Cherish

by Catherine Anderson

  She looked mildly horrified. “I never—how did you find out about the money?”

  He released her chin to scratch beside his nose. “Well, now, there’s a question. I reckon I just figured it out.” He allowed a smile to touch his mouth. “It seems clear as rain in March that they’re hellbent to get their hands on somethin’. If it ain’t money, what could it be?” He let that hang there for a moment. “Maybe now’d be a good time for you to tell me about it, honey. Then you won’t be worryin’ no more about me gettin’ mad when I find out.”

  She nodded, albeit without much enthusiasm. Then she slowly told him the story, beginning with the brethren’s decision to leave the Philadelphia area and their subsequent search for a suitable parcel of land on which to resettle, which they found outside Santa Fe, New Mexico. “We were being encroached upon by people of secular persuasion on all sides, you see.” She shrugged. “The elders felt the membership should be farther removed from such influences, and they voted unanimously to relocate.”

  “What the hell is people of secular persuasion?”

  Her eyes widened at the question, and for a moment, she looked flustered. “They, um…are worldly people. Ordinary people, I suppose you could say.”

  “Like me?”

  Even in the moonlight he saw her cheeks grow pink. “Yes,” she admitted faintly. “Please don’t be offended, Mr. Spencer. There’s nothing wrong with you…or anything. It’s simply that we lived in a religious cloister.”

  “A what?”

  “A cloister—in seclusion—insulated from the outside world so we might practice our beliefs without interference. To someone like you, we would probably seem quite peculiar.”

  Studying her sweet countenance, Race thought it more accurate to say he found her angelic and precious, and now that he was getting a better grasp of how she’d been raised, he was beginning to understand why. She had been sheltered all of her life, kept apart from any kind of bad influence, her daily focus, from dawn to dark, on her religion. She gave a whole new meaning to the word “innocent.”

  “Anyway,” she went on, “we had enough money in our coffers to purchase the land in New Mexico, construct the homes, and have some left over for living expenses until the parcels in Pennsylvania were sold. The main body of the church made the move a year ago this spring.”

  “But you and your folks didn’t go?”

  She shook her head. “Six couples were chosen to remain behind, my parents amongst them, to sell the parcels of land outside of Philadelphia. They were to transport the sale proceeds to Santa Fe. If all had gone well, we would have arrived there in a few more weeks, just in time to settle in before the harsh winter weather.” She began wringing her hands. “I don’t know what the brethren in Santa Fe will do now. Without the money we were taking to them, they won’t be able to buy farming implements, work animals, or the seed to plant their crops next spring. Nor will they have the necessary funds to make a mortgage payment to the bank. The church will go under.”

  “Where’s the money? Do you know?”

  “My papa and the other brethren installed a false floor in the Petersens’ wagon, and they hid the money underneath it. As far as I know, it’s still there.” She dragged in a shaky breath and lifted her hands in a gesture of bewilderment. “I’ve no idea how the ruffians learned we were transporting a large amount of cash. Papa and the brethren went to great lengths to keep it a secret, even going so far as to install the fake floor in the wagon by dark of night. Yet somehow those ruffians got wind of it. Along the trail, somewhere, I presume. Perhaps when we stopped in one of the towns to purchase more supplies. Someone in our party must have let it slip.”

  “I don’t reckon the how of it matters much,” he told her. “Somehow they found out.” He searched her gaze. “Forgive me for sayin’ it, darlin’, but it strikes me as plumb foolish, all them folks choosin’ to die rather than hand over that money.”

  A stricken look came over her face. “Yes,” she whispered. “Foolish, for in the end, the money may never reach Santa Fe anyway.” Her mouth trembled and she gazed off into the darkness for a long while. When she looked back at him, she said, “In their defense, however, I must point out that in their minds, the money wasn’t theirs to surrender. It belonged to God. And my papa and the other brethren also counted rather heavily on the heavenly Father to protect them, which He failed to do.” Her eyes went sparkly with tears. “Those of my faith believe that love is stronger than hate, and that if we love our enemy, he will be touched by God’s goodness and respond in kind.”

