. Body heat, she had recently discovered, was the best kind of all. Soothing and exciting, all at the same time.
“Oxymoron,” she said.
“Damn, I’m sorry that dictionary got ruined.”
It was a game they had played before, once she’d discovered how inadequate his education was and realized that instead of being sensitive about it, he was determined to fill the gaps.
She told him what the word meant. He thanked her gravely and handed her a warm egg, freshly shelled.
“How far do you think we’ve come?” she asked after she’d finished half her egg.
“About four miles, way I figure it. If I pace him just right, McGee can do five on flat ground before he starts wheezing.”
“Then why did we stop?”
He looked at her across the fire, his eyes impenetrable. “Because you needed to stop.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. How any man could be so kind, so gentle, after being treated the way he’d been treated, passed all understanding. She remembered the first time she’d been on the receiving end of Devin’s temper. He’d tripped over a keg of nails, sprawling on the ground in front of the shed, scattering cut nails all over the ground. Hearing his curses, she’d come racing out of the house to see what had happened. When she’d tried to help him to his feet, he had struck her a glancing blow and blamed her for leaving the keg in the middle of the shed, as if he hadn’t unloaded it from the wagon and left it there himself.
Never even apologized for it, either.
She had since learned that among the Millers, women were always the scapegoat for anything that went wrong. She had rejected the role and made no bones about it. After that, it had never happened again, at least, not to that extent.
“We’d better try to get some sleep,” Jed said, offering her a last drink of water. “I’d like to make an early start tomorrow.”
“How long do you think it will take?”
“Less than four days if we make good time.”
Four days. Walking most of the way, probably, because McGee couldn’t be expected to do all the work. He had done the important part last night. He’d gotten them clear of Dexter’s Cut.
“There’s some good roads farther north, but we’d lose too much time cutting across to reach them.”
“Railroads? Isn’t the Carolina Northwestern supposed to be laying more track through the mountains?”
“I’d like to avoid using the railroad. Personal reasons.”
“Just as well,” she said sleepily. “Neither of us could afford a ticket.”
“Oh, I reckon I could get us aboard all right, but McGee might be a problem. Can’t leave him behind. See, I already told him about George’s south pasture, and he’s been looking forward to it. New strain of grass they’re trying out.”
“Yes, well…” She yawned once and then again, barely managing to cover her mouth in time. “Can’t disappoint McGee, can we?”
Jed waited several moments before replying. “I just hope you’re not disappointed. It’s not a fancy place, El—not like you must be used to in Charlotte.”
She’d told him about the house where she’d grown up—the house she had inherited from her cousin. The house Devin had sold to buy mining equipment. Whenever he heard of any new invention in mining technology he’d been eager to try it, convinced that only the antiquated equipment was keeping him from discovering the mother lode.
She yawned again, and Jed said, “Bless you.”
“That’s for sneezes.”
“Bless you anyway. Time to go to sleep.”
She would simply have to trust him, Eleanor told herself, remembering the last time she had trusted a man enough to follow him into the wilderness.
Chapter Fifteen
They slept cupped together, with Eleanor facing the fire and Jed curved around her back. The ground was hard even though he had padded it with leaves, moss and fir boughs. The clean, resinous smell helped, but no scent could make up for the ridges and rocks underneath, or the cold that crept up from the ground. Toward morning Eleanor woke and wondered if it could have snowed in the night. She was half-afraid to open her eyes until the increasing urge to relieve her bladder became too pressing to ignore.
Jed was already up. She had missed his comforting warmth against her back, which explained why she’d grown so cold. On the far edge of the small clearing near the creek, he was doing something with McGee’s makeshift bridle, talking softly to the horse. Other than nipping occasionally at his backside, McGee ignored him.
A bright sun glinted off a sea of wet leaves. The fire had been rekindled and several strips of what looked like bark simmered in a pot of water, sending up fragrant clouds of steam.
Eleanor sat up and yawned, filling her lungs with fresh mountain air, her spirit with sheer optimism. Someone— Jed, of course—had spread her clothes out on the bushes to dry. Ordinarily she would have been mortified to see the stockings she’d worn yesterday and the ones she had packed, along with her two petticoats, all her bloomers and her best flannel nightgown, all spread out for anyone to see.
Today there was no room for embarrassment. “What is that wonderful smell?” she called out, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“Sassafras. Best I could do. Can you drink it without sugar?”
“I’
m sure I can, but first…”
“Right over there.” He gestured to a thick clump of laurel farther upstream.
Gratefully, she hurried away, picking her way carefully over the slippery ground. Dexter’s Cut was miles away on the other side of the ridge. From here, there wasn’t a sign of smoke other than their own. Filled with sheer, unreasonable relief, she felt like singing back at the birds. “I hear you, mockingbird,” she whispered. “Repeat after me.” And she whistled softly the first few bars of her favorite Sousa march, not at all surprised when the bird flew away.
A few minutes later she knelt beside the creek and prepared to splash her face with the icy water. Catching a glimpse of her reflection, she tried to remember whether or not she had packed her comb and brush. She recalled setting them aside to pack, but had she ever actually done it?
If not, Jed would simply have to shear her like a sheep. She wasn’t a prideful woman, but she did have standards. The thought of turning up uninvited on the doorstep of Jed’s family in filthy, ragged clothes with her matted hair filled with all manner of leaves and twigs simply would not do.
“The salt’s melted, but I can drizzle a few drops on your fish if you’d like. Watch out, it’s hot.”
“My fish?” Forgetting all about her matted hair and her rumpled dress, Eleanor could only gape at the magician who had managed to produce a feast from nothing at all. “Remind me if I’m ever lost in the woods again to be sure to take you along.”
“I’ll remind you,” Jed said, his eyes lending added significance to the words.
They ate quickly because they were hungry, and because there wasn’t much, and because they needed to be on the way. Eleanor pulled on her dried hose and reached for her shoes. Jed had cut the tongue from each one and carefully positioned it over the holes in the sole.
She could have cried. Dear, thoughtful man, how did I ever survive without you? she wondered. How am I going to survive once this journey is over?
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