Eden Creek

by Lisa Bingham

  She opened her mouth to remind him it wasn’t proper. After all, the girls could wake up at any moment, or someone could come.

  But the words died in her throat as the long underwear dropped to the ground. She never tired of looking at him. His back was broad and muscular, his hips slim. As he moved, she felt a fierce jealousy of the water that caressed his lean thighs, hard stomach.

  She wished that she hadn’t been so hasty in insisting that she didn’t want to swim.

  As if he heard her thoughts, Orrin turned. Water dappled his skin and dripped from the tips of his hair.

  “Come on in,” he urged.

  Joining Orrin would involve slipping from her clothes. Her hands swept over her stomach. Suddenly she felt ungainly, and about as attractive as Betsy the cow. “The children.”

  “They’re asleep.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Come in. It’s hot today.” Seeing her uneasiness, he added temptingly, “The water’s cool and clear.”

  “My dress…”

  “You’ve got clothes on underneath.”

  She rested a palm against her stomach once again. Her eyes followed the water as it lapped around his chest. “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on, Ginny.” He sprinkled her with a delicate spray of water. It was so inviting.

  “Someone will see,” she finally whispered.

  “There’s no one around for miles but me.”

  “You’ll see.”

  “I’ve seen it all before.” Although he’d been teasing, Ginny knew she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t undress in front of him in the daylight.

  She heard him sigh as he moved toward her. The water rushed down his torso and swirled around his waist. Just as the lapping waves teased his navel he must have caught her blush, because he stopped and looked at her, his eyes dark and intent. When he spoke his voice filled with stark emotion. “Don’t you know that I think you’re beautiful with my son growing inside of you?”

  The words, so tenderly spoken, brought both pleasure and pain to her. She could not resist the warmth of his gaze. Or the allure of his presence.

  Reluctantly she stripped to her chemise and petticoats, then stepped down into the creek.

  Orrin drew her into deeper water, and Ginny tensed, at once delighted by the cool caress of the water and afraid. Tugging at his grasp, she tried to resist his gentle persuasion.

  “I—I can’t swim,” she finally admitted.

  “What kind of farm did you come from?”

  Knowing that he was referring to another of Ruby’s lies, Ginny prevaricated. “A—a dry one.”

  “Like a city?” he prompted.

  “How did you know?”

  He laughed, unconsciously drawing her deeper. “It wasn’t hard to figure out. It’s obvious you’ve never seen the back end of a cow, let alone the front.” He paused before adding, “It also isn’t hard to see you’re running from something.”

  She started, but he continued, “But you don’t have to tell me. Not unless you want to. We all run from something sometime in our lives.” His eyes became dark and penetrating. “Just don’t run away from me.”

  Ordinarily Ginny would have brushed away Orrin’s statement, but it caused a shiver to run across her bare flesh. She wondered at the secrets that plagued him. Through the last few weeks a kind of desperation had entered their relationship, as if Orrin feared Ginny’s knowing too much about him. He had treated her like a queen, showering her with kindnesses that she never would have imagined only months before. But he never spoke of the secrets she saw hidden in his eyes.

  He pulled her into the center of the creek, where the deeper water came to his chest.

  Ginny trod carefully, feeling her way with her bare feet, but she had to admit that the water felt delightful against her heated flesh. And the buoyancy of the stream made her feel lighter, more agile.

  As if to give the lie to her imaginings, she slid on a grassy rock. Her arms flailed in an attempt to regain her footing. Losing her balance, she fell sideways into the water.

  Almost immediately Orrin was there to catch her and lift her free. He swept her out of the current and toward a still, shallow pool of water created by a tree that had fallen across the bank.

  She clutched at his shoulders until her heart ceased its pounding and she could catch her breath.

  “Are you all right?” His voice held just a trace of panic.

  “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

  He drew back and gave her a searching look. The water had plastered the camisole against her skin, revealing the ripeness of her breasts and the swell of her stomach. But rather than stepping immediately away, he came a little closer, reaching to form a frame for her stomach.

  His touch was so strong and warm. He stood for long, delightful moments, absorbing the pokes and wiggles.

  Ginny knew she was watching him with a far-from-motherly expression. “I love you, Orrin.” She raised on tiptoe and pulled him down for her kiss.