  In Race’s opinion, that belief went straight past foolish to plumb stupid. “Out west, there’s some mighty evil men on the loose,” he told her. “A smart man loves his enemy, but keeps his gun well oiled. Ain’t you never heard the sayin’ that God helps them that helps themselves?”

  She bent her head. “I’m not defending their beliefs, Mr. Spencer. Since the arroyo, my faith has been badly shaken, and I’m no longer sure I believe in much of anything.”

  She sounded so forlorn and lost that he touched a hand to her hair. “That’ll pass, honey. You’re just bleedin’ inside right now. In time, you’ll heal, and your thinkin’ will all come right again.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “I am. But for right now, that ain’t the most important thing we need to talk about.”

  She looked up, her eyes so big and appealing he felt the tug on his heart.

  “I wanna discuss you bein’ afraid I’m gonna get mad at you. Can you explain that to me?”

  She closed her eyes and sent tears spilling down her cheeks. He caught a glistening droplet with the backs of his fingers. “You’ve been financially devastated because of me,” she whispered. “I feared that you’d be furious when you learned it was over someone else’s money, and even more furious because I might have warned you early this morning so you could have guarded against trouble.”

  Race took his time in forming a reply. A glib talker, he wasn’t. What he said to her and how he said it might make all the difference in how she felt from now on. “I’m gonna take the last point first, about you warnin’ me. To start with, last night you was in a bad way, so deep in shock you wasn’t aware of nothin’ happenin’ around you. Then, when you come right this mornin’, it was to find me in bed with you. You was scared, and rightly so. I didn’t blame you for that then, and I don’t now. On top of that, I think you tried to tell me about the money. Right before I left to go get us our breakfast. Am I wrong?”

  “No. I did mean to tell you, but you left, and then the herd stampeded, and then those men—”

  “Whoa, whoa!” Race flashed her a grin. “You don’t gotta convince me, honey. I know things got crazy after that and you never got a chance to tell me.”

  She looked at him incredulously. “You truly aren’t angry?”

  “Why would I be? You want the truth? I think you’re a mighty brave lady, comin’ out there to the graves and tellin’ me in front of my men. I never once felt you had a chance to tell me sooner, and I ain’t the least bit angry, I promise.”

  “But if not for me, none of this would have happened to you!”

  “Rebecca, when I found you in the arroyo, I figured them plug-uglies must’ve been after somethin’. The wagons was ripped apart, all the trunks had been rifled. Judgin’ by the things they done, I also knew they was mean-hearted bastards. But I went ahead and brought you here. That was my decision, not yours.”

  “What choice did you have? If you’d left me, I would have perished.”

  Perished? Race decided to let that one pass. He could more or less figure out what the word meant from the rest of the sentence. It made him want to smile, nonetheless. The girl sure knew a passel of strange words. “It’s true. I didn’t have no choice,” he admitted. “The same goes for you. You didn’t choose for any of this to happen to you. Sometimes, darlin’, bad things just happen. It ain’t by nobody’s choice, and it ain’t because of anything they done. I don’t want
you blamin’ yourself. You hear? I should have taken extra precautions to protect the herd. It ain’t your fault that I didn’t.”

  “I feel as if it is.”

  He framed her face between his hands. “Well, I want you to stop feelin’ that way. If anything’ll make me mad, that will. Them stampedin’ the herd and shootin’ Blue. What happened to Cookie. If you go blamin’ yourself, I’ll tan your hide and hang it on a post to dry. You understand? It’s like blamin’ yourself if it rains.”

  She drew away to wipe her cheeks. “You’re a very kind man, Mr. Spencer. I wouldn’t blame you at all for feeling resentful. I am so very sorry. You’ll never know how—”

  He cut her off by touching a finger to her lips. “You’re apologizin’, and you’ve done nothin’ to apologize for.”

  She averted her face to free her mouth. “Perhaps you should go get the church money from the Petersens’ wagon. The brethren would want to recompense you for the damages, I feel certain.”

  He sighed, feeling at a loss. Despite all he had just said, she seemed bent on holding herself responsible. He understood why. But he wished with all his heart that she didn’t. “I thought you said the church’ll go under without that money, and now you’re offerin’ some of it to me?”

