Rain Shadow (Dutch Country Brides)

by Cheryl St. John

  “What?”

  Nikolaus gave an exasperated huff. “Pa, you don’t pay me no mind when I talk.”

  Anton halted his step and faced his son, those last words sinking in. Hang it, what was he doing?

  He’d been in a constant state of denial for the past two months since—a shadow passed over his heart—ever since she’d left.

  Eyes as blue as the soon-to-be clematis by the back porch stared at him. He reached out and ran a hand through Nikolaus’ wind-ruffled hair, slid his palm to the baby-soft cheek. He loved this boy more than life itself, yet he’d been so absorbed in avoiding his own inner turmoil that he’d ignored him. He’d neglected his most precious gift from God. With an unbearable ache weighting his heart, he fell to his knees on the spongy sod and pulled his son against his chest.

  “I’m sorry, Nikolaus.” Anton kissed his ear and laid his cheek against his silken hair. “I’m so sorry.”

  Sturdy little arms wrapped forgivingly around Anton’s neck. “It’s okay.” Father and child remained that way for several emotion-filled minutes. “I know you’re lonesome, Pa. Me, too. I wish they never had to go back to the show. I wish they could have stayed here and been our family like before.”

  The thick ache in Anton’s chest stretched thin and hung slack like pulled taffy. What had he been thinking of to allow his son to become attached to Slade? From the beginning, he’d known what an enormous mistake that friendship would be. She’d never meant to stay. Never intended for their farm to be anything more than a place for Slade to recover. Hadn’t wanted to stay in the first place. It had all been his doing.

  He’d brought Slade home. He’d convinced her of the wisdom of leaving him here. He’d coaxed her to dances, dared her to make herself useful and eventually talked her into marrying him. Marrying him.

  He still couldn’t erase the memory of her face the night he’d made his final blunder, the night she’d told him of her plans to leave

  “There’s no reason to stay. Slade and I are safe now. Your father is getting around as good as new after his bump on the head. The longer we allow this to go on, the more difficult it will be for the boys to say goodbye.”

  The boys, it had been then. The boys, it had always been. Not a word about her—about them. A horse might as well have kicked him in the chest. “What about Christmas?” he’d blurted.

  She paused in folding a shirt and stared at him.

  He glanced up from the tiny watch parts on the tabletop. It was getting harder and harder to tell himself not to care.

  “Christmas?” she asked.

  Abruptly, he returned his attention to the timepiece. He had his pride, after all. “We all assumed you and Slade would be with us for the holidays. The boys have been working on their gifts. You can wait until after, can’t you?”

  Silence.

  From the corner of his eye he saw her rest one slender hand on the scarred table. He remembered what the two of them had done on this table and felt himself stir. He hadn’t touched her since the night they’d lain on the cold winter ground and taken comfort in one another’s arms.

  Apparently, she remembered, too, because her next word had a throaty quality. “Anton.”

  He looked up.

  She was beautiful. Eyes as dark and all-consuming as a moonless midnight, hair soft and fragrant and curling ever so gently around her perfect face. Her glistening lips quivered just enough to arrest his attention. They were kissable lips, lips that made a man imagine all kinds of things. His thoughts shocked him, and self-directed anger knotted his stomach.

  What the devil was he thinking about her day and night for? He’d taken this path once before, and he wasn’t about to set off on another hell ride into lunacy over a woman. Okay, so she set his blood on fire and thrummed every last lick of good sense from his brain—

  He tugged his gaze from her face and stared at her hand on the table. He’d planned on scratching the itch and having it over once and for all. Satisfy this mindless craving and have it behind him, hadn’t that been the plan? Her departure shouldn’t tie him in knots because he’d seen it coming all along. Why couldn’t he just say goodbye?

  “I haven’t known quite how to ask you this.” She set aside a small pile of clean clothing and perched on the chair to his left. He had to face her or miss her words. “What will happen now that—that the terms of our—arrangement—are changed?”

  Her flawless honey-hued skin darkened in a deep blush.

  “What do you mean?” Anton asked, deliberately forcing her to say the words.

  “Will you still have our marriage annulled?” Her skin flamed, but she faced him determinedly.

