by Merry Farmer
But he’d made a promise to at least try to be a good husband to Callie until they reached Denver City. She waited for his answer with so much expectation that he had to answer, “Of course.”
The two of them left their buckets and jugs by the front of the bushes and picked their way along the uneven stream bank behind. There was a bit of a hill there, and John sat to rest and keep watch while Callie took off her skirt and blouse.
It was odd watching Callie undress. He hadn’t so much as looked at another woman since Shannon died. He shouldn’t be staring, but Callie was pretty. She had such pretty, thick hair and a fine, womanly shape. Any man would be taken with the smoothness of her skin, the round swell of her breasts and hips. And he was about to marry her. As her husband, he had every right to see a lot more than just her chemise and drawers. In fact, he had a right to—
What was he thinking? He cleared his throat and lowered his eyes to the water, face heating with shame. He had no more right to look at her than any of the miners did. Their arrangement was temporary, whether she knew it or not, and Shannon….
He closed his eyes. Sometimes it was hard to remember what Shannon looked like. Their time together had been so short.
“Why don’t you come in too?” Callie asked as she waded into the stream up to her knees, dragging him out of his thoughts. “I highly doubt anyone is going to take our things and you really do look like you need to cool down.”
He frowned, thinking about the prospect, not moving. One dip in a stream to cool off and clean up wasn’t going to break any vows or desecrate any memories.
He leaned forward to take off his shoes and socks, and when they were off, he stood. Callie turned back to the stream as he removed the rest of his clothes and his glasses. He didn’t care if she saw him in his drawers—there wasn’t much to see since he’d let himself fall out of shape—but maybe she didn’t feel the same way.
Callie waded farther out, until the water was up to her waist. John followed her in. The current was firm and steady, and the water was so blissfully cool. Callie dunked her head under when she reached the center of the stream. A moment later, she surfaced, breathing in deeply as the water sloshed around her. The sight left John warmer than he should have been. Callie pushed the wet hair out of her face and reached up to undo her braid as she turned around. She wore a smile bright enough to cut through the gloom around his heart.
He cleared his throat and waded out into the stream where she was. What was he thinking, tempting himself into enjoying the afternoon as he was? He was in mourning. The summer heat must have baked his brain.
“You’re right, the water is lovely,” he said with a vague half smile. Conversation would help him fight off the inappropriate feelings creeping up on him.
“Duck into the water, it’s even better.” Her shoulders shimmered just below the surface. As soon as her hair was free, she leaned back and floated.
“You can swim?” John squatted until the water was up to his chin. Cold water was just what he needed to stifle his body’s rebellious reactions to Callie, his sudden fiancé.
“Mmm hmm.” Callie stopped floating and put her feet down. “We had a pond near our house in Bethlehem. Everyone used to go swimming there in the summer. Well, the kids mostly, but Greg occasionally took me back when we were older. How about you?”
He took a breath, settling. “I grew up swimming in the ocean.”
“The ocean? I thought you said you lived in Independence.”
“I’m from Boston originally,” he confessed. “We lived just an hour away. My brother and I used to ride out together on Sundays when our family’s store was closed.” He began to relax for a change, letting the current swirl around him. It was… nice.
“You have a brother?”
He nodded. “Richard.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Oh, a year and a half ago at least.”
“That must seem like forever.”
He considered that statement, lifting a handful of water and pouring it over his head, scrubbing his face. It had been ages since he’d thought about home. “I wrote to him when we lived in St. Louis. I wrote to him when Shannon died.” He paused, waiting for the tidal wave of grief to hit him. When he only felt a fleeting twinge of sadness, he said, “He knows I moved to Independence, but I didn’t send him a letter before making this trip.”
“Why not?” Callie flushed a charming shade of pink. “Sorry for being nosey.”
“No, it’s all right,” he reassured her. “I… I wasn’t in the best state of mind when preparations were being made or when we were starting out. I figured I would write to him once I was settled in Denver City.” It was true enough. He intended to send Rich a note explaining his decision to take his own life. It had seemed like the best way to reach out to his brother one last time, to ask forgiveness. Somehow that notion felt distant, almost callous, today.
Callie nodded as if she understood. “Do you have any other siblings?”
“Three older sisters,” he said.
“Three?”
“Magdalena, Anna, and Jocelyn. My father wanted to keep trying until he got a son. Then my brother and I were born.”
“You’re twins?” He nodded. “Are you identical?”
He shook his head. “No, Rich is much better looking than I am.”
Callie burst into a sly grin, but didn’t have a comment to go along with her look. John found himself prickling to know what she thought. Not that it made any difference what she thought of the way he looked. Still, his heart beat a little faster. It must have been the rushing of the stream.
A small silence fell between them. Callie leaned back to float again, swishing her hands through the water as the current started to move her. John dipped his head under the water and floated a bit as well. There was something deeply pleasant about drifting. He’d been drifting for months now, but not like this.
