Sally placed the plates on the table while Jane and Caleb conversed. Ben was uncorking a bottle of spirits. “Thank you,” Caleb said. “I was sorry to hear of your husband’s passing. I heard he worked that farm as well as any man could, considering he had little experience coming into it.”
“Yes, he was … determined.”
Rumor had it that Jane Cabot received a monthly stipend from her wealthy family in Ohio and Martin’s death, and the selling of the farm had not caused her hardship. It was also rumored that she was relieved to be off the land and living in San Francisco.
“Come now, supper is ready,” Sally announced.
The meal was hearty, as Caleb had hoped it would be. His cooking skills hadn’t improved since Jessica’s disappearance, and he was craving some good home cooking.
The small group fell into easy conversation. Jane’s opinions were smart and thoughtful. Caleb’s attentions fixed on her beautiful, light-brown eyes and how one of her eyebrows lifted almost innocently as she spoke. His eyes wandered to her tulip-shaped lips, then to her slender wrists peeking out from the long-sleeved blouse. Catching himself, he reached for the jug of wine, or perhaps he had had enough. The widow Cabot reminded him of wanting a woman’s touch, Jessica’s touch. Nevertheless, it felt good to converse and laugh again.
“Sally and Ben were so kind to me after Martin’s death,” Jane said. “I love San Francisco, but I need the country air and friendly faces of Clermont City every now and then.”
“Jane is staying with us through her home’s renovations,” Sally explained.
Jane gave Sally a smile and turned to Caleb. “The whole thing is a big mess. I sometimes wish I had bought another home entirely.”
“Jane has money to burn,” Sally teased. “A house here, a house there.”
“Now stop that, Sally. You have what money can’t buy—a home with a husband in it!”
Her melodic laughter made Caleb light-headed. He smiled. “Though being solvent can have its advantages,” he added.
“Sally says you built yourself a fine home. I’d love to come and see it while I’m here.” Sally gave Jane a startled look.
“You and Sally are welcome to come over. I keep the door unlocked. I’m mostly at work or in my shop.” He swallowed more wine to soothe his discomfort.
“Now, ladies, let’s not intrude on a man without a woman around to keep things orderly,” Ben said. The room went silent and Ben looked away, then to Caleb. “I’m sorry, I didn’t … I didn’t think before I spoke.”
“No need, Ben. It’s true. My home has been without a woman’s touch. Fair warning.”
“More wine,” Jane commanded.
“I think I’ve had enough,” Ben said sheepishly.
Sally and Jane cleared the table, and the evening wound down with coffee and cake. By the time Caleb left, he felt satiated physically if not emotionally. The deep desire in him for ‘that woman’s touch’—for his wife’s touch—dulled the levity he had enjoyed earlier in the evening.
~
Jane floated into the kitchen with the last of the dirty dishes. “Oh, Sally, I think I may have fallen in love tonight.” She dreamily placed the stack on the sideboard.
“Jane, how can you even consider it?” Sally washed the dishes with gusto. “My Lord, you had barely said two words to him, and suddenly, you were on a first-name basis. It isn’t proper!”
“Sally, I know you’re a God-fearing, church-going woman, but I won’t have you making this out to be a sinful thing.”
“That’s not it at all.” Sally kept at her chore. “Ben told me that he won’t sign Jessica’s death certificate so they can have a decent ceremony for her. He’ll never love you as he loved her.”
“Of course not. He’ll love me as he loves me.” Jane grabbed a cotton towel to wipe the squeaky-clean plates.
Sally stopped, turning to Jane in mid-scrub. “You’re nearly six years older than him. What will people think?”
“Well, I don’t care. Why should it matter? Love is love. I mean, is there some kind of law against it?”
Sally turned back to the bucket of suds in the sink. There was an awkward silence until she said softly, “I just don’t think Caleb is ready.”
Jane put down the towel and leaned against the counter. “I am sorry. I was just thinking of myself. How wrong of me to express my desires like that. But we are friends, and I thought you might be happy for me and for him. I know you miss her terribly. Please, forgive me?”
