by Kit Morgan
The corners of her mouth turned up and he knew she felt discouraged. But what could he do? It wasn’t like he could snap his fingers and make everything happen overnight. “After I take care of some chores, we’ll ride into Morgan’s Crossing.”
She cringed.
“What’s the matter?”
“I can’t ride into town in this dress.”
“Then change it.”
“But to ride astride in public…”
“You did it in Sweetwater Springs.”
She pressed her lips together, as if holding back a retort. When she did speak she said, “I probably won’t see any of those people for a long time, if ever. But the people in Morgan’s Crossing, I’ll see all the time.”
Anson tried not to laugh. It was as if she were trying to hang on to her old life, to keep the image of the socialite alive. “You won’t be the first woman to ride through Morgan’s Crossing astride a horse, Zadie, nor the last. Trust me, no one will think anything of it.”
She sighed. “I’ll have to change into my other dress.”
“That’s fine,” he said. “Or if you want, I can go by myself.”
“Really?”
Anson raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure if she was relieved or apprehensive at the idea. “But I’ll be gone five or six hours.”
“Six hours?” she asked as her face fell.
“You have to remember, Morgan’s Crossing is a good two hours from here.”
“Oh … that’s right.”
He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss some sense into her. Maybe she was still feeling overwhelmed with everything. “I want you to come.”
Zadie stared at him. “I’d still need to change.” Her voice was void of emotion, and worry assailed him. One minute her mood was fine, the next melancholy. Or would any woman in her position be the same?
The brutal fact was, he didn’t know her. She was still a stranger to him, and he would have to make the effort to get to know her if he wanted to be able to understand her. He already knew they needed to become better acquainted with each other before sharing a bed – in more ways than one – but to really understand her … that was something else entirely.
“You’ll enjoy it,” he told her. “Trust me.”
She nodded. “Is there … anything to eat?” she asked hesitantly.
Good grief, he’d forgotten about breakfast! “We still have some jerky. We could have lunch in town.”
Her eyes lit up at his suggestion. “At the boarding house you mentioned?”
“Yes. The woman that cooks there makes a fine stew, and her biscuits are incredible.”
She smiled in relief.
Anson took her by the hand. “I want to show you things, Zadie – the town, the people, the land, what we can do with this place. I feel like I’ve cheated you.”
“You haven’t cheated me, Anson,” she said. “Neither of us expected me to be here.”
“Are you sorry you are?” he asked, and hoped he wasn’t going to regret her answer.
“I …” she began and stopped. “No. It wouldn’t matter where I was with you. You’d still be the same man. It’s you I married, not a … a location.”
Her reasoning astounded him. “Then I hope you get to know me, Mrs. Jones.”
She squeezed his hand. “I plan to.”
* * *
Zadie changed her dress, ate some jerky and they were on their way. Anson was in a good mood and had done his best to make things easy for her that morning. The least she could do was swallow her pride and ride to Morgan’s Crossing with him. He even let her ride Hamlet by herself. She was apprehensive at first, but the horse was so easy to ride, she calmed after the first couple of miles.
Anson rode beside her on a big bay horse named King Lear that definitely had more spunk than Hamlet, or at least Zadie thought so. She watched him prance next to Hamlet, occasionally side-stepping. “Does he always do that?”
“I haven’t ridden him since he arrived. This trip to town will be good for him. That and he’s trained to pull a wagon, so if we’re lucky and find one for sale, we can bring it home. But I’m not sure we’ll have that kind of luck today.”
King Lear snorted a few times. Hamlet ignored him, thank Heaven! Zadie didn’t want her mount dancing around like Anson’s was. “Is there a livery in Morgan’s Crossing? Maybe they can build you one.”
Anson shook his head. “I hear there’s a blacksmith up at the mine outside of town, but that doesn’t do us much good.”
“How will we get a wagon?”
“We might have to go to Sweetwater Springs.”
