“Is that where this place is?” She tried to remember the name from her memory of the map.
“Yes, that’s where you are, the Nelson farm was about five miles out to the east. The judge has been buying all the land out that way. Mama said she don’t know why, but there must be a good reason. Mrs. Nelson didn’t want to leave and there was a fight, or something.” She shrugged, as if the mystery of it all was beyond her.
Eleanor went back through it silently remembering what had been said.
Clare leaned forward again. “They hanged the older one for it.”
It had come to pass. Kevin is dead. The young man who’d saved her, like her father, had gone, and it etched another cavern of grief into her soul. Pain lodged inside her and took root. Eventually, she managed to whisper a response. “And Leo?”
The girl frowned. “I think they sent him off somewhere, to jail or to work somewhere.”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
“I’ll leave you to get some more sleep now,” the girl said and closed the door quietly on her way out.
Eleanor rolled to one side and pressed her face into the pillow, but it was a long while before she slept peacefully again
* * *
The doctor removed the bandages and squinted as he examined her. He was a mild-mannered man with bushy eyebrows, a graying-moustache and a friendly twinkle in his eyes. He reminded Eleanor of Lord Brooks. The odd likeness made her smile.
The doctor returned her smile. “Nicely healed, young lady. We can leave the bandages off now. You’ve been lucky, it was a nasty infection. You’re a strong fighter.”
There was a pale bruise on the skin of the right forearm, and a small scar. The left wrist looked well enough.
“Another couple of weeks and you’ll be ready to go on home.” Leaning down, he dropped his voice to a whisper. “You’ll be glad to be out of this place. The local whorehouse in a little town like Clearwater Creek is no place for a nice young lady such as you. If I’m not mistaken, your accent places you from the East Coast someplace.” He stroked his moustache briefly, as if pleased at his own guesswork.
“Further east. England.” Eleanor laughed softly, so unlikely was the conversation. A whorehouse? Of course, she’d gathered as much, but to witness it said aloud was quite another matter.
The doctor’s bushy eyebrows shot up in surprise. “England? You do have family somewhere here, don’t you, dear?”
She nodded, thinking about what he’d said. Yes, she had family, loved ones, people who would be worrying about where she was.
He smiled again, relieved.
“In fact, when you get back to...Fort Bridger?”
The doctor nodded.
“Could you please send a telegraph for me?”
“Yes, my dear, of course I can.” He passed her a pad of paper and a pen from his medical case, and Eleanor scrawled a message for Frieda and Rivers. It took some effort to write, but she wanted to let them know she was safe.
The doctor read over her words, checked the address and tucked the piece of paper into the top pocket of his jacket. “Good, good,” he said, reassured. He put on his hat, bade her good-bye and left.
Bella swept into the room a few minutes later. It was after noon, but she was obviously not long awake. She was wearing a pink robe with lots of frothy lace around its neckline. Her yellow-blonde hair fell down around her shoulders in loose coils, and her clean washed face showed Eleanor that she was a lot older than she’d originally thought, probably in her fifties.
“Now, if you’re feeling up to it, how about a nice bath?”
“That would be lovely, Bella, thank you.” She shifted stiffly.
With some help she got up and stood on wobbly legs. Bella helped her and led her along the darkened corridor outside her little room, down to a fancy, ornately decorated room, with a bathtub in the center of the room, all filled with water and ready. Eleanor eyed the tub and with Bella’s help slipped off her nightgown, then sank into it. Bella left her alone to enjoy the treat and Eleanor soaked a while then washed. If only cleansing the mind of unwanted memories could be as easily done.
“I got another treat for you, Sweetie, if you are still feeling strong enough?” Bella said when she was dressed in a robe.
“Please, call me Eleanor.”
Bella went to the door and called out. “Clare, can you ask Fern to come up here when she can?” Then she said to Eleanor, “Fern does massaging, Sweetie, Eleanor. You know, like they do in Europe?” Eleanor didn’t know what she meant, but Bella carried on as if she surely must, being from England and all. “Well, she can stroke your body back to life, I bet. You’ll soon be feeling better.”