  But when the passion would have ignited between them he stepped back, glancing at the children sleeping only a few yards away. “Tonight,” he promised. “Then we’ll have all the time in the world.”

  To Ginny the next few hours became some of the most precious she could remember spending with Orrin. They swam and talked and snacked on leftovers. Then Orrin lay with his head on her thighs while she made a chain of dandelions and wove them into his hair. When the children woke to find their father covered in yellow flowers Orrin merely shrugged and took the girls into the water for one final swim.

  Watching from the bank, Ginny discovered she’d never been happier.

  So why did that thought make her feel as if a goose had walked across her grave?

  Her hands chafed the chill that settled into her skin despite the hot, steady July sun. Casting her eyes about the deserted meadow, she suddenly wanted to go home.

  Pushing aside her reaction, Ginny chided herself for being a silly, pregnant female.

  But the feeling persisted long after it should have faded away.

  Twilight had begun to spread through the grass when the Ghant family gathered their belongings and stowed them in the wagon.

  From the cool depths of a copse of trees a few yards away Billy Wicks took another sip of whiskey. His bottle was nearly empty.

  Soon, he promised himself. By the looks of her, Ginny was about to drop the whelp. He’d give her until November. Then he was taking her back to Plymouth. Whether or not the baby had been born.

  “Can’t we go? It’ll be dark long before we get to Ogden, Billy.”

  Billy scowled and glanced at the woman waiting behind him. Abbie Biddell had proven to be an avid pupil. Where months before she had been a shy rural maiden, now she knew skills that would make a veteran prostitute blush.

  Unfortunately, he could see the changes in her face. There was a brittle cast to her lips and a glint to her eye. She’d become possessive and jaded. And she kept harping on Billy to take her away from Ogden.

  Billy had meant to cast her aside some time ago, but with weeks of waiting still stretching in front of him he’d decided to bide his time. After all, Abbie still managed to play the refined lady well enough to satisfy him—and there was no telling if he could find another woman to entertain him until November.

  Abbie sidled up to him and dragged her palms down his back. “Why did you want to come up here anyway, Billy? They’re having fireworks in town.”

  He didn’t bother to answer her. Instead he threw the bottle of whiskey into the creek and strode toward their horses.

  “Let’s go.”

  Abbie’s lips tightened in irritation, but she followed him nonetheless. She still had no idea why Billy had been spying on Orrin Ghant. But in all honesty, she didn’t care. As long as Billy kept his promise to marry her and take her home with him to Missouri, he could do anything he liked.

  Chapter 17

  The change came suddenly, without warning. One
hot, sweltering day summer bled into autumn. In the space of a few hours the air became crisp, like a shiny red apple, and summer began to fade. In its place came the tastes, the smells, the sights of autumn. Woodsmoke and mist. Pumpkins and chokecherries. And in everyone’s mind lingered the phantom promise of winter.

  Because people were hoarding away their winter stores like eager chipmunks, Orrin spent most of his time on the road. Ginny understood how much his business needed his attention, but she dreaded each day without him and counted each hour until his return.

  At least she had the companionship of Eunice and Baby Grace. Somewhere between the harvest of fresh peaches and that of apples they had decided she would do as a mother. Perhaps it was the fact that she let them eat their fill of the fruits as they were picked. Or perhaps, just perhaps, it was the way she soothed their tummy aches afterward with nary a scolding. Or maybe it was the fact that during their convalescence they discovered that she had a wealth of stories and fables to tell them.

  Imogene still treated her as an interloper, but having won Grace’s and Eunice’s approval made it a little easier to bear the girl. She could only pray that someday Orrin’s oldest daughter would learn to accept her.

  With each day Ginny grew rounder and heavier. Ida told her she was carrying the child well, not letting on to just how advanced she really was, but Ginny no longer cared. She was tired of being the shape of the watermelons in the field. More than that, she was eager to see her first child.

  Ginny rubbed her back and stepped onto the stoop. For one wild moment she thought that the rumble of the wagon had been a sign that Orrin had returned. Instead she felt only a momentary twinge of disappointment, then a burst of delight when she saw Ida Carrigan driving into the yard, her wagon box filled with an assortment of children.

  From the top of the rise Ida’s face split into a smile. “Don’t you look a sight!” she teased as she brought the wagon to a halt.