  “I’m sure they could spare that much. We could send the remainder to them in Santa Fe.”

  “I’ll think about it,” he conceded. “But if there’s another way, I’d rather not. Like you said, it’s God’s money. Not only that, but a lot of fine folks died tryin’ to protect it. I’d feel funny about helpin’ myself to it.”

  For what seemed to him an interminably long while, she gazed up at him. Then, taking him totally by surprise, she slipped her arms around his neck and gave him a fierce hug. Race was so startled that for a moment he couldn’t think how to react. Then instinct took over. He encircled her in his embrace and drew her close, pressing his face to her hair. He had received some heartfelt thank-yous in his day, but this one was by far the sweetest. It also occurred to him as he registered the softness of her body against his that it was undoubtedly the most dangerous. He needed to get her back to camp before one of those powerful male yearnings her ma had warned her about got the best of both of them.

  Chapter 11

  The last thing Rebecca wanted to do was go to bed, but Race insisted she looked tired and that she needed to get a good night’s rest. She attempted to use caring for Blue as an excuse to stay up, but he would have none of that.

  “I’ll watch over Blue,” he assured her as he led her to the back of the wagon.

  The next instant, her feet parted company with the ground, startling her half out of her wits. She clutched his shirt sleeves, her heart skittering as he swung her up into the wagon. Once she’d gotten her footing, he placed a hand on the wagon gate and vaulted inside after her.

  With the canvas filtering out the moon and the fire burning low, the wagon’s interior was as black as smut. Rebecca groped blindly for a handhold when the conveyance rocked with Race’s weight. Judging by the sound of his boots on the floor planks, he was moving away from her. She strained to pick him out from the shadows, her eyes feeling like grapes being popped from their skins. Glass and metal went ka-chink. Something rasped.

  She blinked at a sudden flare of orange. A lucifer. The scent of sulphur drifted to her. She watched him cup the match with his palm, then touch it to the lamp wick. As he waved out the flame, he carefully adjusted the feed knob until a golden wash of light fell over them. Then he replaced the glass globe. Sticking the match between his teeth, he turned to regard the pallet.

  Rebecca’s stomach lurched as she followed his gaze and recalled the blood-soaked quilts. As if he guessed her thoughts, he said, “Corey cleaned up in here a mite. He threw the soiled quilts on the fire. I hope they wasn’t special to you.”

  As it happened, two of the remaining quilts, a wedding ring and a drunkard’s path pattern, had been made by her mother. “The ones he took had no sentimental meaning to me,” she assured him. “And I greatly appreciate the thoughtfulness.”

  He bent to straighten the rumpled covers. “You gonna be all right in here?”

  Judging by his tone, he realized how nervous she was about sleeping alone. Heat crept up her neck, and for a long moment, she stood there, caught between stung pride and mounting anxiety, not entirely certain which emotion would win out. It was so childish to feel afraid to sleep alone, and practically speaking, she knew that asking him to stay with her was highly inappropriate, not to mention perilous. Though he had promised her that she was safe with him, he was still a man, and Ma had warned her countless times to beware.

  She threw a frightened glance at the wagon canvas, thinking it would provide scant barrier against a ruffian with a knife. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll sleep under the wagon hitch,” he informed her, his dark gaze fixed on her as he straightened. “If you so much as wiggle, I oughta hear you. You’ll be safe enough. I just wanna make sure you can get some rest. If you want, I can bunk in here with you.”

  Rebecca stared up at him, battling against her yearning to say yes. Had she moved past irrational to completely insane? A woman didn’t invite a man to share her sleeping quarters. The wagon was narrow, the space so confined they wouldn’t be able to roll over without bumping into each other. Yet it was all she could do not to plead with him to stay with her.

  “N-no—I-I’ll be fine,” she said, not sounding very convincing, even to herself.

  He searched her gaze, which was unsettling. Each time he directed those dark eyes her way, she invariably got the feeling this man could see far more than she wished to reveal. “You sure? If you’re feelin’ froggy, don’t feel embarrassed. God knows you got plenty of call.”