Eleanor looked with curiosity at the woman when she entered the room, for Fern was an Indian woman. She was tall and striking in looks, her blue-black hair tied at the back of her neck. Her face was strong and attractive, with wide bold cheekbones and eyes that reflected light in their darkness.
“Can you give Eleanor one of your nice body squeezes, Fern?” Bella spoke over the edge of her teacup. The other woman nodded.
“Fern don’t say much,” Bella said. “She was a stray, like you, she stayed with us for a time and made this her home now.” Eleanor looked at the woman again, realized she was waiting for her to make a move. She stood.
Fern led her down a big staircase. It was surrounded at the top by a large ornate wooden screen, intricately carved. It closed off the upstairs from the downstairs, where she assumed the customers came in.
The stairs went down into a hallway and to one side Eleanor saw a series of small brass bells, under which plaques were mounted. The names Susie, May, Pearl and Bella, engraved on the small plaques. Fern led her to a room that had a long, low and wide couch in the center, and little else, other than a screen to one side. She stood by the couch and Fern removed her robe for her, hung it over the screen, then guided her to the table.
As she lay out face down, as directed, the woman stroked and kneaded her body, across her shoulder blades and up to her neck, pressing deep into the intricate mesh of bone and muscle there. Tension resisted Fern’s supple fingers, then quickly relinquished.
“That feels good,” Eleanor said over her shoulder, as her whole body eased.
The native woman beamed, her cheeks warming and nodded at Eleanor.
“Soon all this will be gone and you will be happy again,” Fern said. “I know it here.” She put her hand to her heart.
Eleanor could only hope it was true.
* * *
The atmosphere in the telegraph office was stifling – the air was dusty and dry. Rivers watched as the man tapped the message. The glint of the sun on the man’s glossy black visor drew his attention to the window, to the unexpected early spring sunshine outside.
They’d been riding for days. It was time to rest and refresh. He would go and wait for Frieda’s reply at the saloon opposite, then meet the others and find somewhere to stay for the night. As he waited for the man to finish transmitting the message, he looked out the window at the busy street of Salt Lake City. He watched the shifting crowds, hoping to catch sight of a face he knew, the face that occupied his mind and heart. His thoughts were far away when he realized the man was speaking to him again.
“You’ve got a reply coming back through straight away, Sir. It’s coming through now.”
His heart missed a beat. If the reply was on its way already, it meant Frieda had set up a message with the local telegraph office, to be sent as soon as he made contact. She had news. Frieda must have heard from Eleanor.
He watched as the man scribbled the words out, his attention fastened.
ELEANOR SAFE. TELEGRAPH CAME FROM FORT BRIDGER.
TRY TO FIND HER THERE. ELEANOR THINKS YOU ARE HERE. FRIEDA.
At last. Rivers breathed a sigh of relief. She was safe.
Something inside him buckled. Despair had begun to bite into him. They’d found no clues to her whereabouts since St. Joseph, weeks ago.
He paid the man and set off. As he exited the office he grinned to himself. She thought he was there, with Frieda. “I don’t give up on a challenge that easily, my love.”
In the early morning light of the next day the four riders left the city, sweeping up a dust storm behind them as they rode back toward Fort Bridger.
* * *
As the days passed Eleanor grew stronger.
The women of the house welcomed and protected her. When they all gathered together for a meal, she listened as the working girls of the house gossiped about the men who came to Bell’s place. May, Susie and Pearl sat like three different gemstones, sparkling together on a bracelet. Clare was her constant companion, and the young girl was pleased to chat away to her new friend, telling her about the people of Clearwater Creek and pointing out the men who came in to Bella’s place, through the fretwork screen on the landing.