Downstream, John caught sight of Lynne and Cade. They were in each other’s arms now, kissing. A tug of longing pulled at John’s heart. Shannon would never have let him kiss her in public like that. But somehow it wasn’t Shannon who the kiss downstream brought to mind. Would Callie expect shows of affection like that? Would he enjoy kissing her?
He stopped his thoughts before they wandered. He could drift, but he couldn’t let himself get carried away. He had a plan. He would stick to it.
“Was Greg your only sibling?” he asked to restart the conversation. He put his feet down to anchor himself.
Callie did the same. “Yes, it was just the two of us.” She smiled. “Greg is… was older than me by five years. My mother lost two babies between the two of us and I think one after me, although she didn’t like to talk about it.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “Mother never had the best health. She was graceful and delicate and she caught cold easily.”
“Do you favor her at all?”
“A little. I’ve been told I have her eyes. Hers were the same blue. But honestly I look more like my father. Actually, I have an aunt, Josephine, Papa’s younger sister, and people always used to think I was her daughter, though she’s only in her thirties.”
“Were you close?”
“As close as we could be. Aunt Josephine lives in Philadelphia.”
“How does she feel about you moving out West?”
Callie laughed, swishing her arms though the water. John swallowed the tickle of near happiness the sound of her laughter sparked in him.
“Aunt Josephine was dead set against it,” she said. “She’s what they call ‘opinionated.’ She wanted Greg to ‘be a man’ and join the Union army. But Greg was a pacifist, and he wanted to be a pioneer.” She sighed, shoulders drooping. “I’ll have to write Aunt Josephine a letter telling her everything that’s happened.”
John reached out and took her hand under the water. Just took her hand. There were no words to go with the gesture. It said enough on its own. He knew what grief f
elt like. She squeezed his hand back.
“John, do you want a family?”
He thought carefully about her question. There was no point in answering truthfully. It would only frighten her. But if he hadn’t already made up his mind to go be with Shannon….
“Yes.” He gave the answer he would have given before. “I think I would. I like children. But we don’t have to think about that, not yet.”
Their eyes met. She trusted him. Guilt washed over him, along with the rushing water of the stream. She would be disappointed when he was gone.
But he couldn’t think about that. Not now.
“It’s getting late,” he said with a weak smile. “We should get back to the wagons. We have a wedding to attend.”
Chapter Four
The wedding was to be a quick affair in the office of the commander of Ft. Kearny. Callie went off with her friends to prepare while John put on the cleanest suit he had, shaved, and brushed his unruly hair as best he could. He had no ring to give her. Shannon had been buried wearing hers, and he wouldn’t have felt right giving it to another woman anyhow. Still, Callie deserved something.
He was searching through the boxes he was transporting to Denver City when Finch approached him and slapped a hand on his back.
“I suppose I owe you congratulations,” Finch said. He smiled, but his words came out as a growl.
John closed the lid of the crate beside him and faced his rival, working to keep his expression neutral. “Callysta chose to ask for my help,” he said. There was no sense beating around the bush.
Finch’s brow rose. “Callysta, eh?”
“That’s her given name.”
“Well I’ll be.” Finch’s smile widened, like a snake about to strike. “You’re a lucky man, John. Callie’s a fine catch. A fine catch indeed.”
“She’s a sweet and gentle woman,” John answered. He balled a hand into a fist at his side, out of Finch’s sight. Not that he would be any good at using it if the man crossed the line.
“I’m sure she is.” Finch brushed off his statement. “And I’m sure you’ve seen the contents of her wagon by now. Does she have as much in there as I think she does?”
Indignation swelled up through John’s gut. “I don’t think it’s any of your business, Mr. Finch.”
“Oh, come on now.” Finch winked. “I bet you’re just as eager to build a little something for yourself with Greg Lewis’s fortune as I was.”
John stood straighter. “It’s not your concern. Now if you would excuse me, I have a wedding to prepare for.”
He attempted to walk away, but Finch followed him.
“Getting married by the commander here?” he asked.
John huffed out a breath. “Yes.”
“Don’t you think Callie deserves something a little… holier than that?”
John paused and turned to face him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Finch shrugged, suave and charming once more. “I just think that if you’re going to do this right—and I know, I know, she chose you, but that doesn’t mean I’m not concerned for her—if you’re going to do this right, you should have a man of the cloth marry you.”
As much as he wanted to reject the idea out of hand and move on, Finch had a point. No woman dreamed of being married by a military commander. It seemed like an oddly thoughtful suggestion, considering the source.
“I’ll ask Callie,” he said. He gave Finch one last hard look before walking away.
Callie was beside her wagon with Lynne and Emma. Her friends were fussing over her while Callie fingered the lace shawl Lynne held with a dubious frown. As he approached, Lynne whisked the shawl behind her back.
“It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, Mr. Rye,” she said, her expression happy and mischievous. At least someone found some joy in this wedding.
“I’ll only be a minute,” he promised her, then turned to Callie. “Can I ask you something?”
Callie glanced to Emma, then him, pink spots forming on her cheeks. “Of course.” She stepped away from her friends and walked with him a few yards away. “I’ll understand if you’re thinking of changing your mind,” she said, eyes lowered.
