California Woman (Daughters of the Whirlwind Book 1)

by Daniel Knapp

  "Nothing to forgive. Who is coming?"

  The clinking sound of a buckboard harness drew her attention as Ralston said, "Alex Todd. Poor devil. He's thinking about taking a leave of absence, doing some legal work for… for the railroad people. He's… he thinks he needs a change. It's probably just temporary confusion. I want to talk him out of it."

  Although she had been thinking for weeks about a way to be briefly with Alex again, the sight of him pulling up in front of her house, just ten yards away, made her knees weak. She could not just sit here. She couldn't just leave them, either. She had to get into the house somehow, put on a hat with a heavy veil. It was an impossible situation.

  As Alex stepped down from the buckboard, she quickly turned to Ralston. "I feel a chill. Will you excuse me for a moment? I must get a wrap. Tell Mr. Todd I'll be right back. I'm sure… you two men will have things to discuss for a few minutes."

  Upstairs she gripped the edge of her dresser, staring into the mirror without seeing, trying to get hold of herself, searching for a way to avoid going back down to the porch. Her mind wasn't working. The muffled sound of their voices increased the feeling of helplessness. Then she heard what sounded like the tones of a mild disagreement. Seconds later, reins snapped, and she heard one of the buckboards roll out of her driveway and down the hill. Certain Alex had interpreted her hasty retreat as an objection to his coming, sure he was gone, she went back downstairs still wearing the garden hat. But it was Alex who was standing at the screened front door. She froze, waited for the expression of shock to transform his face.

  "I stayed to apologize, Mrs. Cable. I'm mortified, but that won't stop me from being honest. I'm afraid Billy was making an awkward stab at matchmaking."

  Esther was certain she would faint. Disoriented, she forgot to disguise her voice. "What a lovely compliment," she heard herself say, immediately conscious that only circumstance had caused her to whisper.

  "I think it was stupid," Alex said, not looking at her. "He knows I have no interest in anything like that. Knows I've told all my friends to stop doing this sort of thing. Some of the women they've thrown at me… I'm sorry. I don't mean you. I just never would have come if I knew what he was up to. If you'll excuse me, I'll be going."

  She watched him turn and start down the steps. She knew her voice had deepened slightly over the last dozen years. That might make it possible. How much could he possibly see through the screen and the mosquito netting? She realized the porch lamp would not reach this far, became aware that the one behind her in the hallway would lessen rather than improve his view of her. Pulled forcefully by her desire to see him again, she regained her courage. If she had succeeded once, she could do it again.

  "Wait!" she called out. He turned, and she shivered, certain that this time her voice would register. But he simply stood there, poised, pulling at her in a way that could not have been more powerful if he had thrown a rope over her and tugged it with all his might. She began half-whispering again. "There isn't any need to feel bad about what Billy did. He was… obviously… well-intentioned."

  "I suppose so. But—"

  "Why don't you stay for a few minutes? Would you like a cup of tea? I'm afraid I don't have any spirits in the house."

  "You're very kind, Mrs. Cable. But I think—"

  "I have some port, now that I recall."

  "I've had a little too much to drink already."

  "Just one, Mr. Todd. It would be a graceful way to extricate ourselves from this awkward situation."

  He thought for a moment. "I'd be pleased, and I thank you. You've made it less uncomfortable already."

  "Why don't you sit there on the porch swing? I'll go in and get the bottle and some glasses."

  "But just one—"

  "Of course. You might blow out that lamp. It's drawing all kinds of insects."

  Her hands were shaking as she placed the port and glasses on a tray and carried it back out. Near the front door she blew out the lamp in the hallway. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She could barely see his features. She put the tray down, poured, and handed him a glass.

  "What's that you're wearing? I can hardly see, it's so dark."

  Her heart almost stopped. "Just a garden hat, with mosquito netting."

  "You really are shy, aren't you? I can understand that. I've seen you a few times in town—at a distance. And in your buggy at the rally last week. You always cover your face, don't you?"