“Yes, of course.” Sally’s sweetness returned. “But what makes you so sure of all this? How do you know he’s even interested in you … in that way? He gave no indications of it that I could see.”
Jane laughed into the back of her hand, then tilted her head. “Oh, my dear, you’ve been happily married for what now, eight years?” She picked up the towel and continued to wipe the dish.
Chapter Thirty-five
The chilly October dawn forced Caleb from bed sooner than he would have liked. Tomorrow was the one-year anniversary of his wedding. Where are you, Jess?
He stoked the fire, then poured himself another cup of coffee. The pork, eggs, and beans he had for breakfast would have to last him until noon. He went into the kitchen and tore off a piece of bread from one of Sally’s loaves and shoved it into his coat pocket. After lighting a cigarette, he headed to the barn, his thoughts taken again with Jane Cabot. He had seen her out in the Loggins’ pasture on his way to work and there had been another supper invitation. He was glad she wouldn’t be around for long. Leaning into his chores, he worked through his demons, taking care of the livestock and digging and hoeing the garden beds until sweat ran down his face. Boones gave a bark, and Caleb looked at his pocket watch. It was time for lunch. “All right, Boy, let’s get us some grub.”
He pumped water into the kitchen basin and washed his hands and face, his empty stomach beginning to hurt. He brewed more coffee and searched the pantry for lunch. Before he could satisfy his hunger, there came a knock on the front door. His heart leapt into his throat, then he settled himself. Jessica wouldn’t knock. He shook the thought away. Boones barked and wagged his tail, crowding Caleb in the vestibule. “Settle down, Boy.” He opened the door and to his surprise, Jane stood alone, a pie in her hands and a basket on her arm. He looked around for Sally.
“I hope you don’t mind me bringing you some lunch. Sally was busy, so I thought I’d just walk myself over here.” The sweetness in her laugh disarmed him. She extended the food and he took it, nearly dropping the pie.
“Come in, Mrs. Cabot. Jane.” His nerves flared. “Thank you. I was just about to have something to eat. You must have … I mean, you and Sally had this timed just right. Come in.”
With a wide grin, Jane took back the basket, letting him free to handle the pie. “I think there’s enough for two, if you don’t mind me being so forward. The walk over here gave me an appetite.”
Caleb’s insides were quieted by her warm, inviting voice. “Not at all. I would love to share this with you.”
She looked over his shoulder. “Is that the kitchen through there?” He stood back, then followed her in. Easily making herself at home, she placed the meal onto dishes and found cups for cider. Before he could intervene, the table was set. He’d be sentenced to hell for letting this woman into his wife’s kitchen.
Their conversation flowed as they ate Sally’s meat-filled pastries and apple pie, along with Ben’s cider. Their small talk eventually moved to more personal topics, sharing the struggles of losing their spouses and of happier times in their lives. Caleb felt he could tell her almost anything and she wouldn’t judge him. She knew nothing about his life, his world, and yet she showed great empathy and understanding.
A knock on the door and a bark from Boones interrupted the visit, and Caleb noticed that the light had changed. He looked at his pocket watch as he opened the door. Hours had gone by. Ben stood there, a look of concern on his face. “Have you got our guest with you?”
> “My God, Ben, come in.” Caleb stood back, passing a hand over his hair. “We lost track of the time. Jane was telling me all about her childhood in Ohio and I was. …” He stopped talking as Ben gave him a quick nod and wink. “We were having a friendly lunch.”
Jane emerged from the kitchen with the empty basket. “Ben. You’ve come to walk me home?”
“Why, yes. Sally and I were worried about you.”
“Oh, I was in good hands.” Her generous smile made Caleb uncomfortable.
“Thank Sally for the food. I’ll return the pie plate as soon as I can,” he said.
“No need for that.” Jane waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll come by and pick it up tomorrow. Will you be at church in the morning?”
Caleb looked at Ben, then back at Jane. “I don’t attend church.”
“Well,” she said, as if startled by his admission. “I’ll be by after church then.”
