Eden

by Carolyn Davidson

  “Aren’t you?” She looked into his eyes then and her own were dull, without the usual warmth he found there.

  “I know I caused you pain last night, and I’m sorry,” he said shortly. “I took out my anger on you and treated you badly.”

  “I’ve been hurt worse other times, by a man angrier than you, John,” she said quietly. She tried to escape his touch, twisting from his grip, but he refused to allow it, and only held her the tighter.

  “Did I leave bruises on you? Is that why you’re wearing your sleeves all buttoned around your wrists?” Even as he spoke, he grasped her hand and worked at the small buttons that held her sleeve secured. She pulled back from him with a small sound of despair, as he undid the final pearl button and pushed her sleeve up. Above her elbow, there where he had held her firmly as he’d taken her body with haste and so little care, he saw the marks from his fingers, four on the back of her arm, a larger one from his thumb on the soft, inner surface.

  With care, he undid her other sleeve and pushed it up, searching out and discovering identical marks on her other arm. His breath caught in his throat as he viewed the results of his anger, the marks he’d left on her fragile skin, and he felt a wash of shame that threatened to unman him.

  “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Katie. I never thought to do such a thing to you. You’re my wife and I had no right to hurt you that way.”

  “You’re right there. I am your wife and you have the right to do anything you like to me, John. I’m smart enough to know that. If you want the use of my body, you have it. If you treat me roughly and leave marks on my skin, I’ll keep them covered until they fade. No one will know what happens here in this room between us.”

  Her voice was dull, without a trace of the lilting quality he had come to expect from her. He pulled her sleeves down and his hands held her again, there where she wore bruises from his touch. And then he released her abruptly. “I won’t mar you again, Katie. I may use you badly sometime in the future, for I can’t promise never to be angry again, but I won’t leave bruises on you.”

  She shrugged, as if it were of little matter to her and busied herself with the buttons at her wrists. Her mouth was taut, the full lips pressed together as though she would not speak to him again, and he bent to her, lifting her chin with one long forefinger. He lowered his head, his mouth touching hers and his kiss was soft and careful, but she refused it, turning her head away, her murmur one of dissent.

  “Don’t turn from me, Katie,” he said curtly. “I’m still your husband, no matter that you’re angry with me now. I’ve told you I’m sorry, and there isn’t anything else I can do to make it right with you.”

  She looked down at the floor, obviously unwilling to meet his gaze, unable to speak, for she trembled before him, and her eyes were overflowing now with hot tears. He tugged her against himself, held her close and his big hands rubbed up and down the length of her spine, lending her warmth and offering the comfort of his touch.

  She was rigid in his grasp, unwilling to bend to him and he set her aside, his pride damaged by her unwillingness to allow him to make amends.

  With a last look at her bowed head, he turned to the door and left the bedroom, stalking through the kitchen to the back door and then out across the yard to the barn.

  Shorty met him just inside the big doorway. “Hey there, boss. We’re about ready to head out to gather up all the strays and get things ready for branding. Do you want me to do anything here before I get things under way?”

  John shook his head. “I’ll go with you,” he said, not prone to staying behind, with Katie all in a snit and him in such a bad mood. Somehow it seemed to be a good idea to leave the ranch and head for the open range to the north.

  “What about the chores? You gonna leave one of the men here to tend to things?”

  “Are you volunteering?” John asked. “If not, just tell one of the men to stick close to the barn and take care of feeding the horses. We only need one man here to keep an eye on things.”

  “Clay can do that, I reckon,” Shorty said carefully, his frown expressing doubt, even as he spoke the man’s name. “I’m not sure he’s a good one to leave in charge here, though. He’s kinda shaky on taking hold the way he should. And there’s something about him that doesn’t…”

  John’s gaze narrowed on him. “Has he done anything to cause you to doubt his value to the ranch?” So far as John was concerned, the man had about signed his walking papers by putting his hands on Katie. It wouldn’t take much to have him booting him from the ranch and sending him on his way.

