Forbidden

by Beverly Jenkins

  “I suppose I’ll have to.” Although she hadn’t planned on dipping into the money she’d been paid by the Cateses so soon.

  “Why don’t you ride with Benjy and me?” he offered. “The agent said the train won’t be here for three days, and in three days you can already be in Sacramento and have caught the train there for San Francisco.”

  Eddy hesitated.

  “I understand the hesitancy but I’m a man of God, Miss Eddy. You’ll come to no harm, and I could use the company and someone to help me answer the hundreds of questions Benjy seems to wake up with every morning.”

  Her smile met his. She’d been depending on the kindness of strangers since leaving Denver and he seemed to have been sent from heaven. “I’ll accept, but you’ll have to let me pay you and cook along the way.”

  “Benjy and I will accept your generous offer to cook, and if you want to pay me something, I’ll put it in the collection plate at the orphanage. The sisters there could use the help. So are we agreed?”

  Saved once more, she said, “Yes, we are.”

  “Let’s round up Benjy and see if the wagon’s ready.”

  An hour later they were under way.

  It was mid-­afternoon as the old Conestoga bumped along the rocky desert road, Eddy was glad for the shade provided by the aged and patched canvas. The heat was stifling. Benjy was asleep in the back and she was sharing the seat with Father Nash. They’d been traveling just over two hours when she sensed something not quite right. They were supposed to be traveling west, but from the sun’s position in the sky they seemed to heading south. “Are we heading south?” she asked.

  “As a matter of fact, we are, but first things first. What else do you have to offer me besides your cooking?”

  She studied him. “I offered to pay you, too, remember?”

  “I do but I’d like something a bit more substantial.” The eyes she looked into were mocking.

  “Meaning?” she asked, suddenly wary.

  “You’re a beautiful woman, I’m a healthy man. Need I say more?”

  Eddy fought down the fear spreading up her spine. “You’re not really a priest, are you?”

  “No, just a healthy man who likes to prey on pretty little pigeons like you. You’d be amazed how many people fall for this priest getup and the story.”

  Eddy stiffened.

  He glanced over. “How about you open that blouse and let me see what you got in there.”

  “No!”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Never been one to force a woman. I may be a scoundrel but I have scruples. Give me your money then.”

  “No!” she snarled.

  He chuckled and pulled back on the reins to halt the team. “This isn’t a discussion, girl.” He reached beside him and brought out a knife. The large shiny blade glittered in the sun. “I’d hate to scar that pretty face.” He beckoned with his free hand. “Give me your money.”

  Shaking with reaction and terrified about what he might do if she continued denying him, she reached into her handbag.

  “All of it honey. Benjy and I have to eat.”

  “And I don’t?” she snapped.

  “Lift that skirt and I’ll let you keep half.”

  “No.”

  “The money then. We’re wasting time.”

  She handed him all she had, and he smiled. “Now, hop down and start walking. This is where we part ways.”

  “What!”

  “You don’t want to bedded, I don’t want you riding.”

  She scanned the bleakness surrounding her. How could he do this? She picked up her brazier and carpetbag and climbed down. He tossed her a canteen. “If you ration it, you might make it to somewhere. Watch out for scorpions. They give a nasty bite.”

  He drove off without a word.

  Eddy was horrified. She knew she was at least two hours from the train depot, but if there was a town or settlement closer, she didn’t know. Vowing never to be so trusting again, she shaded her eyes to see the sun and started walking north back to the depot, hoping Nash—­which was probably not his true name—­burned in hell.

