Blue Moon

Home > Other > Blue Moon > Page 5
Blue Moon Page 5

by Jill Marie Landis


  They were such small things, his offering her the gown and the lovely shawl, being kind enough to ask if she would be all right while he was gone. Without warning, her eyes smarted. When hot tears filled them and his image wavered, she tried to hide how much his show of concern had moved her. Instead of looking at him, she concentrated on the surface of the clear water shimmering in the tub.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said softly. She listened for him to leave before she remembered that his footsteps rarely made a sound. Looking up, she found him still there, framed in the open doorway.

  “I won’t be far off. If anything … if you should need any help, just holler and I’ll hear you.”

  Her throat was too thick for words. All she could do was nod as he left her alone. The door closed with a hollow sound behind him. Olivia sat there staring and found herself picturing him there, tall and silent, watching, always watching her as if she were some strange, exotic creature he had found in the swamp, one that he had absolutely no idea what to do with. That in itself astounded her and kept her thinking of him long after he was gone.

  Noah shared his pirogue with two beaver carcasses and a green-winged teal that had landed to rest and preen on the bow.

  “So, duck,” he whispered, “would you like to hear about a man who keeps making a fool of himself?”

  The duck looked over at him, took wing and left the pirogue bobbing just enough to barely ripple the water.

  “Not interested?”

  Noah stretched but made no move to pick up the paddle, content to sit in the shelter of the trees, close enough to the treehouse to hear Olivia should she call for help. As he had predicted, the rain had stopped shortly after he left but he still tarried in the open, unwilling to return before his guest had a chance to finish bathing. If he walked in and found her even in the slightest state of undress he was certain that his heart would stop and he would keel over. That, or explode.

  Since she was feeling up to bathing, he reckoned she was one step closer to traveling. As soon as he went back, he was determined to bring up the subject of her leaving, one she had not broached since the morning she’d demanded he take her out of the swamp and then fainted dead away.

  He sighed and stared down at the dead beavers. One had drowned in the trap on the edge of the swamp. The other had nearly been cut clean in half when the sharp jaws of the trap slammed closed. He hated killing but he did it in order to survive, never taking more than he needed for food and trade. Today he was just thankful to have caught something. Now, having the beavers to skin and new pelts to cure would keep him busy. He could only hope that the work would help keep his mind off Olivia.

  She had been with him almost four days and he still knew next to nothing about her or how she came to be on Heron Pond. He was beginning to think he never would. There was a hunted wariness in her eyes, one he had seen often enough in the creatures he tracked and trapped. She seemed content to keep her silence, and he suspected it was most likely to protect herself from whoever or whatever had driven her into the swamp in the first place.

  He could not help wondering what she was running from or why she was headed to Shawneetown. Was she going home or running away? Would anyone welcome her? Was anyone searching for her?

  He had been to Shawneetown once, picked up a flatboat and piloted it down the Ohio to Cairo. Not much to the town then except the saline mines that were nearby.

  A water moccasin swam toward the boat, leaving a spiraling trail behind it through the duckweed before it veered off. Not enough to take his mind off Olivia.

  Could she sense the hunger she aroused in him? Was that why she was so cautious and kept so very quiet? Was that why the wary, haunted look never left her eyes? Or was it his face? Did the long scar and the eye patch keep her ill at ease?

  She was disrupting his life. He could not think of anything but her. Nor could he sleep or eat more than a few bites. She filled him up, his mind, his senses. Her smallest movement had him sitting bolt upright out of a deep sleep, listening to see if she was having another nightmare, waiting until she settled back down, wondering what he should do if she did not. Her softest sigh claimed his complete attention.

  He had to send her on her way before he went insane. It was past time. She was on the mend. Her color was better now. Her cheeks had flushed bright pink when he brought in the bath. The glow had made her green eyes sparkle. How much more beautiful would she be once she was clean and dressed?

  Noah took a deep breath, blew it out again and picked up the paddle. He had given her more than enough time to bathe. The storm had passed and the sun had broken through the remaining clouds. He bent at the waist and pulled the paddle through the water toward him. Poking the long paddle into the water to steer the light craft was second nature to him. The pirogue moved along, creating barely a ripple and hardly more than a soft splash. As he headed back home, Noah was sure the pounding of his heart was making more noise than his paddle.

  Noah drifted the last few yards to the base of the huge tree, slipped a rope around a knobby cypress knee that grew two feet out of the water and climbed out of the pirogue. He was reaching in for the beaver when he paused, arrested by the sound of Olivia humming a song. The tune drifted down through the leaves and branches of the tree, light and charming as a caress, teasing him, coaxing him to hurry back.

  He held onto his hat and leaned back far enough to look up, and then he saw her—sitting on a stool she had carried out to the porch, perched near the railing in a stream of sunlight, wearing his mother’s old dress and the shawl his father had brought from a place far, far away. She was bent over brushing her dark, heavy hair with her fingers, stroking it over and over, untangling the wet curls, letting the warm spring sun dry it. Noah’s breath caught. The sight held him, made him feel like a thief as he stood there stealing more than a glimpse of her private moment.