  “Just a feeling, I suspect,” Shorty said slowly. “He’s kinda shifty, if you know what I mean. I’m not sure I trust him.”

  “Well, I can’t afford to leave any of the other men behind, Shorty. Clay is the last man hired on and I need all the experienced hands we’ve got during the next couple of days. That’s why I’m going along. I expect Clay can tend to business here and if he can’t, he’ll be looking for another job when we get back.” And if he doesn’t behave himself, he’ll be dodging a bullet from my gun.

  Leaving Katie to the tender care of Jane and Berta might not be his best plan, but John was torn between doing his job for Bill Stanley’s benefit or staying close to keep an eye on Katie. Her abrupt behavior with him was the deciding factor, and he wondered if his absence might not make her have second thoughts about her behavior with him. When she had pulled away from his touch, she had marred his pride, and he felt a hint of resentment gathering beneath the surface of his emotions.

  His entry into the kitchen at noontime was abrupt and his words a surprise to the women there. “I’ll be gone for a couple of days with the men, rounding up the calves for branding and cutting. Can you handle things here by yourself?” His gaze pinned Katie where she stood before the stove and she merely nodded briefly, almost as if she were uncaring about his plans and his absence here.

  “Will we be helping with chores while you’re gone, John?” Jane seemed ready to volunteer should her help be needed, but John shook his head.

  “You can gather eggs if you like, but Clay will stay here to tend to feeding the stock and keeping the barn clean. Looking after the chickens might be a good thing for you to tackle, but he’s pretty capable and I’m sure he’ll keep things up. If you’ve got a problem just go to Berta. She’ll be right handy should there be a problem.”

  He ate quickly, then went to the bedroom and sorted through the dresser drawers, the sound of his rummaging for his clothing audible from the kitchen. Katie thought of offering to help him ready himself for the next two days, and then thought better of it, staying in the kitchen, aware that he was an old hand at this sort of thing. He probably wouldn’t welcome her help at any rate. His eyes had been harsh when he’d looked at her earlier, his smile distant, as if Jane were the only recipient of the gesture.

  He came from the bedroom carrying his saddlebags over his shoulder, his heavy coat over his arm. “I’ve got all I need. I’ll be back day after tomorrow I suspect. Unless things go wrong out there. Usually doesn’t take more than two days to get the calves together, and since we’re doing the branding here instead of out on the range, we’ll be riding in early on in the day to pen them up. You might want to get ready for some extra men to feed in a couple of days. We’ll be taking on several from the neighboring ranches to lend a hand and they’ll need to be fed. Talk to Berta and she’ll let you know what your share is.”

  Katie listened in a daze. He spoke of things she had no knowledge of, as if she were to be expected to cook a mountain of food for a crew of men who would need sustenance. But acknowledging her ignorance was not to be considered and she nodded and tried her best to act knowledgeable as he spoke. She’d talk to Berta later on today and get a list of the duties expected of her.

  For now, John was leaving and it looked as though he was going without any semblance of a tender goodbye, or a leave-taking that would include soft words or even an embrace. He stood by the doorway a
nd shot her a look of impatience.

  “Was there something else you wanted, Katie?” His eyes were cold, his jaw firm, and he watched her with eyes that did not soften even as she stepped closer to him.

  He was about to find himself on the outside, looking in, she decided as she stood before him. “We’ll be fine here, John. I’ll do some extra baking and check with Berta about the food situation. I’m sure we can handle it between Jane and me.”

  She offered no smile, no melting gaze, no softening of her form, only a tip-tilted chin and a mouth that did not look for his kiss. To her surprise, she received it anyway, for he bent to her and his lips were rough against hers, taking the softness he found there and leaving only the chill touch of a mouth that did not hesitate, only brushed coldly against hers and then tightened again as he stood erect and looked down at her.

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d behave while I’m gone.”

  As a goodbye, his words left much to be desired, Katie thought, and she stifled the words that filled her mind. The man was about as stupid as a man could be.