“That’s Charles, he works in the bank,” Clare whispered one day. “Lots of the girls in the town flirt with him, but he doesn’t go with any of them. He comes here and the girls in the town they’re annoyed.” A delighted giggle escaped her.
Eleanor peeped through the wooden screen at the figure below, letting Clare’s amusement and curiosity infect her. Her spirit was slowly healing.
As the winter truly turned to spring, Eleanor had settled into her routine.
Then, one day, as she stood pressed against the screen with Clare whispering at her side, Bella came along the corridor.
“Clare, I told you to go study today, how are we ever gone to make a lady of you, if you stand there gawking at folk all day? You go on over to the store, then I want to find you reading those books I bought for you.”
Clare scuttled off with a sulky expression on her face.
“That girl is getting far too interested in what’s going on downstairs,” Bella said to Eleanor. “I’m going to have to start thinking about her future soon. She’ll be sixteen in a couple of month’s time, I don’t want her to spend her life here the way I have. She’d make a fine ladies’ maid, I reckon.” She shrugged, then flounced down the stairs into the hallway.
As she did, the front door swept open and she turned to greet the man who entered. Eleanor turned away and followed Clare into the sitting room.
“I want to go out with you,” Eleanor said, as Clare picked up a basket and the money her mother had left for her. Clare looked surprised. Eleanor hadn’t been outside since she’d arrived in Clearwater Creek.
“Well, all right, if you’re sure you’re ready.” She seemed pleased at the unexpected company and Eleanor was ready.
They stepped out into the bright sunlight of the street and Eleanor shielded her eyes, looking around with interest. She knew the street from the hazy filtered view through the lace curtains in her room, but it was strange and unreal to be standing in the place she’d only seen from up there, and in the distant distorted memory of her first arrival in the small town.
They walked across the dusty street to the large general store, some thirty feet away from the house. As she stepped through the door behind Clare, she looked around eagerly at the vast piles of goods on display in front of her, glad to be out again. There was a long wooden counter at the far end where the shopkeeper served a customer. Clare passed amongst the shelves, tinkering with things that weren’t on her list.
As Eleanor looked around, the door opened and a man walked in and went over to the customer at the counter, taking the woman by the arm and greeting the shopkeeper with a cold remark. He was well dressed, but he had a mean set to his features. As he passed Eleanor coldness swept up in her bones.
“The judge,” Clare whispered, drawing closer.
The coldness turned to ice and froze Eleanor to the spot. She forced herself to turn and look at the man again. As she did, he led the woman from the counter, his arm hard under her elbow. The woman looked frightened and there were dark shadows on her gaunt face.
When they’d gone, Eleanor trailed after Clare around the shelves and eventually to the counter where the lady shopkeeper stood. Eleanor’s mind had leapt into activity, addressing buried thoughts.
“Howdy, Clare, who’s your friend?” the shopkeeper said, giving the two a broad smile, now the shop was empty.
“This is Eleanor Craven. She’s staying with us. Mama says she’s a lovely visitor ‘cos she helps out in the kitchen.”
Eleanor blushed, and the shopkeeper laughed.
She poked about under the counter. “Bella’s order came through from Salt Lake City, you know, that silk she was after.” She pulled a package out and checked its contents.
Eleanor whispered to Clare, “Was that the judge’s wife?”
Clare nodded silently.
The shopkeeper looked up from the package she was checking through. “That poor woman, no bruises this week but she had a real bad black eye last month.”
Eleanor wondered if she understood her statement correctly. “He beats her?”
The shopkeeper nodded, subdued and the three women retreated for a moment into themselves, thinking of the absent woman.
When they returned to the house, Eleanor went to her room and sat quietly. She confronted thoughts she’d ignored for too long. This sighting of the judge had truly awakened her. A dark, determined longing for resolve took root inside her. For the next couple of days, she was absorbed with those thoughts, floating about at her chores in a state of confused concern, a conflict between past and present.
“I wonder who they are,” Clare said and nudged Eleanor, who was deep in thought.
