Wild Rain

by Beverly Jenkins

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I can help you clean up in the kitchen. My knee’s strong enough, as long as I don’t stand too long.”

  She eyed him dubiously.

  “I know how to wash and dry dishes. I live alone and since I can’t afford a housekeeper I do all the cooking and chores myself.”

  “Am I going to have to put up with a load of nosy questions?”

  He smiled wryly. “Yes, if you don’t mind.”

  She didn’t appear pleased. “Come on, then.”

  Spring’s kitchen was perfect for one person. For two, it was crowded. Especially with a man as tall and broad as McCray. She washed. He dried. Their shoulders bumped as he placed the dried dishes in the cupboard beside her. Their hands grazed as she handed him dishes to dry. As promised, he asked a wagonload of questions, which she preferred to deal with rather than why their accidental touches kept sending unnerving little sparks up her arms. His questions began with wanting to know the name of the mountain range, then to how long she’d lived in her cabin. “About twelve years now. Place used to belong to Odell. He and his family lived here when Colt and I were growing up.”

  She saw him survey the walls and ceiling and she wondered if he was evaluating them with a carpenter’s eye.

  “Did he build this himself?”

  “Yes, with help from friends like my grandfather. All of the old trappers built their own places.”

  “Is your grandfather still living?”

  “Yes.” She handed him a wet plate to dry. And if meanness defined the length of a person’s life, Ben would be around until the mountains turned to gravel. “And your grandparents?”

  “I don’t know. They’ve probably passed on by now. Never knew them. We were captives.”

  That brought her up short. She searched his face. “Really?”

  “Yes. In Virginia. Some people are ashamed of their time before the war. I’m not. I ran when I was fourteen and joined the Union Navy.”

  “At fourteen? That’s young, isn’t it?”

  He gave her a smile. “Yes, but there were some boys even younger.”

  When Spring worked for the Ketchums after Ben put her out, she’d felt like a captive, too, but knew her experience and his were worlds apart. “Did you escape with your parents?”

  “No. My uncle Quincy ran when I was just a babe. He returned in sixty-three hoping to help my father escape, but Hiram, my father, wouldn’t leave without my mother, Fannie, so my father sent me with Quincy instead.”

  She wondered why his mother couldn’t leave. Then reminded herself that his time in Paradise was limited, and that when he left for home she’d never see him again, so asking a bunch of nosy questions served no purpose.

  “Did the war affect you here?” he asked.

  “In some ways. The cattlemen got rich shipping beef to the Union troops. The army sent most of the soldiers back East to fight and left local militias to defend the Territory. They started their own war.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Some militia members massacred the Cheyenne at Sand Creek in Colorado and the Cheyenne rightfully wanted revenge. There were raids and battles. The tribes eventually lost and were forced onto reservations.”

  “You sound as if you have sympathy for the Indians.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Back East, they’re portrayed as bloodthirsty killers.”

  “The bloodthirsty killers were the men who gunned down the Cheyenne children and women, then returned to mutilate the bodies and set the village on fire. Chief Black Kettle and his people had already signed for peace.”

  “The newspapers at home never tell that side of the story.”

  “Maybe they should.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  She handed him the skillet he’d used to fry the bacon. “Those were upsetting times. In many ways nothing’s changed.” She poured the dishwater down the drain. “We’re done here. Thanks for your help.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replied quietly. “May I ask a final question?”

  She nodded tersely.

  “Do all the people here feel as you do about the Indians?”

  “Some do, but the big cattle ranchers don’t. They own the land now and it’s made them rich. They don’t care if the tribes are fenced in, starving, and destitute, as long as they can ship their beef. Anything else?”

  “No.”

  “I’m going to go out and shovel a path to the barn.”

  “I’d like to help.”

  She glanced down at his knee.

  “I can wrap it. There’s a lot of snow out there.”

  “True, but wrapped or not, I’m the one who’ll have to listen to my brother fuss when you do more damage. Thanks for offering your gentlemanly assistance, but it won’t be the first or last time I’ve done this alone.”

  She saw him open his mouth to protest. “You should go write a story or something. Better yet, make a list of a hundred more questions you want to ask.”

  He lowered his head and amusement filled his eyes. “Okay. If you insist.”

  “I do.” For a moment, she acknowledged how easy it was to be around him and his handsome face. Appalled, she shook it off and glanced around the kitchen to make sure she hadn’t overlooked a stray dish or spoon. Satisfied, she left the kitchen, bundled up again, and left him inside.

  While shoveling, she tried to make sense of her uncharacteristic physical reaction to the newspaper man. There was no good reason for her to have felt sparks and tingles or linger on his looks. As she’d noted yesterday upon finding him asleep on her new couch, a pretty face could hide all manner of inner ugliness, something she knew well. Had the sparks been a simple reminder of how long it had been since she’d had a man in her bed?—not that any of the previous experiences ever set her barn on fire. Especially not the way her brother and sister-in-law Regan acted with each other. Colton and Regan’s arranged marriage had evolved into a love match, and they were forever stealing kisses when they thought no one was looking. Spring knew nothing about that kind of bond and wasn’t sure she wanted to, but as she’d reminded herself, McCray wouldn’t be staying around, so it made no sense to have this conversation with herself. Once he was gone, she’d return to what she enjoyed and did best. Being a woman alone.