  Slowly, Anton removed his spectacles. “That arrangement was broken, wasn’t it?” he asked, hating himself.

  “Couldn’t you...” Her voice trailed off.

  Why was he making this more difficult for her? He stared back. “Lie?”

  Her gaze skittered away, but he waited, forcing its return. “What other choice do we have?”

  “We could go to the lawyer. That’d be expensive and take a lot of time.” He placed his spectacles on the table. Maybe if he just bought a little more time. “Or we could stay married.”

  Her expression was one of pure bafflement. “Why?”

  “Have you considered the possibility that you might be pregnant?”

  Her lips parted, but no words came out. The high color in her face only minutes before drained. “I did think of that, Anton. I’m raising one child by myself. I could care for another just as well.” Her chin lifted defiantly. “It’s not what I’d want, of course, but it probably isn’t going to happen anyway.”

  “How long until we know for sure?” he asked.

  “Two weeks, I’d say.” He could tell she wanted to say more, but she held his gaze silently.

  There. Two weeks. Two weeks, and she’d have no reason to stay. Some sick gut reaction spoke through him. “There’s another matter.” He leaned back in his chair. “Those papers you signed when you married me made Slade my son—legally. I don’t take that lightly.”

  Her face paled even more. “You wouldn’t.” She stood, angrily. “You wouldn’t try to take my son from me.”

  Anton’s heart pounded like man possessed. Don’t hurt her, you idiot. “Of course not. Sit down.” He waited until she obeyed. “I married you to protect Slade because I care about him.”

  “You don’t have to tell me why you married me.”

  “Will you listen? The arrangement was made for Slade. I cared about him enough to take that responsibility. I still care about him. I want to—to see him—to be a part of his life.” Was that it? Was that all?

  A deep sadness welled within the depths of her lovely eyes. “Anton, how can that be?”

  “He could stay here as long as he wants.”

  “No. He goes with me.’ ’

  “Then bring him back.”

  “When? How?”

  “Anytime. Between shows. Next winter again. You know how much he likes it here.”

  “You wouldn’t do anything to take him from me, would you?” Her voice held a hurt he’d never heard before, knew he never wanted to hear again, and he loathed himself for putting there. What was wrong with him?

  “I’m cantankerous, darlin’, but I’m not cruel.” Neither missed the endearment. “Stay for Christmas. And then come back. We’ll talk then about what to do.” He should just let her go. He’d had one wife he didn’t know how to talk to or please. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. Besides it was unfair of him. He’d manipulated Rain Shadow. Capitalized on her love for her son

  But he’d wrung the promise from her. She’d stayed until after the first of the year.

  The severing had been more painful than any of them had anticipated. He and Nikolaus had driven Rain Shadow, Slade and Two Feathers in the springboard, their lodge and belongings piled in the box, Jack tied behind. In Butler, they’d waited awkwardly for the train, the boys sitting sullenly side by side aga
inst the station on a wooden bench. Two Feathers had poised on the platform’s edge like a wooden Indian, arms crossed, craggy face unreadable.

  The eleven-fifty’s whistle had pierced Anton’s composure, and the train steamed into the station two minutes ahead of schedule. Two Feathers gave Anton a resigned nod and boarded the train. At the last minute Slade and Nikolaus exchanged wooden horses and a bow and arrows, then Slade dashed up the stairs, appearing at a window with a glum wave. Nikolaus burst into tears and clung to Rain Shadow’s trouser leg until Anton peeled him off. Anton’s eyes met hers, Nikolaus’ cries and the shrieking whistle preventing any last words.

  She’d kissed him then, pulling his head down, pressing herself against his body and closing her eyes tightly. That kiss disturbed Anton’s soul, leaving him wanting to hold her, wanting to keep her with him by whatever means necessary, stamping her taste on his lips as the train chugged slowly away from the platform...away from the station...away from Butler, Pennsylvania... and away from him.

  Nothing in his life had been in alignment since.

  “She called me ‘darling,’ Pa,” Nikolaus said, dragging Anton from his reverie. “Rain Shadow hugged me and made me not be so scared. She loves me, I think.”