  She gripped the rattan arms of her chair, making them squeak. "Not always. And it's… it's not just shyness," she said, still whispering, "although… that's part of it. I have a scar. And I wear these gloves because I have two fingers missing. Gruesome, isn't it?"

  He looked away and sighed. "It could be worse. And your face certainly has a lovely outline, from what little I've seen. Listen to me! I sound like somebody courting."

  "You're still grieving over your wife. I was so sorry. She was such a lovely woman."

  "Yes, she was. She liked you. Told me she loved

  working with you during her brief time at the school."

  "Yes, it's a small world, isn't it? I liked her very much, too."

  He drained his glass. "That was a lovely note you sent. I appreciate it. God, I have this urge to tell someone how I really feel."

  "Why don't you? It will ease the pain." She fought down the desire to get up out of her chair and sit with him in the swing.

  "That's just it. There is no pain. Oh, I feel sad about her passing. Very sad. But it doesn't compare with what I felt when I lost my first wife. Can you understand that?"

  I must remember to keep whispering. I must. "I think I can. I… I didn't know you'd been married once before… You must have… loved her very much."

  "More than life itself. There was so much sorrow, so much numbness after she… she and my son…" his voice began to break. "She and my son were with the Donner Party… It felt like I was the one who died… I didn't have any feelings left. Not for years. I don't think I ever got all of them back. I cared deeply for Judith, loved her, I suppose. But it was never the same. Elizabeth was…" His voice trailed off.

  Tears brimmed in Esther's eyes. To control herself, she took a deep breath, then reached out, took his glass, and refilled it. She prayed he wouldn't notice the way her hands were trembling. "I… can understand that, too. I know… that… I will never feel again… what I felt for my husband."

  "When did it happen?"

  "A long time ago."

  "It creates the damnedest feelings in a man. But I don't ever remember going through what plagues me now. This time I feel a total indifference to women—except in a way I try never to act on."

  "Physical need?"

  "Yes. God, it's so good to talk to someone. A woman, particularly." He sighed and started to get up. "Forgive me. I probably sound like a complainer."

  "You needn't apologize. A man needs to talk to a woman about some things. Things men never have the courage to tell one another."

  Relaxing, he sat back again.

  "I know that… Mr. Todd," she went on, "the physical business. It can be so intense… I… I know."

  "Yes. It can. Almost uncontrollable at times. That's why I've been drinking so much these last few weeks. To dull it. That's not like me, either. I talked to my doctor about it. Righteous as it sounds, it bothers me. Oh, I joke about such things with friends. Men friends. It's a cover-up. Down deep, I've always… it sounds conceited, I suppose… but I've always wanted to be better than most men in that way. Never wanted to let animal craving control me. We deserve, owe ourselves more than that. Men as well as women. I… I haven't always been successful…"

  She wanted to wrap her arms around him, rock him like a baby, tell him how rare he was. Moved to the limits of caution and suddenly, giddily beyond the first stages of arousal, Esther got up, poured Alex another glassful, and sat opposite him on the swing. "What matters is that you try. What did the doctor tell you?"

  "Says it's a common experience. Ha
s some foolish notion that death and grief stir a man's… Well, you know what I mean."

  It was so dark now she could scarcely see him, three feet away. He started to get up again. She moved over to him involuntarily, put a hand on his forearm. "Don't go just yet."

  "I'm making a fool of myself. I sound like an idiot."

  She could smell the liquor behind the port on his breath, and she could smell him. "No you don't. It all seems quite natural."

  "You probably think—"

  "No, I don't, Mr.—Alex. You don't mind if I call you Alex, do you?"

  "Not at all."

  "Did it ever occur to you that women experience the same feelings? I know we are not supposed to. But I have…" She forced herself to say, "I am… feeling them this very minute."

  She had lost her senses. She thought she would fall off the edge of the earth when he reached out, gently lifted the mosquito veil on her garden hat, and touched her face with his fingertips.

  "You're a beautiful woman. I suspected that, even with the veils you wear. Now I know it, just from the way your face feels."