Eleanor peeped through the screen.
Four men stood in the hall below. Susie and Pearl chatted to them, eyeing them eagerly and flashing conspiratorial looks at each other.
Eleanor found herself captured by a familiarity of pose in one of the men.
She looked closer, gasped and stepped back, for she thought for a moment that the man was Rivers. Rivers? Here, in Clearwater Creek?
“It can’t be him,” she murmured, wondering if madness finally had a grip on her. She blinked. Rivers was right there, dressed in dusty riding clothes and holding his hat in his hand. His familiar body was propped on the banister at the bottom of the stairs.
Eleanor’s heartbeat sped, her breathing becoming erratic.
She walked away from the screen, pacing, to calm her frantic responses. Part of her wanted to run down and throw herself into his arms and hold him, the other part wanted to run away and hide. There didn’t seem to be an imminent reconciliation between the two reactions to his presence.
“What is it?” Clare said, concerned at Eleanor’s sudden change of mood.
“Hush,” she replied, her finger against her mouth. She walked back to the screen in time to see him disappear into Fern’s room. She closed her eyes and tried again to think clearly. She still couldn’t believe it was him. She had to know for sure.
After a few moments she followed and peeped in through a crack in the door
He was lying on the couch stripped to the waist, his face turned away from her. The couch – the very couch where her own body had lain before.
Eleanor crept into the room.
Fern looked at her curiously.
Eleanor’s gaze swept the strong line of his back. His muscled arms were folded under his head, his hair thrown back to one side. As she drew alongside the table, she realized he was dozing, his breath slow and rhythmic, and smiled to herself.
Fern stared at her as her hands moved over the man’s shoulders. There was a question in her eyes. Eleanor spread her hands above Fern’s and waited for a second, indicating she wanted to take over. Fern reinforced the question in her eyes. Eleanor put her hand over her heart, and nodded to the prone man. Fern smiled and nodded.
As Eleanor lowered her hands to his back, Fern lifted her own, touched her friend gently on the arm, then crept over to the door and left them alone.
Rivers. Her heart ached and swelled in her chest.
His hair had a film of dust on it
and she moved her hands up to his neck, to move the strands of hair that lay there. There was stubble on his chin. His silver chain that he wore brushed her fingers as they passed over it, causing her to smile again. It truly is him.
The feeling of his solid ribs, cloaked in hard, firm muscle, mesmerized her. She absorbed the look of his hipbone as it rose up in a dramatic plane against the table. His body was strong, hard and desirable. Eleanor wondered if she could stay this way for ever, her hands roving his body, he at rest in her loving embrace.
Something deep within her demanded more though.
She wanted to hold him; she wanted to draw him close against her and inside her body. She wanted to feel his strength united with her again. She wanted to love him, physically, toward a deep and long-awaited fulfillment.
“I love you, Rivers,” she whispered.
Yes, she loved him and she was wet with desire for his body.
She loved him. Her heartbeat the message in her ears, loudly.
It was undeniable.
Chapter Nineteen
The Hunter Disarmed
Rivers stirred and moved his head slightly.
I love you too.
He was exhausted but still his dreams were full of Eleanor.
He saw her standing on the landing at Oaklands in her wispy nightdress, then she was in his arms and he was holding her naked body against his, the two of them basking in the golden afterglow of their lovemaking. He ached for that feeling to be real again. A gentle kiss touched his shoulder blade, another rested on his spine. He smiled and let himself slide back into the dream. A subtle movement lifted his body. He rolled onto his back, but dozed on.
“Rivers, my love,” she whispered.
He looked at her hazy form, softened by the muted light from the window. It was such a glorious dream.
She unbuckled his belt, stroked his abdomen gently, her finger trailing down into his groin, where he was hard with desire. Then she stripped off her simple dress and petticoats, and climbed up to straddle his hips. He stirred, adoring the way she looked – ethereal, her image appearing through the haze of the afternoon sun hovering all around her.
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