  Anton released his son and took his hand. He didn’t know if anything in his life would ever would be on track again.

  * * *

  Rain Shadow carried a tray through the line and helped herself to a slice of roast, potatoes and gravy. Over the hubbub of hundreds of forks and knives, the buzz of voices in different languages and accents and wooden benches scraping the floor, she glanced around for Slade. Beside her, Two Feathers balanced a slice of pie on his tray, and together they made their way through the throng in the dining tent to a table.

  Slade joined them as they ate.

  “I wondered where you were.” She took the napkin from his tray and placed it on his lap.

  “I heard the bell, but I couldn’t find you.”

  “That’s okay.” She gave him a smile. He hadn’t been his usual energetic self lately, and she’d been relieved to see him join the other boys in their games that afternoon. “Did you have fun?”

  He shrugged. “It was okay.” He took a bite of his meat and chewed thoughtfully. “I wonder if Nikky got my letter yet.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “The mail takes a while to get that far west.”

  “Think we can go visit Nikky after Philadelphia? It ain’t—isn’t—too far, is it?”

  She met Two Feathers’ eyes across the table. “No, it’s not far.”

  “I told the other kids about Christmas. It was somethin’, wasn’t it?”

  Rain Shadow didn’t miss the way he’d been leaving the gs off his words the way the Neubauers did. “It was something, all right.”

  A memory she’d fought off like a bad cold hit her full force. Christmas with its established customs, laced with sentiment and joyful family celebration, had been a grim pleasure. All of Rain Shadow’s former Christmases had been spent like any other day. Practice, dinner in the dining tents with some six hundred other members of the show and an evening in front of a fire with Two Feathers. Any slim imaginings of the way others spent the holiday came from books, newspapers and pictures.

  She remembered a photograph she’d seen once—a family at Christmas dinner, an enormous turkey gracing the table. She had studied that picture, hungrily inspecting each family member’s face, identifying their relationships to one another and imagining their lives. She’d examined their clothing, the dishes, the lace tablecloth, even the clock on the wall, and she’d wondered if they always ate dinner at one-seventeen. That image had lodged in her mind, real family behavior as elusive as a butterfly.

  Someday, she’d decided. Someday when she found her family, they would sit down to dinner together, and she would belong. She would experience what others took for granted.

  She would never take a family for granted.

  Rain Shadow could still smell the tree Anton had cut and carried into the cabin for them to decorate. She could still taste the popcorn they’d eaten faster than they could string it. She could still see the delight on her son’s face when Anton had held him up to place his paper star on top of the tree, and—a divine disturbance swelled in her heart at the memories of the man she’d grown to love—she could still feel his strong, healthy body as he’d stood behind her and whispered secrets about the gifts he had waiting in the hay loft for Nikolaus and Slade.

  Never would a Christmas Eve be as wrought with dear anguish as that one had been. Everything she’d ever wanted, ever dreamed of, danced ahead of her reach, taunted her with the realization of just how happy she would never be.

  None of it had been real.

  She had tucked Slade into bed, knowing they didn’t belong there. She’d sat near the fire with Anton, coping with the fact that he was her husband but that nothing concrete bound him to her. She’d gone to bed in anticipation of another disturbing day to follow and listened to the cabin’s night sounds, hoping Anton would come to her bed, praying he wouldn’t.

  He hadn’t.

  Day after strenuous day, she had avoided situations and subjects that would make her feelings for him obvious. She loved him. He wanted a proper wife. They’d come to a stalemate. He still had a chance for happiness. As soon as she was gone, he could get on with his life.

  Why couldn’t she get on with hers? Rain Shadow slid her hand in her pants pocket and closed her fingers around the gift Anton had given her that Christmas Eve. She pulled out the silver-dollar-size pocket watch and ran one finger over the delicately engraved flowers on the gold cover. An unusual gift for a woman, she’d said without thinking. “You are an unusual woman,” he’d replied.

  She regarded her son with frustration. How could she put Anton Neubauer behind her when Slade spoke of the Neubauers constantly, begged her to return and had even adopted their clipped speech? Slipping the watch back into in her pocket, she made up her mind to get their lives back to normal. Slade playing with the other boys today was a good sign. They needed time and distraction. “Want to practice with the hatchets tomorrow?”