The thought of another four days on the road made Zadie cringe. Riding Hamlet again was bad enough, considering the current state of her fundament. But she needed to accompany Anson and, when she really thought on it, didn’t want to be left at the cabin alone. Besides, she was curious to see Morgan’s Crossing and meet a few of the residents. Maybe she could become friends with the women there. Once her riding skills improved, she could even venture to town on her own …
“What are you thinking?” Anson asked, jolting her from her thoughts.
“Oh, nothing really. Hamlet.”
“You mean you’re thinking about my horse instead of me? Who did you marry?”
Zadie laughed. “Well, he is nice to ride.”
Anson’s eyes grew dark for a moment. She’d never seen such a look. He wasn’t angry that she could tell. His eyes met hers, he grinned … and then whinnied.
Zadie almost fell off her horse. She laughed and couldn’t stop. His imitation of Hamlet completely unexpected!
“Well, at least I know I can make you laugh,” he said as she continued to giggle. “I’d like to see Hamlet do that.”
Zadie got her laughing under control. “What, talk? Or make me laugh?”
“Both. Then I’d be a rich man. Could you imagine owning a talking horse?”
“It depends on what he talked about.”
“Hmmm, you have a point. Let’s see, what would a horse discuss with a beautiful woman?”
Zadie blushed at the subtle compliment. “The weather?”
“Horses really don’t care so long as it’s not too hot. But he might say something about the dress you’re wearing.”
“My dress?”
Anson leaned toward her. “Yes. He would say, ‘I wonder how it tastes?’”
Zadie giggled and shook her head at him. “I would think you’d hear a lot of ‘where’s my dinner?’ more than anything else.”
“You’re probably right, but he’d still compliment you on your dress. The one you wore this morning was very fetching.”
She blushed again. “Thank you, I’m … glad you liked it.” For some reason, riding next to him made her feel self-conscious, probably because he could see her face. When he rode behind her on Hamlet the last two days, he couldn’t.
“I have a feeling you’d look beautiful in anything you wore.”
Her blush deepened. “There is pretty and there is practical. The dress I had on this morning is hardly the kind of dress I could, say, do laundry in. I’d ruin it.” The words were out before she could stop them. She chanced a peek in his direction. He stared straight ahead and she could tell he was pondering her words. “I didn’t mean to imply that I’m above such work,” she added.
“I never said you did,” he said, his face calm. At least he didn’t look insulted. “You’re right, the clothes I’ve seen you wear so far are pretty, but, as you say, impractical. You’ll have to save them for special occasions or risk ruining them.”
He’d said it so calmly that she wasn’t sure why she thought he’d be upset in the first place. Did she think she was so above the people here? Maybe she was the only one upset by her statement. But what did it matter? There was probably no such thing as “social status” in a place like Morgan’s Crossing. For one, there weren’t enough people.
They came to a bridge and crossed over a stream. “Are we getting close?” Zadie a
sked.
“Yes, the town is around that bend up ahead.”
Zadie felt the first pinch of apprehension. She hoped she didn’t draw too much attention riding into town on a horse dressed as she was. She had a flash of entering perched on a side-saddle instead, and sighed.
“What was that?” Anson asked.
“Oh, nothing.”
“That little noise you made didn’t sound like nothing. Actually, I’d like to hear it again.”
He was flirting – and she was beginning to like it. “If you must know, I was thinking about riding side-saddle.”
“Always wondered what it was like for a woman to ride that way. Some of my aunts do.”
“I would think so, considering the ladies you make them out to be. I learned to ride on a side-saddle, but I never kept it up.”
“The saddle or the riding?” he said with a snicker.
“Stop that,” she scolded. Really, the man was impossible at times, yet she was growing fonder of him by the hour. He was witty, he looked out for her, and she was discovering things about herself she hadn’t realized were issues. Things like worrying what others would think about her astride a horse when Anson said she had no reason to. And he was right.