“All right, Caleb,” Ben piped up. “We’ll be on our way. It looks like you’ve got some pie to finish off before tomorrow.” He gave another wink. “We’ll leave you to it.”
After seeing them off, Caleb went back inside. He rubbed his neck as he peered from the parlor window to see Jane walking beside Ben, the basket swinging from her arm. He sat in his leather chair, stroking his goatee, imagining a place in his life for Jane Cabot. The profound loss of Jessica engulfed him with its now familiar ache. He closed his eyes, then opened them. What am I doing?
~
As he did every Sunday, Caleb walked to his field and found a space to sit and meditate. The open sky gave way to the opening of his mind, and he would often find his place of peace and wholeness. Today, however, there was none of that to be found. He had left the pie plate on the porch for Jane to retrieve. His vulnerability agitated him. The spirits he talked to today sent him no relief. He tried to bring forth the answer to finding his wife, but none came. Given that he was too tied up in knots, his usual routine was fruitless and he rose with a huff.
Before heading home, he would visit the river. It had become a sacred place to him. The last of the wildflowers still bloomed along its banks. Picking a few, he placed them in the spot where Jessica was taken. He knelt down and asked the spirits for her safe return. He kissed the cold grass, then stood up. Hoping the pie plate was gone and Jane caught his message, he took long strides over the knoll. He could go back to his life of grieving for Jessica and working on his land.
When he came to the porch, Boones was inside and leapt to the front window, barking. He looked down at the bench. The plate was still there. He brought it in and placed it on the kitchen counter.
That afternoon, Jane was in his parlor. They had tea and conversed easily, taking up where they left off yesterday. “I’d love to hear about your beliefs,” she said.
Looking at her sitting in Jessica’s paisley chair gave him an odd feeling. How long would he wait before he removed it from his home? Jane looked very much at ease in it.
“Caleb?”
“Oh, I was just thinking how to describe them.” He scratched his cheek. “I suppose you could say my beliefs come from my experiences, and some of those experiences include my relationships with Indians. Their beliefs and rituals seem more real to me than others.” He cleared his throat. “To each his own.”
“I don’t know much about Indians. My father was so afraid of me coming out west because of them. I see now they were the least of my worries.” She grinned.
“I take it you didn’t care to be on a farm.”
“Not that one, anyway. I love land and fresh air, but … well, Martin wasn’t the right man for me after all. I’m sorry he’s gone, and yet, I would have divorced him sooner or later.”
Caleb could only nod his head. She was outspoken, to be sure.
Arranging her skirt, Jane moved to the edge of the chair. “The heat feels nice. I should be going, though.”
Rising, Caleb took the tea cup from her. “Thanks for the visit.”
“It was my pleasure.” She walked to the vestibule to retrieve her coat, Caleb behind her.
“Oh, the pie plate.”
When she suddenly turned around, his hands were on her arms, preventing a collision. Why they traveled to her slim waist, he didn’t know. Suddenly, she was against him and her lips were on his … the warmth of her body, the tenderness of her mouth. She gave no resistance, and he was weak with lust. He cupped her face and his tongue met hers. A hand to her bodice, and he was lost. She moaned, and he was jerked from the spell. He felt the racing of his heart, the heat in his loins. He took several steps back.
“I’m sorry, Jane. Forgive me.” He ran his hands over his hair, coming to the tied tail. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“No need to ask for forgiveness. I’m sure you noticed I was enjoying your advances.” She smiled, setting her chin at a most provocative angle.
“More like your advances.” His smile felt fake. “I can’t make love to you, Jane.” There, he said it. He could be just as outspoken, yet it didn’t seem to bother her in the least.
“Your heart is still attached to her. Of course it is. Maybe someday you will be free to love again, or she will return and you will be free in a different way. Grief is a terrible companion, Caleb. Will you let me be there for you?”
Tongue-tied, he couldn’t meet her question. “I’ll get the plate.” He went into the kitchen and she was standing outside.
He handed her the pie plate, and she took it slowly from him. “Good day, Caleb.”
“Good day, Jane.”