  The melody of the song teased his memory. His mind searched for remnants of the notes hidden somewhere in a corner of his mind where bits and pieces of his childhood lingered. Shaking off the urge to watch until her hair was dry and she went back inside, he forced himself to move instead.

  Noah tied the beavers together by the legs, slung his burden over his shoulder and let the animals hang against his back. He took his rifle in the same hand as the rope and then started up the crude wooden steps nailed to the tree. When he was halfway up she sang the chorus aloud and the words came rushing back to him along with the rest of the tune. Without thinking, he began to whistle along.

  “Fa-la-la-la, Fa-la-la-la-la, Fa-la-la-la, Fa-la-la-la.”

  He whistled all the way up the ladder as the words flowed merrily through his head, their meaning nonsense at first; a miracle really, that his mind could recall them from so very long ago.

  “Soldier, O soldier, a-comin’ from the plain / Courted a lady through honor and through fame / Her beauty shone so bright that it never could be told / She always loved the soldier because he was so bold / Fa-la-la-la-la …”

  When his head cleared the edge of the porch, Noah stopped abruptly. Olivia was no longer singing. She was still seated on the stool, her dark hair clean and partially damp, flowing around her shoulders. His mother’s butterscotch doeskin dress covered her completely except where the open neck skimmed her collarbone and her forearms showed at the ends of the short sleeves. Her bare toes and ankles were revealed beneath the fringed hem. The shawl had slipped, draped itself over the crooks of her arms.

  He pulled himself up until he was standing on the porch. She grimaced when he dropped the beaver carcasses on the wooden deck, so he picked them up again and carried them around the corner out of sight. When he came back, she was standing with one hand braced against the rail that surrounded the porch. Her slight figure was almost lost inside the dress. He took in the rest of her. Dirty, she had been lovely. Clean, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.

  In that moment he knew that he could stand there forever just for the privilege of watching
the sunlight shimmer on her hair, to see the soft breeze lift the ends of her flowing curls and tease them around her shoulders. To see her stand there and look back at him made his head swim and his mouth go dry. Surely his physical reaction had nothing to do with her. Surely there was something else wrong with him, something behind this strange surge of longing, the overwhelming need for something elusive and far more than he had ever wanted out of life before.

  Olivia seemed hesitant to step away from the rail. Why would she dare move, he wondered, with him standing there staring at her with his one good eye like some kind of a madman? The only way to break the spell was to concentrate on anything but her.

  “The dress and shawl were my mother’s,” he said abruptly.

  She ran a hand over the smooth doeskin. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Not fancy.” He felt as if his throat were closing up and could not get more than two words out.

  “Still, it’s very nice. It feels like velvet. The shawl is wonderful.”

  “You look better.”

  He almost told her she looked beautiful.

  He was no saint, just a flesh-and-blood man, and right now his flesh and blood were taking over his rational thought. If the whore down in New Orleans had not laughed in his face, if he had ever had a woman, maybe he would not be standing here salivating over Olivia Bond, wondering what it would feel like to take her in his arms and make love to her. As it was, he could only imagine how it would be to run his hands over her smooth skin, to wrap himself in her long hair, to bury himself inside her.

  His heart was thundering in his chest, his blood hammering at his temples. He was either going stark raving mad with desire or coming down with some terrible disease.

  He forced himself to concentrate. Her color had faded except for two bright spots high across her cheeks. It was a moment or two before he realized she was starting to weave. Without thinking, he went to her, slipped his arm around her waist, felt her sag against him.

  She smelled of soap and sunlight and fresh air. Her hair was as soft as down. Holding her, he felt weightless, as if moving through a dream. A glance at her face, suddenly so near, and he saw her thick sable lashes flutter.

  He held her as they walked back into the cabin, kept his arm tight around her waist. They stepped around the wash-tub. Near it there were still small puddles of water on the floor. He imagined her standing naked in the barrel, splashing water over herself, kneeling with water beaded on her skin as she washed her long hair. There was a tightness in his loins, a very loud pounding in his ears. He did not release her until she was lying on the bed again. He drew away from her slowly and stood back. His arms felt empty. Quickly he turned away and went back outside to get her some water; he came back in with a mugful.

  He waited until she had taken a few sips and then asked, “Are you all right?”

  Olivia nodded, frowning with concern. “I got a little dizzy all of a sudden.”

  “You’re still weak on your feet, is all.”

  “Surely I should be feeling better by now.”

  “You’re moving about more every day.”

  She laced her fingers together, looking at them, then back up at him. “Why are you being so kind to me? I can’t possibly repay you.”

  “Why?” He was confused by her question.

  She sighed. “You have been nothing but kind and I … well, I don’t—” Huge tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She quickly brushed them away, but not before one plopped on the bodice of the doeskin.

  Noah watched the droplet widen into a small circle as it soaked into the soft leather.

  “Don’t cry.” He didn’t mean for the words to come out as harsh as they sounded.

  Immediately she looked over at him and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” That, too, came out as a harsh command. At a complete loss, he paced over to the table and sat down on a stool and watched her, wishing he knew something, anything of dealing with women.