  And then her mind retraced the events of the day before, of Clay’s hands on her and her own short and futile battle with him. Perhaps that was the answer to John’s angry behavior. Maybe he really thought she’d been too friendly with the ranch hand and no longer trusted her to be a lady.

  She turned from the door, refusing to watch as he left the porch and strode across to the barn, already in the bedroom as he called out to Shorty for his horse. Through the bedroom window, she heard his voice, heard the laughter of the men as they mounted and gathered up their reins. The chuck wagon rolled from the barn, and several men followed, forming a line that traveled to the north pastures, where the young calves and bullocks awaited them.

  Katie gathered up the soiled clothing from the basket she kept handy for that purpose and headed for the kitchen, intent on using the scrub board and taking out her anger on the items John had left for her to tend.

  “What’s wrong with John?” Jane asked softly as she watched Katie cross the kitchen. “He acts different for some reason.”

  “He’s about half-mad at me,” Katie admitted. And then refused to elaborate on her statement, only settling the big boiler on top of the cookstove to heat water for the wash. She knew that only hard work and the physical labor of scrubbing clothing and then hanging them to dry would keep her from giving way to the frustration of the anger she had stored within her.

  She scrubbed on the porch, kneeling before the boiler, her knuckles scraped from the ridges on the board and her hands reddened from the heat of the water she used. Spots were vanquished readily with the lye soap she used and within an hour she had readied the line for John’s clothes to hang across the yard. The sun promised to be hot today, the breeze blowing from the west, and the clothes blew in a satisfying fashion, shirts billowing like a ship’s sails, trousers drying rapidly in the heat of the direct sunlight.

  By midafternoon, she had hauled the basket full of clothes into the house and sprinkled down the shirts for ironing later on. The trousers she shook out, pressing them with her hands and folding them neatly for John’s drawer. His small clothes were softer, the wind having blown the wrinkles from them and she thought she smelled a faint aroma of John’s unique scent on them, and was tempted to hold his stack of shirts and drawers against her nose to catch the aroma they carried.

  Jane watched her throughout the day, silent and wondering as Katie did her chores in a solitary fashion, as if she needed the time to consider some great problem. She knew that Jane deserved some sort of explanation for her withdrawal, but could not bring herself to make one.

  The ironing took much of the next morning and Katie found herself in the big kitchen where Berta reigned supreme by early afternoon. She queried the woman as to the cooking chores she would be expected to fulfill and Berta shot her a quick look of surprise.

  “There’s not all that much for you to do, girl. I’m used to feeding the pile of men who’ll show up here tomorrow. If you want to help out, you can fry up three or four chickens for me. I’ll go out and butcher them later on tonight and bring you a potful of parts to tend to.”

  “I can help with the butchering, Berta. I did some of it when I was young and even though it isn’t my favorite thing to do, I know how and I’m more than willing to help with it.”

  Berta nodded. “I’ll call you when I’m ready to start in on them. I’ve got eight young roosters we can kill and clean. It’s a big job and if Jane wants to lend a hand it’ll be that much easier on you and me.”

  “She’ll be happy to help,” Katie said, knowing that Jane would do whatever was required of her. “I’ll plan on picking corn in the morning and heating water in my boiler to cook it. How many ears do you think we’ll need? I’d figured about forty or so should do it.”

  “Sounds about right to me,” Berta said. “John will have seven or eight men with him when he comes in, and there’s four or five of the neighbors will be coming to help with the branding. With fried chicken and a kettle of mashed potatoes and then the corn, we should have a pretty good spread. I’ll do a kettle of gravy and put green beans on to cook early in the morning.”

  Katie nodded agreeably and headed for the cabin to prepare Jane for the work to come. When Berta sang out late in the afternoon, the two girls were ready and headed for the spot behind the chicken coop where Berta did the butchering. Between them, they caught up the young roosters and held them firmly while Berta used her small hatchet.

  It was a job that turned Katie’s stomach, the stench of feathers in boiling water rising from the big pails Berta had readied for the job. They plucked feathers, the air thick with the sticky things, their clothing covered with the mess. But there was no chance of them not lending their able help to the job, for Berta did more than her share on the ranch, and when help was needed Katie was eager to step in.

