Just Once
Page 32
“This is preposterous.”
“Yep. But knowing Jemma, she sets store in this kind of thing, along with saints, and angels.” He prodded the man’s flesh to elicit an answer. “Your blessing, sir.”
“Take her. Get her out of my life. Do you think I want her around after you’ve had her? She’s ruined.”
“That’s not quite a blessing, O’Hurley.” Hunter rubbed the blade along O’Hurley’s thick neck.
“Take her with my blessing then. Just get out and leave me alone.”
Hunter relaxed the knife, but not much. “I need one more thing.”
“Just as I thought.”
“I want you to call off the guard in the hall so I can go into Jemma’s room.”
“If you’re after money—”
“That’s the last thing I want from you, O’Hurley. In fact, the way I hear it, I’m the only prospective groom Jemma’s ever had that you didn’t have to bribe.”
“What do you want?”
“Take me to her room.”
Hunter let O’Hurley up. Dressed in a rumpled nightshirt, his calves and ankles exposed, the man padded down the hall on bare feet. He sent the slave to bed and ushered Hunter into Jemma’s room. While Hunter looked around, O’Hurley walked to the bed, pulled aside the mosquito net and sheet, and saw the pillows.
“I told you I had her already.” Hunter was standing near the little altar table covered with candles in odd-shaped glasses.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking these with me.” One by one, Hunter took down the twenty-two miniature paintings of saints. He ordered O’Hurley to strip the quilt off the bed. Even in the semidarkness, he recognized Nette’s handiwork and recalled the long hours one winter that he had sat in her cabin watching her stitch it together. When the man handed the patchwork to him, Hunter carefully packed Jemma’s saints inside.
“Now, you stay put. Count to two hundred. By that time, I’ll be gone.” Hunter started out of the room with his precious bundle, paused in the doorway and turned around. “I meant what I said, O’Hurley. You ever try to hurt Jemma again, and I’ll see to it that you regret it. Believe me, I don’t plan to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.”
Chapter 22
Sandy Shoals, November 1817
The wedding took place beneath the trees on the bluff above the river.
Devon Childress officiated and, dressed in his finest black coat, he looked every bit the preacher. Lucy stood in attendance, proudly wearing the new pearl earrings Jemma had given her. The girl’s eyes shone with love for the young reverend and with her happiness for the bride and groom. Nette put her Cherokee pipe away for the occasion, but continued to grumble right up to the last minute about the rudeness of “some folk who just show up and want to get married without givin’ a body time to fashion a decent wedding quilt.”
After the vows, everyone walked back to the tavern, where Hunter announced to the few travelers in attendance that food and drinks were on the house for the day.
“Are you happy?” He stood beside Jemma in new buckskin pants and a shirt she had hand-decorated with embroidery during the long keelboat trip upriver.
She smiled up at him and nodded. “I’ve never been happier. Everything was beautiful.” She watched Lucy, who was seated beside Devon at a table across the room. The rest of the family sat there crowded together, laughing and talking. For the first time in a week, no one was paying attention to the bride and groom.
“Lucy sincerely wants to marry Devon, you know, Hunter, and she’s not about to take no for an answer.” Jemma nestled closer and leaned against him.
“She’s too young,” he said with finality.
“No younger than Hannah was when she married Luther. You’ve got to let her go or she’ll run away.” Jemma turned and slipped her arm around his waist. “You don’t want her to end up like me, do you?”
“I want her to be happy.”
“Then give them your blessing,” she urged.
“But he wants to take her to Texas.”
Jemma just smiled and waited expectantly.
“All right. I’ll tell her tonight,” he said.
“Tell her before the party ends, please.”
Hunter sighed, a dramatic, long suffering sigh. “If you say so. But don’t think you’re gonna boss me around for the rest of our lives.”
“Just the first hundred years or so,” Jemma laughed.
Luther left the group at the table and joined them, after admonishing Junior not to wrestle with Little Artie inside the tavern. The two boys ran outside and Luther shook his head as he watched them go.
“Congratulations again, brother.” Luther raised a tankard of beer in salute.
“Thanks for standing up as best man,” Hunter told him.
Luther sobered. “It’s too bad Noah couldn’t even bring himself to come to the wedding. I know he’s up and around, because the other day I saw him from a distance setting some traps down by Hickory Creek.”