  Froggy? Yes, that described it, all right. The moment he left, she’d be jumping out of her skin at every little sound. “No, truly, Mr. Spencer. I, um…” She waved a limp hand. “After all, what on earth is there to feel nervous about?”

  “Nothin’.” He glanced around the wagon, stepping to the front to make sure the flap was tied down before he turned back to her. “It’s been my experience, though, that a rash of bad can get a person all dithered up to the point that there’s a damned thin line atwixt threat and fancy.”

  She hugged herself, rubbing her upper arms and thinking how absolutely true that was. Race Spencer might be the most ill-spoken individual she’d ever met, but he had a way with words, nonetheless.

  “You cold, sweetheart?”

  She stopped chafing her arms. “Oh!” Nervous little laugh. “Heavens, no. Just nerve—well, maybe a bit chilled. I’m sure I’ll be fine once I get under the quilts.” She glanced at the pallet. “Have you and your men plenty of covers? I surely won’t need more than one.”

  “Nah. We all got our bedrolls.” He stepped around her to the wagon gate. Before vaulting to the ground, he glanced back. “If you have trouble sleepin’, just sing out. The floor in here ain’t no harder than the ground, and I can get the fellas to watch after Blue till mornin’.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Spencer. But I’m sure I shall sleep like the dea—” She broke off and rubbed her arms again, her gaze sweeping the floor for bloodstains. “Like a baby. Thank you for your concern, however. It’s greatly appreciated.”

  “Speakin’ of Blue, that reminds me. I meant to ask if there’s somethin’ special I oughta do for him durin’ the night.”

  “Make sure he stays warm, and if he wakes up, offer him water.” She shrugged. “And you shouldn’t let him walk.”

  Swinging a leg over the gate, he sat astraddle the partition and eyed her with undisguised concern. “Honey, are you sure you feel all right about sleepin’ in here alone?”

  Rebecca wanted to break eye contact with him but couldn’t. She tried to moisten her lips only to find that her tongue was a dry lump in her mouth.

  “If I have a problem sleeping, I’ll call you,” she finally managed to say.

  “I’m used to gett
in’ woke up at night. I can go straight back to sleep, no problem. So don’t hesitate if you need me. All right?”

  “I won’t.”

  He nodded as if that satisfied him. “Well, g’night then.” He jumped over the gate to the ground and disappeared into the shadows.

  Rebecca wasted no time in securing the canvas flap. Then she turned to regard the enclosure, feeling as though it had become her torture chamber for the night. Her gaze kept cutting back to the floor, where only the faintest hint of bloodstain remained. Nonetheless, her skin crawled.

  At the right front corner of the wagon, she was relieved to see the empty Arbuckle can, which she could use as her chamber pot for the night. Beside it was the stack of clothing. Atop the assortment of gray and black garments were two white cotton nightgowns. She had no inkling which of the women in her party had owned them, and at this point, she couldn’t allow herself to care.

  After traveling so far in a wagon very like this one, Rebecca knew better than to undress before she turned down the lamp. The light threw one’s silhouette against the canvas. The first few days on the trail, Papa had scolded her and Ma numerous times for forgetting and putting on a scandalous display. She quickly grabbed a nightgown and moved the can over next to the pallet where she might easily reach it. Then she doused the light.

  Blackness. It swooped over her like a blanket. Her skin crawled. Pictures of the ruffian spiraled through her head. She could almost hear his oily voice in her ear, feel his stinking breath against her cheek.

  Dead. He’s dead. Put him out of your mind. With shaking hands, she quickly divested herself of her clothing and drew on the nightgown. Then she all but dove under the covers, jerking them over her head and huddling. She hadn’t done anything so ridiculous since early childhood. Hiding from monsters, Rebecca? She wanted to give herself a good shake, but even as she chided herself for being absurd, she shivered and burrowed deeper under the quilts.

  Oh, lands! What was that? She went still and held her breath to listen. A creak. She’d definitely heard a creak. The wind, Rebecca Ann. Nothing but the wind. Don’t be any sillier than you must! But the lecture to herself did little to soothe her frazzled nerves.