Morgan had his work cut out for him in getting Rilla to want to stay married to him.
~~~~~
Rilla lay staring at the wall. It wasn’t her unease about Morgan being angry at the teasing that was keeping her awake. He’d made it clear he wasn’t when he hugged her. It was the hug, and the use of the endearment ‘honey’ that was. More than those it was how good it felt to be held against his chest. That wasn’t what she wanted. She was going be a Pinkerton agent and learn all she could then, between cases, she’d do all she could to help women whose husbands abused them. Having a husband herself didn’t fit into those plans. There was not a man who would allow his wife to come between another couple. Even one where the wife’s life was at stake.
Rilla had to admit, though, that she had felt secure and safe within the shelter of his arms. Both times. The relief and security that had come over her when she was in Morgan’s arms at her escape from Leroy had taken her breath away. Tonight, when he reassured her that he wasn’t upset with the teasing brought a sense of acceptance and safety she’d not felt since her mother’s death when she was fifteen.
She was lying as close to the edge of the bed as possible without danger of falling to the floor. Rilla didn’t want the chance that she might roll over and seek Morgan’s warmth as the night progressed. That had happened every night they were forced to sleep in the same bed. With a deep sigh, Rilla allowed herself to drift into slumber.
Rilla woke unable to breathe. The room lit briefly when lightning struck nearby. The boom came quickly. Something was wrapped around her constricting her chest.
“Please, Lord, let someone find me. I don’t want to make it through the war just to die in this river.”
Morgan’s arms tightened even more around Rilla when another flash of lightning lit the room followed by an immediate crack of thunder.
At least she was facing him. “Morgan,” Rilla whispered. When he didn’t rouse, she raised her voice. “Morgan, please wake up. It’s storming.”
“Here, I’m here.” Morgan raised his arm waving it in the air. At least she could breathe now.
“Morgan, wake up.” Rilla lifted her now freed arm and placed her hand against his cheek. “You’re not in a river. You’re with me in Stones Creek. You’re safe. You were rescued.”
His body gave a great shudder and he rolled onto his back, one arm still under her body. When she would have moved away, Morgan tightened his hold and drew her against his side. Rilla didn’t resist. For some reason she needed the comfort of him just as he did her.
After a long series of deep breaths, Morgan lifted his arm and laid his hand across his eyes. The storm was moving away, though lightning still lit the room and low rumbles followed the flashes with greater distance between. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s okay, Morgan. I’m more concerned about you and your nightmares than being woken up.” Rilla laid her hand on his chest without thinking.
Morgan moved his hand from his eyes to grip her hand. “Thank you. I hate these nightmares. They only come when there’s a storm. It’s the thunder that brings them on.”
Rilla didn’t say anything, not wanting to cause him to quit telling her about them.
“The sudden booms sound like the explosion.” He took another deep breath making his chest lift their clasped hands.
“Explosion?”
“You don’t want to hear this.” Morgan tried to pull away, but Rilla moved to grip him, keeping him close.
“I do. It’s distressing for you to have the nightmares. They must bring back an awful time in your life. Have you ever told anyone about them?”
“No.”
“A burden shared is a burden lessened. My mother always told me that.”
Morgan heaved a sigh, relenting. “I was a prisoner of war in Castle Morgan near Selma, Alabama. When we were released we were sent to Vicksburg, Mississippi so we could be sent home. We were loaded onto the riverboat Sultana heading north.
“They’d overloaded the boat so badly, the floors sagged and creaked so much we thought they might break. With no room inside for so many, most of us, including me stood on the decks. There wasn’t room to sit or lie down. Hardly room to move around.
“The river was having the worst spring flood ever. Some places only the tops of the trees could be seen above the water. I don’t know if you’ve ever been in or even seen a flooded river, but the currents are strong, there’s lots of debris, and there can be whirlpools that suck everything under. The riverboat wasn’t making much progress upstream.
“We’d left Memphis and taken on coal in the middle of the night. Shortly after we set off, there was an explosion. One of the boilers exploded, then the other two, I learned later. I was thrown overboard and landed in the river.