  Chapter Three

  Garrett took her advice and brought out his journal and made short notes on what he’d experienced so far. Not everything would be incorporated into his story on Dr. Lee, but he was certain his readers might find further stories interesting, like the plight of the Indians. Being a Colored man, he was sympathetic to their plight. Their beliefs and way of life, trampled by the nation’s movement west, had been no more valued than those held by the people of Africa forced into slavery. Unfortunately, his only knowledge about them came via the garish and often sensationalized stories put out by the press, both Colored and White, portraying them as soulless, murdering demons. He’d not seen anything in the newspapers on the Colorado militia murdering and mutilating Cheyenne women and children. Spring mentioned the massacre had taken place during the war. Even though the nation’s eyes had been focused on the conflict, it was no excuse for the incident not to have been more widely reported. Her description of the events left him feeling both ignorant and ashamed. He wondered how many people in the East were aware of what had transpired. Had they been appalled by the murders? Spring couldn’t have been very old at the time, but apparently, the story remained a bitter memory.

  He had his own share of bitter memories. At the age of eight, he and his family were put on the block to pay down their master’s debts. Garrett and his father, Hiram, were purchased by a carpenter in Richmond, while his mother, Fannie, was sold to a wealthy female plantation owner. And for the first time in his life, he learned what being a slave truly meant. Seeing his mother’s anguished tears as she was driven away, and knowing he might not ever see her again, had been one of the most horrific, heartbreaking days of h
is life. As his father explained later that evening, “The masters own us. To them we’re no more than pigs or mules. If they want to sell us, they can, and we have no recourse.”

  By his twelfth winter, his mother had been sold twice more, each time farther away. How his father kept track of her whereabouts Garrett never knew, but when Richmond fell and the war ended, his father knew exactly where to find her and her infant daughter. A few weeks later, when Garrett left the navy and returned to Virginia, they became a family again and he was delighted to have gained a little sister, but for many of the enslaved there were no such reunions. Even now, twenty years later, the nation’s Colored newspapers continued to publish pleas from those searching for sold-away kin.

  According to Spring’s account, her grandfather had been free. Garrett assumed her father had been, too, but what about her mother? Spring hadn’t shared much of anything about her parents. Were they still living? He didn’t know why learning all he could about his hostess seemed so important. Due to his short stay in Paradise, most of his questions would remain unanswered and more than likely they’d never meet again. Why that fact left him unsettled, he didn’t know, either, but it did. What made her smile? What put the light of joy in her eyes? Had any man ever loved her for all that she was? Although having only known her two days, Garrett didn’t see her masking her true nature to secure a man’s affection as society often forced women to do. Reminding himself again about the briefness of his stay and the unanswered questions he’d leave behind, he sighed wistfully, and returned to his journal.

  When she entered the house a short while later, he had his list of questions written out for the doctor. More would surface during their talk, but for the moment he was content.

  “You have your questions ready?” she asked after removing her coat and boots.

  “Yes. Is that coat a real buffalo hide?”

  “Yes, and much warmer than wool.”

  “May I try it on?”

  “Sure. It’s very heavy though.”

  He slipped his arms into the sleeves and the weight buckled his knees. It was like having an anvil on his shoulders.

  “As I said—heavy.”

  He scanned the shaggy garment. Although its size and length didn’t dwarf him as it did her, he couldn’t imagine having to wear it for an extended period. “Do you wear this all winter?”

  She shook her head. “Just when the weather is like it’s been for the past few days.”

  He shrugged out of it and, glad to be free of the weight, handed it back. “Thanks for indulging my curiosity.”

  “I’m stuck with you and your curiosity,” she quipped. “So I haven’t much choice.”

  Although the words were pointed, her eyes held a hint of playfulness that added to his growing interest in her. “Is there a place in town where I can rent a room?”

  “Yes. Regan owns a boardinghouse run by the town seamstress, Dovie Denby. Paradise doesn’t get a lot of visitors, so the place is never full.”

  “Good to know.” He expected her to leave him after that, but she sat instead and that pleased him. “Have you ever lived anywhere else?”

  “No. I’ve been here my whole life. Farthest I’ve been from Paradise is Laramie and Cheyenne.”

  “Never been back East?”

  She shook her head.

  “Are you curious about what it might be like?”

  “Not really. When Colt returned after his medical studies at Howard, he said it was full of people, streetcars, and the noise of both.”

  Garrett thought about that. “I suppose he’s right, and it can be overwhelming.”

  “I’ve no need for overwhelming. I like the quiet and the peace of waking up every day to the sun rising over the mountains.”

  He’d yet to witness that but remembering the beauty of the sunrise over the water during his stint in the navy, he understood. There’d been breathtaking sunsets, as well.

  “Besides,” she continued, “from what my brother said, none of the women wear denims or gun belts, and aren’t allowed in the saloons.”