  From the barn, Clay watched the three women at their chore and at Berta’s uplifted hand, he approached, his nose wrinkled as he neared. “Sure is a messy job you ladies got tangled up with out here,” he said, awaiting Berta’s orders, for she had made it apparent that he was to help.

  “You can carry the roasting pans into the kitchen for us,” Berta told him. “We’ve got four chickens in each and they’re kinda heavy for the girls to lift.”

  “I can do that,” Clay was quick to agree. “John told me to help out if you needed me.”

  He lifted the first roasting pan and headed for the house, then returned for the second one, shooting a quick glance at Katie as he picked it up. “You feeling all right? You’re looking kinda peaked, ma’am.”

  Katie swallowed the bile that would not be controlled, rising in her throat as she inhaled the scent of the wet feathers she’d handled over the past half hour. “I’m fine.” Her words were short and sharp, and her intent was to discourage the man’s attentions, for she knew John was still bearing a grudge over the last encounter she’d had with Clay.

  His face was still bruised from John’s fists and one eye remained swollen, but his manner was as cocky as before and she was determined to discourage his veiled hints. He’d allowed his gaze to rest on her body in a way that made her embarrassed, his eyes seeming to laugh at her. If he was interested in her, if he thought she was an available woman, he had another think coming, she decided, her own anger on a fine edge.

  John would have a fit if he knew that Clay was being so apparent in his attentions, and Katie was undecided what she could do about it. Speaking to Berta about it might be one option, simply ignoring the man was another, and she even considered talking to Bill Stanley upon his return, if it seemed necessary. Yet the thought of causing problems at the ranch, no matter her own inclination, was something she dreaded.

  “You girls go on to the cabin and get cleaned up. You’ll want to change your clothes before we start in on making dressing and getting those birds ready for the frying pans tomorrow.” Berta sent Katie and Jane on their way with a wave
of her hand, following Clay into the ranch house kitchen.

  Jane washed at the sink and reached for a towel, turning to face Katie, who waited her turn at the basin and soap. Her face was troubled as she dried her hands and arms. “Is it my imagination or is Clay sweet on you, Katie?”

  “He’s making a pest of himself, is what he’s doing,” Katie said shortly. “I’m not showing him any mind, but he keeps on watching me. John’s gonna have a fit when he comes back and finds out.”

  “Well, you haven’t done anything wrong, or tried to encourage the man,” Jane said stoutly. “Seems to me he’s taking a lot on himself, paying special attention to you.”

  “I’m a married woman and you’d think he’d get that through his head. I’d appreciate it if you’d stay close by tomorrow, Jane. I don’t want to take a chance on being alone with him.”

  Jane nodded. “I can do that. He puts me in mind of old Jacob when he looks at you, Katie. Like he’d like to take liberties with you.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE MEN ARRIVED FROM the far pastures before noon the following day, and Katie heard the sound of their voices as she cleaned the bedroom.

  She listened, dust cloth in hand as John’s voice penetrated her hearing, his words distinct.

  “I’ll check in the cabin and see if the girls are all right,” he said to some unknown man outdoors. And with that, she heard his footsteps on the porch, then the slam of the door as he came inside. His voice was a low murmur as he spoke with Jane in the kitchen, for she’d been cleaning up the stove, blacking the surface and readying the workspace for the cooking they would do.

  He opened the bedroom door and stood in the entryway. “We’ve brought back over fifty young steers, Katie, and the men will be hungry before long. Have you and Berta got things together for our dinner?”

  She looked up from her work and blinked in bewilderment. “Not yet, John. Berta didn’t expect to feed the lot of you until suppertime. She’ll be working at it now, but you’ll have to wait a bit until I can find something for your dinner. I’ll go out and pick some beans right away and start them cooking. Berta said she was going to cook up a big kettle of them for supper, too. I’ll go to the house and see what she wants me to do.”