“I swam away from the burning boat and caught onto the branches of a tree sticking up out of the water. I held on so I wouldn’t be pulled downstream. I knew I didn’t have the strength or stamina to swim to shore. I was too weak from being in the prison camp.
“I watched as the smokestacks fell. One went forward and the other backward. People were jumping into the water, clinging to each other and anything that wasn’t burning. The Sultana was engulfed in flames and drifted downriver. I heard it sank near Mound City, Arkansas.”
Morgan stopped talking. Rilla waited for him to go on. When he didn’t she asked softly, “How were you rescued?”
“A steamboat, the Bostona, was going down river and came along. I heard it was about an hour after the explosion, but it seemed a lot longer. The water was freezing. I clung to that tree. When I saw the lights coming, I started yelling. Other men were too. I couldn’t see them but figured they were in the trees too.
“When the Bostona, got close, they heard us and began rescuing us out of the water. I didn’t think they’d ever get to me. I just kept praying. We all did. We were so cold. Wet. I’ve never shivered so hard in my life. There weren’t enough blankets, so we huddled together, sharing, under whatever part we could.
“They took us to Memphis, to hospitals. I was there for a couple of weeks. I was able to send a telegraph to my folks. Someone, I don’t know who, donated the money so I could send it. My folks wired money so I could get home.”
Rilla held Morgan to her. What a terrible experience. It was no wonder he had nightmares triggered by thunder. She lay there pressed up against him. Neither one spoke. Rilla wondered what she could say that would help in any way. She couldn’t think of anything. She remembered the book of Job. His friends spent seven days just sitting silently next to him. That’s all she could do. All she would do until he spoke again.
Slowly, Morgan’s breathing changed, softened, became more regular. Rilla snuggled her head against his shoulder. He’d fallen asleep. Soon she did the same.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
RILLA HAD JUST finished arranging her hair when Morgan entered the room. He’d been gone when she woke up. That was typical as he was up earlier than her and went to check the horses. She turned from the mirror and was drawn into a hug.
“Thank you,” Morgan said against her hair. “Normally, I can’t sleep after a nightmare. Last night I did. I think telling you about it did lessen the burden.”
“I’m glad.” Rilla hugged him back then stepped away. It seemed she’d spent a lot of time being hugged by him in the last few days. She didn’t want to admit to herself how much she enjoyed it. “Are you ready to get some breakfast before we search out Mr. Jacob Owens?”
“Yes, I am. I’ve checked on and helped feed the horses. Jack is giving the stable owner some problems. Seems he doesn’t like the stall he’s in. I checked his hooves. He’s got a loose shoe. We’ll need to get him re-shod before we leave town.” Morgan stepped aside and allowed Rilla to precede him through the door.
They crossed the street to the café, the smell of baking bread and frying bacon beckoning them in. There were two rooms which were open to each other by a large archway. To the right was a ba
kery, its glass cases full of breads, cakes, cookies, and other tantalizing treats.
Rilla wanted to go in and study each offering, but Morgan’s hand on her back directed her to a table. Unfortunately, she couldn’t see in the bakery from where she was sitting. Once they were finished with their breakfast, she was going to satisfy her curiosity and most likely her sweet tooth.
“Good morning, welcome to the Stones Creek Bakery and Café.” The tall dark-haired woman poured each of them a mug of coffee. “Today’s menu is on the board there.” She pointed to a slate on the wall with the items available written in chalk. “I’ll be back in a moment to take your order.”
Rilla looked over the list and grinned. She wasn’t going to have to wait to sample something from the bakery. On the slate was ‘Mother Lee’s Iced Cinnamon Roll.’
Just as the waitress came back to their table, the door opened and a little girl of about nine-years-old entered. She ran up and began talking, “Mama, Pa says you aren’t to lift anything heavier than a plate today. No bags of flour, tubs of lard, or cans of milk. If he finds out you have, he’s going to tie you to the bed until the baby is born.”