“What? No, it’s not that,” he insisted.
Of all things, she seemed relieved. Once again, he hoped he wasn’t leading her into disappointment.
“I’ve had a thought,” he said, standing straighter and ignoring Finch within the line of his vision behind Callie, several wagons down. “Would you prefer to be married by a man of the cloth instead of the fort’s commander?”
Callie blinked, considering. She shrugged. “I suppose that would be nice. But the only minister nearby is Reverend Joseph.”
They turned in unison toward the wagon train. Reverend Joseph sat with a group of miners. He appeared to be preaching to them, or at least talking with wild gestures. The Bible he carried fell out of his one hand and landed with a thump in the dirt. He scrambled to pick it up as the miners guffawed.
“I suppose it would be charitable to give the man a chance to carry out a successful ceremony,” Callie said, chewing her lip.
She was being generous. The sermons Reverend Joseph had given so far on Sundays left a lot to be desired. They were a far cry from the masses he’d attended at home in Boston.
“It’s your call,” he told her.
Callie took in a breath. “I think it’s only right to ask.”
To John’s surprise, the awkward young minister said yes, although it took a little prodding and ribbing from the miners and from Finch. Callie seemed pleased enough with the decision, though, and within an hour the two of them gathered with their friends in the shade of the cottonwood trees that marked the boundary of Ft. Kearny.
Reverend Joseph stumbled through a few passages from the Bible, using a smaller, thinner one instead of his own that he’d dropped earlier, then got straight to the point.
“Do you, John Rye, take this woman, Callie Lewis—”
“Callysta Lewis,” John corrected him.
“Um, yeah. Right, right. Callysta Lewis, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
John remembered candles and incense. He remembered the Latin blessing that had been spoken over him and Shannon. He remembered Shannon’s fiery red hair, but he couldn’t remember the shape of her nose.
“I do,” he said with a catch in his throat. At least for now.
“Good, good.” Reverend Joseph nodded and turned to Callie. “And do you, Callysta Lewis, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Callie met John’s eyes with a blend of resignation and determination. She would do what she had to do to survive. Knowing that brought a smile to John’s face. He admired her more than she would ever know.
“I do,” she stated firmly.
“Then by the power invested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife,” Reverend Joseph finished up the ceremony. He’d forgotten half of the vows and fumbled through the rest of it at best, but John supposed it was good enough for God. “Oh. You may kiss the bride.”
A hitch caught in John’s chest. Callie stood before him, her eyes full of shy expectation. It would do no harm to kiss her. Just a little. She was his wife now. Shannon would forgive him. He leaned into her, taking her hands in his, and touched his lips to hers.
A rush of warmth spread through him. There was nothing passionate or romantic about the kiss, but it was still a promise. Callie softened under his touch, so trusting. He found himself lingering longer than he should, surprised by the taste of mint on her lips, the warmth and the gentleness with which she met him. He wanted to slide his arms around her, hold her close to see how she felt against him. His heart thumped in his chest as if it had forgotten how.
When he stepped back, Callie’s friends were clapping. Emma wiped a tear from her eye and turned bright red when Dr. Meyers noticed and smiled at her. Cade watched Lynne with a look of admiration that only a blind man could misinterpret. Elton Finch, who had actually had the ner
ve to show up for the ceremony, smiled as though he had gotten his way after all.
None of it penetrated past one simple fact in John’s mind. Once again, he was a married man.
In all of her fanciful childhood dreams, Callie had always imagined her wedding day would be full of flowers and cake and family. She had imagined herself wearing a beautiful dress adorned with rosettes, a garland of rosebuds in her hair, with her father or Greg to give her away. The reality of the day was that after the strange and short ceremony, she and John returned to their wagons to make sure their animals were fed and watered. After that, Callie took their laundry down to the river to wash. It was all decidedly uneventful.
Except for their kiss.
She had forgotten in the rush that the groom kisses the bride once they are pronounced man and wife. She hadn’t had time to worry about whether John was a good kisser or whether he would want to kiss her at all. Their marriage was hardly built on love, after all. But he hadn’t flinched. He had moved close enough to her that she could feel the heat of his body. He’d held her hands. His lips were gentle against hers, not demanding, not insistent. He hadn’t lingered too long or done anything inappropriate, and yet when he had stepped away, she felt bereft. After one kiss.
And then came their first night together as man and wife. Of course nothing of an intimate nature could actually happen with the wagons packed so close together. The nearest they were able get to privacy was to have the underside of John’s wagon curtained off with burlap, like a tent, so that the two of them could sleep in relative seclusion. They stayed in their own bedrolls with a foot of grass and a mountain of grief between them, a lamp burning low above their heads, casting shadows.
“Thank you.” Callie smiled at her new husband as she rested her head on her pillow.
“You’re welcome,” he replied. She had yet to see him smile beyond a brief twitch of his mouth.
Everything was dark except for a stub of a candle between them.