  Although parts of him were afraid to ask her to explain that last part, his curiosity refused to be denied. “Why would you want to go into a saloon?”

  “For a drink.”

  He stared again.

  “I take it the women you keep company with don’t drink whiskey?”

  “Not even a little bit.” She’d caught him so off guard, he wasn’t sure what to ask next. “Does your sister-in-law imbibe, too?”

  “She’ll have an occasional shot of tequila, but not now. She’s nursing.”

  “And her husband approves?”

  “Why would she need his approval? Oh, I forgot. You’re from back East. Your menfolk get a say in those kinds of things there.”

  “Here they don’t?”

  “Some men do, or at least they try. My brother was that way until he married Regan. Now he minds his own business.”

  “I see.” He didn’t really, but pretended to. “So you just waltz right into the saloon and order a shot of whiskey?”

  “Maybe not waltz, but yes, McCray.”

  “Is there a separate room for ladies?”

  “I’ve never seen one.” She eyed him with a hint of a smile. “Why do you look as if I’ve grown another head?”

  “I’m just surprised.” Still outdone, he asked, “And no one cares that you’re in the saloon?”

  “The gossips do, of course.”

  “Ah.” There was now challenge in her eyes, as if she was waiting for something. Judgment from him, maybe. That made him wonder if she continued to be the subject of gossip. If so, he couldn’t imagine her backing down. Lord, this woman was interesting.

  She asked, “Anything else?”

  “Maybe. I’m just not sure what.”

  “While you figure that out, I’ll get some meat thawing for supper. Steaks or trout?”

  He thought that over. “Steaks.”

  “Good choice.”

  Later, Spring pulled the skillet of cornbread out of the oven and left the kitchen to alert her houseguest. He was in his room, so she knocked on the closed door. “Dinner, McCray.”

  “Be right there.”

  She didn’t know how he’d been occupying his time all afternoon, but he hadn’t bothered her while she sorted seeds for her garden, so whatever he’d been doing was fine with her.

  She’d just taken the plates down from the cupboard when he appeared in the kitchen.

  “Anything I can do to help?” he asked.

  “Grab that pot holder and put the cornbread on the table.”

  She followed with the plates and tableware, then went back to retrieve the platter of steaks and the bowl of root vegetables.

  “Steaks smell good,” he said, standing behind his chair.

  She forked a steak from the platter and set it on her plate. Noticing him still standing, she asked, “You plan to eat standing?”

  “Waiting for you to sit.”

  “Why?”

  “Being a gentleman again.”

  She waved him off. “Not necessary.”

  “It is for me.”

  His soft tone did something to her insides. “Just sit, McCray.”

  “I will, after you do.”

  Spring growled quietly.

  “It’s a show of respect, Spring.”

  She blew out a breath. “Christ and three fishes. Fine.” She sat.

  He followed.

  “Happy?” she asked.

  He simply smiled.

  “I drink whiskey, remember. I’m not a lady.”

  “Doesn’t make you less deserving of my respect. You took me in, fed me, doctored me.”

  Not comfortable with the conversation, she grumbled, “Eat before the food gets cold.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She hazarded a look his way to gauge whether he was toying with her, but the seriously set eyes holding her own touched her in a way that made her break the contact in favor of something
less discomforting, like putting vegetables on her plate.

  They ate in silence for a few moments. “My apologies if I made you uncomfortable,” he said. “It’s how I was raised.”

  “My brother does that with Regan. He tries with me, but I just ignore him. I don’t need that kind of respect.”

  “What kind do you need?”

  She paused. He had a way of asking questions she had no ready answers for. “None really. Not being respected hasn’t made me lose sleep.”

  “But respect is a way of acknowledging how valued you are, or how much you mean to a person.”

  She shrugged. “I suppose, but I value myself. I don’t need it from anyone else just because it’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

  “But what if it’s genuine, and not because of what society dictates?”

  Spring had spent the past fifteen years focused on what she didn’t need: a man, respect, to be coddled. She wasn’t sure how to respond to his attempts to make her consider what else she might need besides the support and friendship of Ed Prescott, Odell, her brother, and Regan. “How’s your steak?”

  “Steak’s fine.”

  That he didn’t push her to answer earned him a measure of her respect. “So do you stand at the table and wait until the woman who may or may not be your intended sits down?”

  He glanced over. “I do.”

  “Does she have a name?”

  “Yes. Emily. Emily Stanton.”

  “Not known to frequent saloons?”

  “No.”

  “Does she mind all your questions?”

  “No, just that I prefer carpentry to law. My father isn’t happy about it, either.”

  “Then why are you entertaining the idea of maybe marrying her?”

  “My father and hers are convinced we’d be a good match.”

  “What do you think?”

  “She and I are certain they’re wrong.”

  “Problem solved, then.”

  “If only our parents would agree.”

  Spring was confused. If he and this Emily were of like minds, why was a match still being discussed? It sounded fairly simple to her. She reminded herself that the answer didn’t matter because he’d be returning home eventually and the outcome wouldn’t affect her life one way or the other, but she was admittedly curious.