The moistness of her sweet lips remained on his skin as he watched her cross the yard, pass the barn, and step onto the path that led to the Loggins’ home. He turned to his land and the field. The smell of the river wafted over him, and taking out his handkerchief, he wiped his mouth.
Chapter Thirty-six
Sacramento River, California
Jessica walked on the carpet of dropped pine needles, the scent reminding her of home, the sound of the river close by. Emerging from the woods with the bundle of sticks she’d collected for tonight’s fire, she decided to rest on the banks of the river. It would be a welcome respite from her morning.
Her one-year wedding anniversary was in her thoughts today. It would have been one of these days early in October. She wondered what she and Caleb would be doing to celebrate. He had promised her a special dinner at a favorite restaurant in town. Her heart was heavy at the thought of touching his hand and looking into his eyes, while her mouth watered from the bite of steak she would partake of.
Adjusting the basket strapped securely to her body, she reached in and took out a piece of dried meat. Although it was meant to sustain her in her escape, her belly ached from hunger. She had found the long, woven basket, limp from use in the woods, and claimed it as her own, but with much tugging and demanding. The barely healed scratches on her arm were a reminder of her fight with a younger woman in camp. Once it was known to everyone that this basket was hers and only hers, she stole a bit of dried venison here and there to stash away. She only ate half of her share of food, hiding the rest in her clothes or tucked in her hand to later deposit into her basket. One day, she stole a small knife from one of the younger women while she was away from her hut. The tribe searched for it the next day but left Jessica’s basket alone. She waited for a few days to pass before she took a piece of rawhide from another woman to make a strap with. This time, there was no fuss. Jessica figured the woman hadn’t noticed it missing yet.
Moving toward the shore, she stopped in her tracks and scurried behind a tree. Peeking around its wide trunk, she spied Blue Heron emerging from the cold water. He flung back his wet, black hair, the spray of droplets sparkling in the sunlight. He then laid on the grass above the edge of the gently flowing river, his face serene, his body like a carving of a man, the light revealing every muscle and contour so perfectly chosen by nature. She barely breathed. She couldn’t help admiring the artistic scene of the wilderness … and the
man.
Her mind went to her art. When would she be free to paint again? She quietly adjusted the bundle of twigs and leaned up against the tree while she etched the scene in her mind. She couldn’t look away. Her desire to paint him and this scene was palpable. He rose and put on his deerskin pants and a leather-and-fur vest. She stepped away to resume her task.
Soon they would be packing up the camp. By listening discreetly, she learned what she needed to know—they were headed for the Rogue River in Oregon. They had allies there to help them in their pursuit to remain independent. If anything, Jessica could count on Cara to tell her about the goings-on of the tribe.
Her plan to escape was taking form. Her basket held a small blanket, a piece of flint, and a few sticks. She wasn’t sure if she was collecting, or stealing, the right things. When asked about it, she would look naïvely at the inquirer and produce a rock or cone from the top, which she kept there for just that occasion.
Jessica had followed the sun’s movements and kept track of the days by scratching a mark on a small piece of dried deer hide she had found laying outside a hut. She figured out the month, but she had lost track of the exact day. She chided herself for that. Could it be five months since her capture? She knew she would have to travel south, and her only compass was the sun.
Today, the bright orb brought warmth to her body. She bent down to pick up several more sticks, lingering in the quiet serenity of the forest. Over her shoulder, through the thick stand of trees, she caught a glimpse of Blue Heron walking to his hut. She dismissed her growing fondness for him as merely being part of her survival.
After a while, she noticed something quite odd—she was alone. Mallow was not in sight. She walked farther away from the camp, searching for any faces or movement. All was still, but for the spattering of voices in the distance and the rippling of water cresting the pebbled shore. She moved more quickly now. Then, in a sudden, unbridled surge of energy, she threw down the sticks and ran without looking back. She was escaping! She turned from the river and ran deeper into the surrounding brush to hide herself. The branches and prickly wild blackberry ripped her stockings and tore at her legs. A few of the taller vines whipped across her face. Ignoring the pain, her survival instincts took over.
Sacred Terrain (Traveled Hearts Series Book 2) Page 16