They reached town, and the first person she saw didn’t pay them any mind. Of course, he was about ten years old and focused on a kitten he was carrying, but still. She wondered where he lived.
Then she spied a lovely Queen Anne-style house on the other side of the road and practically melted with envy. What she wouldn’t give to have a house like that sitting where Anson’s little cabin was! It was grey with maroon trim and a white porch. I bet they have indoor plumbing too, she thought and bit her lip. She didn’t even have a decent stove to cook on! Of course, she couldn’t cook yet, so what did it matter?
“That’s Mr. Morgan’s house, in case you were wondering,” Anson informed her.
“Oh?” she said as she stared at it. “I hardly noticed it was there.”
Anson laughed and she smiled, pleased with her little joke. He had to have seen her gawking. Her mouth watering was a telltale sign …
“I’ll have to introduce you to them. His wife is nice.”
“I’d like that.” Yes, she most certainly would!
“Let’s get our business taken care of. Then if we have time, we’ll stop by before we leave. Mr. Morgan might be at the mine. One never knows.”
“The town is named after him, then?”
Anson smiled. “He owns the town, sweetheart, so yes.”
Zadie looked around herself, even turning in the saddle to get a fuller view of Morgan’s Crossing. “My, I’ve never met anyone who owned a town.”
“Well then,” Anson quipped. “Today might be your lucky day.”
They rode to the store, a brick building that to Zadie looked like a jailhouse she’d seen once in South Boston. She remembered traveling to that part of town with her father and uncle, who’d shown up on their doorstep that day with a bad case of the jitters. She never did find out what was making the man so nervous, but he insisted he needed her father’s help with something, something he couldn’t talk to anyone else about. He’d also told her father she’d best come along for safety’s sake.
To this day Zadie didn’t know what sort of shenanigans her uncle was cooking up. She only knew that they never turned out well, for anyone involved. Maybe that’s why they took her along, so she’d be safe. For all she knew, her uncle had someone following him.
She brushed the thought aside, reined Hamlet to a stop in front of the store and dismounted. “Hey, that was nicely done!” her husband said.
She realized she hadn’t waited for him to help her – she’d just done it. “Well, I suppose it was, wasn’t it?” she said proudly. “But you’ll still help me when I have to get back on, won’t you?”
“For now, but eventually, you won’t need my help.”
“Don’t be so sure,” she said, wrapping Hamlet’s reins around a hitching post. Anson did the same with King Lear, and together they entered the store.
“Most of what you’d be interested in is over there,” he said and pointed. Zadie looked where he indicated – several bolts of cloth were stacked on a table, with other sewing supplies sitting nearby. Too bad she hadn’t a clue what to do with them, other than purchase a needle and thread.
Well, it couldn’t hurt to look. She went to the fabric and studied it. “Practical,” she muttered. There was a bolt of brown wool, one of simple blue calico and one of brown, that didn’t look much brighter than the wool. Even if she did know how to sew, there wasn’t much to choose from. Of course, maybe they had more fabric tucked away somewhere, but from the size of the place, she doubted it.
She scanned the walls, corners and nooks for any sign of ready-made dresses and saw nothing. With a heavy sigh (drat, she didn’t mean to let one slip) she crossed the store to where Anson stood looking at a saw and waited for him to finish his shopping.
Ten
“Did you see anything you like?” Anson asked.
Zadie shook her head. “Nothing I’m capable of handling yet, I’m afraid.”
Anson raised an eyebrow. He turned and studied the area that held most of the women’s goods. “Nothing?”
His bride flushed red. “You know I can’t sew,” she hissed.
His heart went out to her. “I’ve seen ready-made dresses before. Maybe we can ask if they carry any?”
“I thought of that and looked, but found nothing. But I would think that way out here the prices would be horrendous. My father told me that if you’re the only store in a small town, you can sell your goods at any price you want. After all, where else are the people going to get things? They probably don’t carry them because the proprietor did at one time, asked too much, they didn’t sell, so he stopped ordering them.”