  Eddy made good headway at first and sipped sparingly from the half-­filled canteen. However, as time passed her progress slowed. After a while the stifling desert heat and the relentless blinding sun conspired with the vast open stretches of rock and sand to sap her strength so badly, it made her want to fall to her knees and surrender to whatever fate would bring, but she forced herself to keep walking. She could barely breathe. Her throat was raw from thirst. She’d taken the last precious sips of water from the canteen hours ago, or had it been days? Her brain was so fuzzy she couldn’t remember. She did know that crossing the desert on foot was still better than offering herself to that snake Nash, but she also knew she’d probably die. Soon. The skin on her hands and face were blistered. She’d stumbled and fallen more times than she could count. Her skirt was torn and filthy. She’d given up trying to determine the time of day by the angle of the sun. All she wanted was water and shade, but there was none. Trying to keep the cookstove on her head took more energy than she possessed so she dropped it and stopped. Only sheer will had kept her moving until then and now it was gone, too. Black spots swam across her swollen eyes. She sensed herself swaying. When she dropped to her knees on the hot rocky ground, she barely felt it. It was the last thing she remembered.

  “Is that someone walking?” Rhine Fontaine asked from his wagon seat. He pulled back on the reins.

  His business partner, James Dade, shaded his eyes. “Looks like it.”

  Rhine picked up his spyglass for a closer look. “A Colored woman. What in the hell is she doing out here alone?” A person had to be feeble-­minded to be walking across desert under the full day sun. Crossings were best done at night. A dozen questions filled Rhine’s head. Had her horse run off? Had her wagon lost a wheel? He handed Jim the glass and quickly turned the team.

  “Looks to be in pretty bad shape,” Jim said, still eyeing her through the glass. “She just dropped to her knees.”

  By the time they reached her, she was sprawled on the ground and didn’t appear to be breathing. Rhine grabbed the extra canteen and jumped down while Jim pulled a tarp from the bed and then joined him.

  The first thing Rhine noted were her blistered cracked lips. He could only imagine how long she’d been walking. He placed his ear on her hot chest. She was breathing, but barely. “Miss?” No response. He tried rousing her gently. “Miss!” he called louder. Uncapping the canteen, he poured a trickle of water over her lips while Jim held the tarp above them to provide some shade. Finally, her eyes sluggishly opened. Even though she looked disoriented, relief washed over him. “Here, drink. Slowly.”

  An urgent moan escaped her as she eagerly clutched the canteen and began drinking. He knew she wanted to gulp it down, but nausea and vomiting would be the end result, so he said again, “Slow. Drink slow.”

  He let her drink as much as he dared, and all the while scanned the area for a companion or clues as to how she’d come to be there. When he thought she’d had enough, he told Jim, “Let’s get her to the wagon.”

  Rhine gently scooped her up and she began to fight. She had all the power of a gnat but she was flailing and twisting and crying out hoarsely. He backed out of reach of the ineffectual blows. “No one’s going to hurt you, darlin’, I promise. We’re just trying to save your life.” She continued to fight. Rhine, carrying her as best he could, looked over at Jim with disbelief.

  Jim cracked, “Pretty feisty for a half-­dead woman. Probably a hellion at full strength.”

  When they reached the wagon, Rhine laid her down in the bed. Jim placed the carpetbag and the cookstove they’d found near her. “You drive. I’ll tend,” Rhine said.

  While Jim turned the team towards Virginia City, Rhine worked on thei
r patient. The first thing needed was to cool her down. With that in mind, he began undoing the buttons of her shabby blouse, and she began flailing and crying out again.

  Barely missing being punched in his eye, he told her, “I need to open your clothing so you can cool off. Stop fighting me now. Please.”

  But she kept it up. He ended up tearing the blouse in two, and she instinctively covered herself. A damp and much mended shift lay under the shredded blouse. Guilt rose within him but soon dissolved beneath what he knew to be necessity, so he poured water on the clean handkerchief he pulled from his coat and began sponging it against her bare shoulders and arms. He bathed her face, and in the process cleared away the mask of salt left behind by the desert heat. He removed the patterned head wrap covering her matted, sweat-­wet hair and once again wondered how she’d wound up in the middle of the desert. Repeatedly soothing her with the damp handkerchief and his voice, he decided that once they reached town, he’d hand her over to boardinghouse owner Sylvia Stewart. She’d take things from there.