  The pulse in her neck actually ached. She reached out and took his hand, bravely, short of breath, terrified, not knowing what would happen, knowing full well that she might be revealed at any moment. And that if she were, he would probably hate her. She could not stop herself. Kissing his fingers, she pulled him gently toward her, lifted her face, and brushed her lips against his. He looked up and away for a moment, not sure, then kissed her; tenderly at first, then passionately. He stood up and pulled her to him. She let him wrap his arms around her and pressed her cheek against his. She wondered if the moon would rise and betray her, if the stars would fall and burn her alive for what she was doing. She no longer cared.

  "You feel so good against me," he said, swaying, revealing how close to drunkenness he was.

  "You're lonely. Just as I am."

  He kissed her again, hesitantly pushing his tongue just inside her lips. She felt moisture, then a sudden pulsation between her legs. Waiting until she was Sure she could stand on her own feet, she pulled away gently. "I don't want to talk anymore. Will you come inside with me?"

  He stumbled once as they went up the stairs hand in hand. "I'm a little drunk."

  "That's perfectly all right."

  They reached the upstairs hallway. Soft light spilled out through her bedroom door. She turned her face away from him. "Will you wait here until I call you?"

  In her bedroom, she blew out the lamp and looked in the mirror. Even after she grew accustomed to the darkness, she could not see herself. She experienced a wave of terror, pushed it away. He cannot possibly see me, she told herself. He does not recognize my voice… I have borne two children… I will not feel the same. Larger there… She remembered the skills she had learned from Arabella Ryan. He would never expect that from me… I will use everything… it will throw him off if he even begins to suspect.

  She placed the snuffed lamp on an armoire shelf, closed its door, undressed, and got into bed.

  Somehow her fear made it even more remarkable. Once, while they were making love, he whispered, "I don't have to see your body to know how beautiful it is…"

  "Shhhhh."

  Afterward, while she drifted back down through a sequence of her own aftertremors and he lay nestled on her breast with his eyes closed, she asked him what he was thinking about.

  "Nothing," he said, his hand cupped tenderly over her hip.

  "Tell me."

  "You'd be angry."

  "Why? Please tell me. I won't be angry."

  "All right," he sighed. "But you won't like it. I know you won't."

  "Tell me."

  "It hasn't felt like that since—"

  "Your first wife."

  'Yes. You're… much more… knowledgeable. She was just a young girl. But I don't mean in that way. I mean the rest of it. The tenderness. What I felt like… in my mind. It reminded me so much of being with her. You even wear the same lavender scent."

  She held her breath. Then, relieved but still on guard, she stroked his hair. "That doesn't make me angry. It's…" She was almost crying. "It's a compliment."

  He got up and dressed, walked back to her unsteadily, and kissed her on the cheek. She heard him stagger slightly as he went toward the door, then hesitated.

  "Will I see you again?" he asked. "I'd like to… after a decent interval. Perhaps we could have dinner."

  "We shall see." She wondered how on earth she could have allowed herself to do it, knew she could never get away with it again. "In the meantime, i think it best we forget this."

  "If you really feel that way—" The touch of sadness in his voice cut into her.

  "I want us to remain friends, first of all. Seeing each other again… this way… might… spoil that."

  "You're a very generous woman," Alex said, bumping himself with the door as he closed it behind him. "i hope I…"

  The door shut, and she didn't hear the rest. Only then, as she began to tremble at the thought of what might have happened, did she realize how much the alcohol had dulled his senses, made it possible. She heard him stumble in the driveway, ask himself where in hell he had left the buckboard. After he was gone, she put on a bathrobe and went downstairs. For the first time in her life she drank herself senseless. Short of laudanum, she knew there was no other way she could blot out the shame she felt about deceiving him. Erase the aching wish that things could be different. Wipe out the icy determination concerning Mosby and Carter that was crowding her thoughts again. Make her forget that she could never risk being with Alex this way again.