She had a point. “True, prices can be high in places like this. But we aren’t getting everything we need here.” When she didn’t respond, he had to think a moment. He could tell she was both disappointed and frustrated at her lack of skill with needle and thread. “I’ll tell you what – while the storekeeper fills our list, we can have some lunch at the boarding house, then see if Mrs. Morgan is home. She’ll know which of the ladies in town could give you some sewing lessons. I know some of the women here would love to help.”
Zadie licked her lips. “Yes, I remember you mentioning it before. But how would she know who’d be willing to teach me?”
“Did I mention her husband owns the town? She’s bound to know all the goings-on, including who the best seamstress is.” Zadie smiled and relief flooded him. He hated seeing her so downhearted. “Can you knit?”
“I embroider. I never took up knitting.”
“Maybe you should. I noticed some yarn and needles over there.”
“Who’s going to teach me? Mrs. Morgan?”
“No, I am.”
Her eyes widened. “You knit?”
He shrugged. “Quite a few men around here do, as well as where I come from. If a man hasn’t got a woman to do it for him, he has to do it himself.”
She chuckled. “Having lived in the city all my life, I guess I’ve never thought about it. Very well, I’ll go get some yarn and a pair of needles.”
“Two pairs,” he called after her. He hadn’t knitted in years, but how hard could it be to remember? He smiled to himself and remembered the first thing he’d ever made, a scarf. Still had it, in fact. Even Mrs. Dunnigan, the tough old battle ax that owned the mercantile in Clear Creek, had praised his efforts.
“Well, well,” said a voice. “If it ain’t Mr. Jones.”
Anson turned to see Ralph the storekeeper watching Zadie as she perused a basket of yarn. “There you are – I have a list for you.”
“That’s not all you have. So this is the missus, eh?”
“Yes, this is the new Mrs. Jones. And put your eyes back in your head – she’s not on the list.”
Ralph didn’t look at him, but h
is lip curled. “Nice, ain’t she?”
Anson didn’t like the tone of the man’s voice nor the sneer on his face. He cleared his throat and waited until Ralph looked his way. “Yes, but don’t forget for a moment she’s mine,” he replied, a little more strongly than he’d intended.
It did serve to get Ralph’s attention, though he didn’t seem to like it. “Where’s your list?”
“Here,” Anson said and held the list before him. “Also, my wife would like to know if you have any ready-made dresses.”
“Um, nope.”
“And that’s all the fabric you carry?”
“Yep.” Ralph’s eyes were already drifting to Zadie again
“And are you going to be ogling my wife again?”
Ralph shot up straight as if he’d been poked in the backside with a pitchfork. “Um, um, nope!” He snatched the list from Anson’s hand and disappeared into the back.
Anson didn’t like having his wife stared at like that. And it appeared that Zadie had noticed Ralph’s attentions, based on how stiffly she stood. He went straight to her. “Let’s get something to eat.” He put an arm around her and ushered her toward the door. When they reached it, he called to Ralph: “I’ll be back.”
Ralph looked guiltily over his shoulder at Anson and Zadie. “I’ll… have this filled, Mr. Jones,” he said haltingly. Good. Without another word Anson led Zadie outside.
They went to the boarding house next door, but before they entered she stopped them. “Does that man own the store?”
“No, thankfully, he manages it. He doesn’t own it.” He turned and put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you go in there alone.”
“I can handle myself if I do.”
Anson gave her a wide grin. “Why, Mrs. Jones, I wasn’t aware you were so feisty.”
“I may not be able to sew or cook, but I’ve dealt with his kind before.”
“Really?” he said, folding his arms in front of him. There was obviously more to his new wife than he’d first thought. “When?”
“When I was younger and we lived in Boston. After my aunt died, my uncle came to our house a lot, and sometimes he would bring his friends along. They would have dinner with my father, then play chess and other games afterwards. There were two occasions when some of my uncle’s friends tried to take liberties with me in a hallway.”