  His black eyes lit with enthusiasm. The trick was one he’d wanted to learn for some time. “Yes-sir-ee!” His gleeful expression clouded over. “What if I hit Grampa?”

  She smiled tolerantly. “You won’t throw at Grampa until you’re very, very good. Grampa didn’t take his place on that target until I’d been throwing for a couple of years.”

  “Aw, heck.” Slade laid down his fork and finished his milk. “Good,” he continued, his reaction changing from disappointment to relief in the flash of a second. “I was worried about hitting him. Think I’ll be as good as you, Ma?”

  “You can be whatever you want to be,” she replied, imagining him as a lawyer, a teacher or the head of a big industry. That’s it, Rain Shadow. Focus on your goal. Get back on track. The contest was less than a month away, and her success depended on giving it her undivided attention.

  Her shooting was better than ever. She practiced hours on end every day. Yesterday she’d seen the posters and handbills advertising the contest.

  Championship Contest Between

  Annie Oakley, Peerless Wing & Rifle Shot

  &

  Princess Blue Cloud, Superb Horsewoman & Crack Shot.

  Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show

  Opens April 14, 1895

  Delacourt Park, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

  It was only a matter of time until her dream came true.

  * * *

  The dream changed. The nightmare evolved into a sensuous panorama of shapes, scents, sounds, textures and temperatures that titillated and tortured. From the edges of sleep Anton moaned at the sensation of cool, silky hair grazing his hypersensitive heated flesh. Velvet-soft skin gliding along his hard muscle and bone was painfully vivid.

  Warm, damp lips and tongue caressing his stubble-rough cheeks and furred chest stole his breath and suffused his body with
rock-hard heat.

  The sensory onslaught haunted him.

  Rain Shadow. Cool satin skin and ardent responses.

  His own blazing heat and nameless, crushing fear. Apprehension seized his heart and squeezed the breath from his chest. The gentler her touch, the more suffocating the heat. The more passionate her mouth, the more crushing the dread. He was afraid his blazing desire would rage out of control and burn down the defenses he’d so carefully built and protected.

  Anton came fully awake and stared into the darkness. Kicking away the coverlet, he allowed the air to cool his perspiring skin. He groped for matches on his nightstand and lit the lantern. The water in the pitcher on the wash-stand was cold, and he poured some into the bowl and splashed his face and chest.

  In the lantern’s apricot glow, his harrowing reflection in the mirror distressed him. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks, and exhaustion was taking its toll. What had he done to himself? He delved long fingers through his damp hair, gripping until his scalp hurt. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He should have been working in his shop, playing mosche balle with his brothers, courting Helena McLaury.

  Pain lapped at the edges of his mind, rippled through his heart and crested in the parched, barren wasteland of his soul. He gripped the edge of the washstand and let the hurt roll over him in a mounting wave. Black and turbulent, it raged through him, dashing every last defense and leaving his heart raw and vulnerable.

  He raised brimming eyes to the mirror and knew why he’d protected his emotions from exposure for so many years. He hadn’t been crazy in love with Emily, but he’d cared for her and wanted things to be different—better—than they had been. He’d been a bumbling fool, trying in the only ways he knew how to make their marriage work, but he hadn’t tried hard enough. He’d hoped somehow things would fix themselves, but they never had. Sometimes he understood that it wasn’t because he was unlovable that Emily hadn’t been all that open to him. Other times he had taken the fault, accepting there was something wrong with him.

  But the failure had hurt. More than he’d been willing to admit to himself or anyone else. The way she’d died was impossible to understand or accept. She’d been pregnant with their second child and had begun behaving erratically. In hindsight he should have seen that she wasn’t thinking straight, but he hadn’t recognized how serious her problems were until she’d told Lydia a lie. She’d claimed that the baby she carried belonged to Jakob—Anton’s brother. To this day Anton still didn’t understand why she’d made up such an outrageous lie, but she’d sure created a mess in their family for a brief and confusing time.