  Sixty-five

  She was aware of the hesitant, tapping sound before she opened her eyes. Sunlight streaming through the windows nearly blinded her, and she felt as though her head would split open from the pain. Everything seemed on its side. Then she realized she had passed out, had slumped over and slept with one cheek pressed to the kitchen table. She sat up, wiped her mouth, and heard the sound behind her again. Turning, she saw Bull Carter standing on the steps just beyond the rear screen-door.

  "In God's name, what are you doing here at this hour of the morning?" She glanced at the clock. It was almost noon.

  Sheepishly, he glanced down at his shoes. "I… I come to the front door first. When you didn't answer and I seen the carriage out there, I thought… I thought somethin' might be wrong."

  She got up and unlatched the door, trying to control the wretched mood she was in. "Well, come in. I'll make some coffee."

  He didn't move.

  "Well, are you coming in or aren't you?" She suddenly realized her bathrobe was partially open. She jerked at the lapels and snugged the cloth belt tight. Ignoring him, she padded to the cupboard barefoot and reached for a mason jar full of coffee. She heard him come in and almost laughed when she realized he was tiptoeing. When she turned, he stared at her, bug-eyed.

  "For God's sake, haven't you ever seen a woman in a bathrobe before?"

  "I'm… I'm just not used to it, that's all."

  She knew before he had finished speaking that he was looking at her nose rather than at the fullness of her bosom. Turning, she jerked her coffeepot off its hook on the wall, walked to the stove, and set it down on an adjacent counter. "Frostbite," she said. "Lovely, isn't it? Do you still want to bring me flowers?"

  "It don't matter, the scar. I wasn't lookin' at that."

  She bent over a bin and removed some kindling and a few sheets of old newspaper. "Well, what were you looking at, then?"

  "Your face. I never seen such a beautiful face before. I never dreamed—here, let me help you with that."

  She let him take the wood and the paper, absently measured coffee into the pot as he placed a small shovelful of coal over the kindling. "I'm sorry… I don't feel well this morning."

  He glanced at the empty port bottle on the table, then reached under his arm. "I… I brung you a paper. Fresh from Virginia City with all kindsa news from east of there. Come by Pony Express
just this mornin'."

  I "How nice of you, Mr. Carter." Her back turned to him, she rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "Are you hungry?" She opened the paper and glanced at the front page. A pen-and-ink sketch of Luther Mosby stared up at her.

  "I could eat somethin'." Carter said, lighting the kindling.

  "Yes… well… I'll fix some eggs…" Mosby was gone, so far out of reach it made her dizzy for a moment. She steadied herself and scanned the story:

  … failed in his attempt to win alignment with… left for the South this morning… Confederate Army commission… likely, he said, before departing… serve on the staff of… his distant relative… John Singleton Mosby…

  Bull Carter's voice seemed to be coming from deep in a mine shaft. "Won't be much longer for the Pony Express. Telegraph across the Sierras ought to be finished this year. That'll kill it."

  Three thousand miles, she thought. Across mountains, desert, the plains… at war… months. Perhaps years. "Is that right?" she finally responded, aware of Carter again. She put the coffee on and went to the cellar door. "I'll get the eggs. Sit down and make yourself comfortable."

  In the coolness of the basement she weighed it all—Mosby, Carter, the need to construct an artificial barrier that might prevent her from giving way to her yearning to be in Alex's arms again. The ends were clear, the means—as far as Mosby was concerned—still vague. But it would work, somehow. That she knew. By the time she went back upstairs, she had decided.

  He was putting her glass in the sink, and the bottle was gone. "Tidied up a bit for you. Hope you don't mind."

  "That was very nice of you." She scrambled the eggs and poured the coffee. When she set the plates down, she reached out hesitantly and put her hand on his. He stared at it incredulously. "I hope you don't think I'm a heavy drinker."

  It took him ten seconds to find his voice.

  "One bottle don't make a drunk."

  She sat, sipped her coffee, put it down, and massaged her aching temples. "I… I was seized with a fit of loneliness last night. Oh, dear. I'm getting too personal."