  It was dark by the time they reached Virginia City, and Rhine looked upon that as a blessing. He didn’t need gossip hounding him for playing the Good Samaritan. To avoid prying eyes, they drove through the city’s alleys to Sylvia’s place. Jim ran in and seconds later returned to say, “She’s not home. Whitman Brown said she’d be back within the hour.”

  Rhine cursed. “Okay. Let’s take her to our place. One of us can come back for Sylvia later. Hopefully she has room to take her in.” Even though there was something about the fretfully tossing young woman that made him want to hold onto her until she was well enough to take care of herself again, he knew she needed to be cared for by a woman.

  Once they reached his saloon, he told Jim, “Let me get her upstairs, and you go and see if you can find Doc Randolph.”

  “Will do. Do you need my help?” There was concern on Jim’s broad face, too.

  Rhine jumped down from the bed then reached in and gently eased her into his arms. The tossing and soft moans of protest started up again. “No, she weighs less than a baby rabbit. You go on ahead. I should be all right.”

  So while Rhine entered the silent saloon through the back door and climbed the stairs to his apartments, Jim drove away.

  Chapter Three

  Rhine entered his shadowy bedroom and gently placed Eddy in the center of his large four-­poster bed. Another man might fret over her and her dirty clothing being laid on the clean sheets, but he was more concerned with her well-­being. Her breathing was so shallow and her skin still so hot he worried that she might not pull through. Taking a hasty look back at her over his shoulder, he quickly grabbed a basin and hurried down the hall to the washroom to fill it with water so he could continue wiping her down.

  Luckily, it was a Sunday and the saloon was closed. Otherwise she might’ve been disturbed by the noise and revelry of drunk miners and card players from the floor below. He stuck the large sponge into the water-­filled basin and slowly and gently slid it over her face, throat, and the tops of her breasts above the shabby shift. That she wasn’t wearing a corset was a plus. More than likely she would’ve died in the heat had she been. To his thinking, she’d be better off nude and immersed in a tub of cool water, but he needed to wait for Jim to return with Sylvie—­as she was affectionately called—­or Doc. The questions surrounding Eddy’s plight continued to plague Rhine, but they had to be set aside until she was strong enough to answer.

  A short while later, Jim entered with Sylvie and both came to the bedside. Concern filled Sylvie’s face. “Sorry I wasn’t home. I was out at the orphanage. Jim said you found her in the desert?” The middle-­aged boardinghouse owner was a trusted friend.

  Rhine stopped his ministrations for a moment. “Yes. And her skin’s iron hot.”

  Sylvie placed her palm on her forehead. “She is very warm. Poor thing. I’d suggest a tub, but until she’s fully awake I’m scared she’ll slip beneath the water.”

  “I can hold her up if you think that will help.”

  She studied Rhine as if thinking that over. “It might. Do you know who she is?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Do you have a shirt or something for her to wear?”

  “Yes” He walked to his wardrobe and took down a shirt. “Jim, were you able to find Doc?”

  “He’s in Reno. He’ll be back in a day or two.”

  Rhine saw the exasperation on Sylvie’s face. She had been a nurse for the Colored troops during the war and served in that capacity now for the city’s Colored community. According to the rumors, she and Doc Randolph had been at odds for decades, but Rhine had no idea why.

  Sylvie took the shirt from his hand. “Let me get her undressed and I’ll call you in to carry her to the tub. In the meantime start filling it with water.”

  Eddy thought she was dreaming about being carried down a dark tunnel. She knew a man was carrying her but she had yet to see his face. He eased her into a pool of water and she leaned back against his strong shoulder. The water lapped over her like a balm, magically erasing all her hurts and soothing her everywhere: throat, arms, breasts. It felt so glorious, she sighed with pleasure. Languidly opening her eyes, she stared into the deep green gaze of a White man. For some reason, she wasn’t alarmed. His jet black hair and handsome, ivory-­skinned features seemed familiar somehow. She gently cupped his unshaven cheek—­something she’d never done to any man before—­and he smiled softly. She smiled in return, and that was the last thing she remembered.

  “I trust you’ll be gentlemen if I leave her in your care for the night?”