Jemma looked at Hunter, who nodded. Then she told Luther, “Noah was here. From where we stood on the river, we could see him in that copse of trees directly behind all of you. He was watching from the shadows. At the end of the ceremony, he waved and then blended back into the forest.”
Luther shook his head. “It’s a shame what happened to him. Just before the accident he was sweet on Lucy, or so Hannah tells me. Noah must be feeling pretty low.” Luther took another swig of beer and reached down to keep little Sadie from running into the corner of the table.
“Lucy will be marrying Devon,” Jemma told him as the little girl ran up and hugged her around the knees. She bent down and lifted Sadie up onto her hip. “As soon as they can find a preacher.”
“Luther, did you remember to bring that bundle I left with you?” Hunter smoothly changed the subject. As far as he was concerned, Lucy could marry the preacher, but he didn’t have to like it yet and he certainly didn’t want to stand around talking about it.
“What bundle?” Jemma wanted to know.
Luther ignored her. “Hannah had to take Callie home to change her dress after she spilt cider down the front of it. They’re bringing it over.”
“What bundle?” Jemma asked again.
“Sort of a wedding present,” Hunter told her.
Sadie was playing with the brass heart hanging from a ribbon around Jemma’s neck. “I thought we agreed not to exchange gifts,” Jemma reminded him.
“This isn’t really a gift,” Hunter said, glancing toward the back door. Callie came skipping in with her braids flying behind her. Hannah followed with a bulky brown-paper package. Jemma turned to Hunter.
“What have you done?”
“You’ll see.”
He reached out and took Sadie from Jemma as Hannah walked over to them. Everyone in the family watched as Jemma went over to the table and set the package down. Across the room, Big Artie was serving liquor at the bar. At another table, five men who’d arrived that morning on a flatboat played cards, oblivious to the Boones’ wedding festivities. A few other travelers were looking on, enjoying a free meal.
Jemma pulled the string and opened the crackling paper wrapping. Inside was the Honey Bee quilt that Nette had given her the day she left Sandy Shoals. She ran her hand over the patches and minute stitches.
“Did you make another one, Nette?” Jemma could only stare at the pieced quilt that had required hours of work and planning.
“Nope. That’s the same one. Signed and dated on the back,” Nette said, her lips closing on the pipe stem as she puffed out a cloud of tobacco smoke.
“I left this behind at my father’s house.” Jemma turned to Hunter. “How did it get here?”
“Unfold it,” he urged.
“But—”
“Go on.” He nodded at the quilt. Sadie had lost interest in pulling his long hair and was struggling to get down. He set the little girl on the floor and she ran off again.
Jemma folded back t
he first layer, then one more. Nestled inside the quilt were each and every one of the paintings of her saints.
“How did you ever get these?”
“Let’s just say I went on a little adventure the night you ran away from home—for the last time, I might add.”
“But—”
“I know how much they meant to you and I didn’t want you to have to leave them behind. Besides, I figure where we’re headed, we might need more than just the one saint along the way.”
“Where are we headed?” She wrapped the pictures up in the quilt and planted her hands on her hips. “We just got here a few days ago.”
Hunter drew her up against him and crossed his arms in front of her. She leaned back while he bent his head and spoke softly against her ear.
“During my travels I found this pretty little valley on the upper Missouri. Plenty of water, good grazing land, and a view of forever. In no time at all, steamboats will be heading all the way upriver and I figure there ought to be somebody there to sell those travelers all the things they’ll need. Not much out there but wide open spaces right now, though. What do you think?”
Jemma turned in his arms and kissed him right in front of the preacher, their whole family, and even the strangers in the room. When they parted, most everyone was laughing. She spoke just loudly enough for him to hear. “I think it sounds like a grand adventure. When are we leaving?”
“After we’ve taken some time to practice kissing and a few … other things.”
About the Author
JILL MARIE LANDIS’S twenty+ novels have earned distinguished awards and slots on such national bestseller lists as the USA TODAY Top 50 and the New York Times Best Sellers Plus. She is a seven-time finalist for Romance Writers of America’s RITA Award in both Single Title and Contemporary Romance as well as a Golden Heart and RITA Award winner.