Everyone in the dining room began laughing. A voice from the kitchen called. “I guess he told you, Chloe. You best do as you’re told. We’re shorthanded since Sally’s gone with her sick young’un.”
A stout negro woman came out of the kitchen with a plate holding one of the cinnamon rolls Rilla was interested in. “Lil-Pen, you sit yourself right down here and eat this. I’ll wrap some up for your pa and Dunc,” she said, pulling out a chair at an empty table.
“Almeda, don’t encourage her.” Chloe turned to her daughter. “You know you are not supposed to fly in here and interrupt like that.”
Lil-Pen took a big bite of the roll and began talking while she chewed. “Pa told me to. He said it was the only way you’d do as he said. He wanted witnesses just in case he has to go through with his threat.”
A red-faced Chloe turned her back on her daughter and focused her attention on Rilla and Morgan. “Pardon the dramatics. Now, what would you like?”
“I’d like one of those rolls, with lots of icing, please, and bacon.” Rilla smiled up at Chloe. She noted the slight bulge of her waist.
Morgan ordered a large breakfast of eggs, pancakes, bacon, and fried potatoes.
Almeda, who was standing next to Chloe, patted him on the shoulder. “A man just like my Thomas. Likes a good hearty breakfast. I’ll get that fixed right away.”
When the women were out of sight in the kitchen, Lil-Pen moved from her chair to one at their table. “I don’t know you. Are you new in town? I’m Lil-Pen McIlroy. My mama owns the café with Aunt Almeda, and my pa is the blacksmith. My brother is apprenticing with him. His name’s Dunc.”
Morgan smiled at Lil-Pen. “We’re just passing through. What’s your pa’s name? I’ve got a donkey needing a shoe.”
“McIlroy,” Lil-Pen said around another mouthful of sweet roll.
Rilla grinned. “Does he have a first name?”
“I don’t think so.” Lil-Pen twisted her mouth in thought. “He probably does, but I think I only heard it once. It was at the wedding. I can’t remember more about it but that everybody laughed.
Chloe came from the kitchen with plates of food along her arm. “Lil-Pen, you aren’t to disturb the customers.”
“It’s fine, Mrs. McIlroy. We are enjoying her company,” Morgan said as Chloe set several plates in front of him.
Lil-Pen looked at her mother with her head tilted. “I think Pa would say that’s too many plates for you to carry. I think he’d tie you to the bed if he saw you.”
Chloe set the last plate in front of Rilla. She tapped Lil-Pen on the nose and said, “Well, we just won’t tell him, will we?”
Morgan choked on his bite of pancake when Lil-Pen looked up at her mother and said, “Well, I’m sure I won’t tell if I can have another cinnamon roll with lots of icing.”
~~~~~
Morgan hid a grin when he heard Rilla mumble, “If I’d known it was going to rain, I would have come to town dressed as Riley.” They were crossing the street after breakfast at the café. The street was mud and she’d groused about it as they’d gone from the hotel to the café, but it seemed to be bothering her even more now.
The Cutler General Store was just past a dressmaker’s shop. Morgan didn’t hide his smile when Rilla stopped and looked at the garments in the window. He leaned down and whispered, “It’s a good thing you came as Rilla, because Riley would never pay any attention to a woman’s dress shop.”
“I suppose not, but he wouldn’t care about muddy boots and have to mind the hems of his skirts as he walked either.” Rilla shot an elbow back at his stomach as he was standing behind her.
“No, I suppose not.” Morgan took the elbow and drew her forward with it. “How about I be the gentleman and clean your boots for you once we finish our business and you are back at the hotel? You can stay there while I get Jack shoed.”
Rilla nodded and allowed him to open the mercantile door for her. She swept in with all the airs of a queen, after flashing him a cheeky grin and saying, “Rilla can look at anything she wants in the store and no one will think it odd.”
Morgan chuckled and followed her in. He left her looking around and approached the counter. There was a post office sign above shelves of cubbies against the left wall.
“Good morning, how can I help you?” The man behind the counter was just above average height with broad shoulders.