  • • •

  Olivia tried to stop her tears. She was unused to such kindness. Noah LeCroix was quickly proving to be more honorable than any man she had ever known.

  She put her hand to her temple and rubbed it slowly. Her head no longer ached as badly as before, and she really had felt stronger until the light and woozy feeling had come upon her so suddenly, surprising her as much as Noah’s rush to her side.

  She had expected him to grab the stool she had carried out to the porch and shove it under her, but he had slipped his arm around her. Instead of recoiling in fear of his touch, she had experienced a breathtaking sense of security, a quiet sense of peace, almost as if she no longer had to battle alone to protect herself. The comfort of such a feeling had reduced her to tears.

  And more, she had known the flush of desire, the need to be held by Noah LeCroix, which had come as more than a shock. After what she had been through, physical attraction to a man was something she had been sure she would never, ever feel.

  Confused, frightened by her feelings, she knew she had to get away from here, from him, from what being alone with him was beginning to do to her.

  “I shouldn’t be here. I have to go—”

  “You’re safe here,” he assured her.

  Her throat closed. She choked back a sob. Being safe was a dream that had evaded her for so very, very long.

  “Don’t do that!” For the first time, he raised his voice and spoke to her sharply. Noah stood up and began to pace, tracking through the water she had splashed on the floor.

  She tried to stop crying, to wipe away tears as fast as they could fall.

  She licked a tear off the corner of her mouth and watched him grow more and more uncomfortable until finally he turned to her again.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I’m no good at this.” He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. Then he stopped pacing and stood beside the bed. “You want more water or something?”

  She shook her head.

  “Are you hungry?”

  She began to hiccup down sobs. Olivia buried her face in her hands and shook her head no. She held her breath as she tried to pull herself together. He was getting more agitated the more she cried. Finally, when she thought she had herself under control, she looked up at Noah. He was still there at her bedside, his hands clenched into fists. She tried to smile, managed half of one, and saw him relax a bit.

  “That’s better,” he muttered, sounding more perturbed than relieved. “Listen, I’ve got those beavers to clean.”

  She knew she would be seeing the back of him soon. He had the look on his face she had come to recognize, the one he always wore right before he walked out.

  “You’ve been so good to me. I wish there were something I could do to repay you.” She had nothing to give. No coin, no worldly goods. Nothing but herself, her body. Certain that the idea came from some dark, soiled corner of her soul, she was appalled at herself for even thinking it, knowing full well that before she had been torn from her family, she had been so innocent that such a thought would never have crossed her mind.

  “I can cook for you,” she said, recalling her old life. “I can clean and sweep and straighten things for you.” It was a meaningless offer, for he appeared to be quite self-sufficient.

  “You don’t owe me anything. I wasn’t about to leave you out there alone to die in the swamp. Anyone would do the same.”

  “No.” She shook her head, quite certain of it. “Not everyone would help a stranger, especially a woman alone. Not everyone would be so kind. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  He turned away. “I don’t guess you’ve run into too many half-breeds with one eye.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  He still looked as if he wanted to leave, and yet he tarried.

  “What is it?” Olivia asked.

  “You could clear up one thing for me, if you would.”

  She nodded, knowing what he was going to say. When he spoke, the request came
as no surprise.

  “You can tell me what you were doing lost out here in the first place. You didn’t just fall out of the sky.”

  There was so much to tell, mostly things she did not want anyone else to know, but she could tell him some of it; she owed him that much.

  “I was traveling to Illinois from Louisiana with an English family, Stanley and Polly Marlborough, and their baby daughter. I met them in New Orleans and in exchange for the privilege of traveling north with them, I cared for their little girl.”

  As her story slowly unfolded, her tears were replaced by her lingering outrage at Stanley Marlborough. Noah walked to the table and pulled out the remaining stool, sat down and continued to give her his attention.

  “Around noon of the day you found me, we stopped the oxcart along the trail and had taken our midday meal and rest. Polly and the baby were asleep in the shade of a hickory tree and I had decided to walk to a nearby stream to wash up a bit and clean the eating utensils.”

  Olivia paused long enough to reach up and tuck her hair back behind her ears, then she gathered the shawl close. Outside, the birds seemed to be pouring out all the singing they had been denied during the rainstorm. The gentle breeze was still blowing the last of the clouds away, but inside the cabin the air was still. Noah watched her in silence and waited patiently to hear what she had to say.

  “I had just wandered down to the stream when Mr. Marlborough came up behind me, grabbed me by the arms, turned me around and pulled me up against him.” Remembering, she reached up and touched her fingertips to her mouth. “Before I could scream, he covered my mouth with his. I tried to pull away.”

  Lost in the memory, she fell silent, seeing it all over again. Then she shook herself and continued. “Finally, I managed to pull away from him and started running, through the water at first, right through the streambed. I ran up the bank on the other side and did not look back. I didn’t notice the forest growing more dense until it was too late and I had turned down a trail that led into the swamp. I was afraid to look back, afraid Mr. Marlborough might be searching for me.”

 

‹ Prev