  Jim nodded.

  “Of course,” Rhine added, eyeing the woman sleeping peacefully in yet another one of his clean shirts beneath a light blanket.

  “My cook, Felix,” Sylvie said, “left to go back East yesterday, so I’ll have to listen to my boarders complaining about my serving them burnt breakfast before I can come back here to check on her in the morning.”

  Rhine smiled. Everyone in town knew Sylvie had no cooking skills at all. He pitied her boarders. “Do you have a replacement for Felix in mind?”

  “Not yet. Nor do I have a place for this young woman to stay, at the moment. One of the men will be leaving in a few days and she can finish her recovery with me. Will you mind looking after her until then?”

  Rhine glanced over at Jim, who shrugged, so Rhine replied, “No.” His fiancée Natalie probably wouldn’t approve if she knew, but he’d cross that bridge if and when the time came.

  “Okay good. I’ll bring some aloe for her sunburn tomorrow. When she wakes up, encourage her to drink, but not a lot all at once. Jim, cook her light food. Eggs, maybe some toast, and we’ll see how things go. Let’s hope she’ll be in better shape after she rests up.”

  Rhine agreed.

  Jim asked, “Do you want me to drive you back?”

  Sylvie nodded. After glancing down at the young woman a final time, she said, “Keep an eye on her.”

  After their departure, Rhine surveyed his sleeping guest. He ran his eyes over the clear-­as-­glass ebony skin, the long sweep of her lashes, and her perfect mouth. While in the tub, she’d taken him by surprise when she opened her eyes, looked deeply into his own, and cupped his cheek as if they’d been lovers. The urge to turn her hand and place his lips against her damp palm had also taken him by surprise. He had a fiancée and was due to be married before year’s end. He had no business thinking about kissing another woman. Deciding what he’d felt was nothing more than concern, he set the incident aside and took a seat to watch over her as promised and await Jim’s return.

  Eddy awakened in a four-­poster in a large room barely lit by a turned down lamp. Having no idea where she was or how she came to be there, she shook the cobwebs dulling her thinking and noticed she was wearing a man’s shirt! Perplexed, her eyes moved around the room to a well-­appointed sitting area
and then to the face of a White man watching her from one of the chairs. Panic flared. She snatched the blanket to her neck and she drew back fearfully.

  “Don’t be afraid. You’re safe. I’m Rhine Fontaine. My friend Jim and I found you in the desert.”

  Confused, she tried to force herself to calm down so she could make some sense of this, but she couldn’t. Watching him warily, she asked, “Where am I?” Her throat was dry as sand. She wanted water badly, but needed to solve the mystery of this first.

  “Virginia City.”

  “And this place is?”

  “My bedroom.”

  Her eyes went wide. “I need to go, I can’t stay here.”

  “Maybe in a few days, but right now—­”

  Alarmed, she didn’t let him finish. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her mind was so foggy she wasn’t sure what was happening, but she knew she had to get away.

  He stood and said urgently, “No! You’ll fall!”

  He was right. The moment she stood, she was hit by a wave of weakness so strong, her legs folded as if they were made out of cards. She cried out involuntarily as she hit the floor.

  He walked over to her. “As I said, maybe in a few days. Are you okay?”

  Drawing away again, she looked up and recognized the face of the man from her dream. She stilled. Had it been a dream? “I’ll scream!”

  He sighed. “If you feel that’s necessary, go right ahead, but I’m not going to hurt you—­in any way. When you’re done, I can help you back into bed, or carry you to the facilities, whichever you’d prefer.”

  Heated embarrassment burned her cheeks. Her needs were not something she talked about to a stranger, and especially not a White man stranger. “I can walk.”

  “No, you can’t, but if you want to try, I’ll wait.”

  At that moment she saw her bare legs sticking out from beneath the long-­tailed shirt, and also realized she had on no underthings! No drawers. No shift. As quickly as her weakened state allowed, she reached up and pulled the blanket down. Ignoring him as best she could, she covered her bare legs. This was getting worse and worse.