“Good morning,” Morgan returned the greeting. “Do you have a letter for Mr. Jacob Owens?”
“I believe I do. It came a while back. You must have gotten delayed on your way to Stones Creek.” The man shuffled through the box marked ‘General Delivery’ and found the letter. “Here you go, Mr. Owens. I’m Ben Cutler.” He held the letter out to Morgan as well as his hand to shake.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Cutler. Mr. Owens is my wife’s father. He was to be here with the railroad, but took a tumble and broke his leg. We volunteered to retrieve any mail that was coming to him here.” Morgan heard a slight cough come from behind him and knew Rilla was on his lies about Mr. Owens.
Since they’d registered at the hotel as Mr. and Mrs. Morgan Weston, he had to continue using their real names. If there was any talk around town of them after they left tomorrow morning, the names had to be consistent. Besides, he was proud to have such a lovely and talented wife. He hoped to keep her in the position.
“Morgan, dear, I do believe I could use these. Mine are in terrible condition.” Rilla laid a pair of leather riding gloves on the counter. They were tan and would work as either hers or when she was Riley. That had been a flaw in her boy’s costume. Her gloves were too feminine for the youth.
“I do believe you are correct, my dear. I noticed that they were wearing thin yesterday.” Morgan picked up the gloves and handed them to Ben. “We’ll take these, please.”
When the transaction was complete Morgan inquired as to where the blacksmith’s shop was located. Rilla’s small sound of despair at hearing they had to cross two streets to get to it, made him smile and give a hearty farewell to the shopkeeper.
“I can return you to the hotel and you’ll only have to cross two more streets. If you go with me, you’ll have to cross four,” Morgan whispered in her ear as she walked next to him.
“And miss the tales you’ll tell about my parentage? I think not. Now, open the letter.”
They were standing on the boardwalk, ready to cross the street, but having to wait for a wagon and some horses to pass. Morgan slit the seal and pulled the paper from the envelope.
“God’s Graces,” he read. “That’s all it says. Do you know anything about that?” He handed the sheet to Rilla who looked at it and handed it back. Morgan folded the paper back into the envelope and tucked it into his coat pocket. He took Rilla’s arm and guided her through the muddy street to the blacksmith shop.
“Morni
ng,” the blacksmith grunted, barely looking up from the metal he was pounding. The huge shouldered man had black hair and a bushy black beard. A youth stood nearby, watching the man twist the wrought iron into an interesting shape. When the metal’s color changed from bright red to an orange, he stuck it back into the forge. “Watch that,” he told the boy.
“Yes, Pa.”
“Now, what can I be doin’ for you?” The man’s voice had a slight Scottish accent. “Name’s McIlroy.” He pulled the heavy glove from his hand and held it out for Morgan to shake.
“Morgan Weston. I do believe we met your daughter this morning at the café.” Morgan shook the man’s hand. He noticed that, though the man was very strong, he didn’t emphasize it by squeezing too hard.
McIlroy’s entire demeanor changed. A smile lit up his face. “Lil-Pen told me all about you.” He looked at Rilla. “She didna fib either. You are mighty pretty.” He turned his gaze back to Morgan and lifted an inquiring eyebrow.
“My donkey has a loose shoe. Would you be able to re-shoe him?”
“Can be done this afternoon. I’m needin’ to finish up this bit of frippery.” He nodded his head toward the forge.
“Pa,” the youth said. “Metal’s ready.”
“Thank ye, Dunc.” McIlroy picked up his hammer and tongs. “I’ll be ready ‘bout one. See ya then.” When he turned back to the forge, Morgan and Rilla knew they were dismissed and left the heat of the building.
~~~~~
Rilla studied the map while Morgan went out behind the hotel and scraped the mud from her boots. Something about the clue tickled her memory. God’s Graces. That seemed vaguely familiar, or something close to it.
Tracing her finger in a widening circle from Stones Creek, she scanned the names printed on the map. There it was. She tapped the spot.
An Agent for Rilla (The Pinkerton Matchmaker Book 32) Page 8