  Ginny self-consciously smoothed the fabric of her skirt and tugged the gored bodice a little lower over her hips. Ida laughed at her automatic adjustments.

  “There’s no use hiding it. There isn’t a human alive that could suck in a belly that size.”

  Ginny blushed, then chuckled, reveling in the way that Ida’s blustery charm always seemed to chase away the doldrums.

  “What’s brought you by today?” Ginny asked, her arms winding around the porch support.

  Ida’s expression lightened, and she wiggled her brows. “I’ve come to take those no-account children of yours to a party.”

  “A party!”

  “There’s a harvest celebration in town tonight, and I thought your girls would like to attend. I also thought you’d like a few hours to yourself, so I decided to pick ’em up and let ’em bed down in the parlor and play with my little ones. We’ll bring them back tomorrow around noon.”

  “I don’t think I should impose on you that way.”

  “Nonsense. It’s my pleasure. My family has been achin’ for someone new to come play.” She eyed Ginny intently. “No pains yet?”

  “No.” She squirmed in embarrassment, realizing Ida’s children were openly listening to their conversation.

  “No spotting?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then. That baby isn’t about to come tonight. So you can have a nice hot bath, sing to yourself at the top of your lungs, fall into bed, and sleep until noon.”

  Ginny opened her mouth to refuse, then imagined so many hours all to herself. Since Eunice and Baby Grace had decided to become her friends Ginny had been lucky to go to the outhouse alone.

  “Don’t say no, ’cause I won’t believe you. Just get a few of their things, and I’ll round up the children.” As if she had decided there was nothing more to be said on the matter, she motioned for Manda Sue and Tilly to go in search of the Ghants.

  By the time Ginny had collected their clothes, Imogene and her sisters were waiting by the wagon. To her surprise, they seemed as eager as she was for a few hours apart.

  As Imogene clambered into the wagon box Baby Grace turned and scampered back. She wrapped her arms around Ginny’s legs in a fierce hug and stated, “Love you,” then hurried back to her sisters. Just before climbing into the wagon she pulled up her dress and shouted, “An’ I’ll keep my pant’loons dry. I promise!”

  Ginny was left blinking back a sting of unexpected tears.

  “’Bye, Ginny,” Eunice called with an exuberant wave, and Ginny returned the gesture as even Imogene offered her a grudging smile.

  Ida gathered the reins and clucked to the horses. “We’ll be by around noon tomorrow,” she advised as she slapped the horses and drove the wagon out of the yard amid the chorus of the Ghant children’s good-byes.

  Then Ginny stood alone in the quiet. Her eyes lifted, absorbing the gold and scarlet colors staining the mountainside. For the first time in months she had been left in silence.

  Sweet, blessed silence.

  Ginny had forgotten how wonderful solitude could be. The first thing she did was unearth her best china from the crates stored in the barn. She fixed a place setting of crystal, Limoges, and silver and enjoyed every private minute even more than she savored the food.

  While she ate, she listened to the chatter of birds and the rustle of autumn leaves. It wouldn’t be long before such sounds were a memory. Though the windows were closed against the chill, the evening breeze still brought with it the scents of winter.

  After she had put her solitary meal away and washed her precious dinnerware, she went into her room and pulled back the sheets, slipping a lavender sachet beneath the pillow. She then dug deep into a trunk to retrieve the lawn and lace wrapper she’d worn on her wedding night. Although Ginny realized she was in no way the same girl or the same shape as she had been that first night, there was something about the garment’s delicate embroidery and soft pink ribbons that made her feel pampered. Luckily, the yards of pleated fabric were full enough to cover the swell of her stomach.

  Next, she went into the kitchen and drew water for a long, hot bath. She intended to while the evening away, just as Ida had suggested. In fact—her lips twitched in a self-indulgent smile—she planned to sleep until she could sleep no more, roll over, and take a nap.

  Since it would take some time for the water to heat, Ginny decided to take care of the rest of the chores so that nothing would need her attention until morning. The sun had already dipped behind the mountains, so she donned a shawl from a peg beside the door, deciding it would have to do. If she hurried, it would shield her from the worst bite of the wind.

  She walked across the yard, breathing deeply of the rich mixture of pine and loam that sifted into the air after dark. Once inside the barn she hurried with the chores, giving Betsy an extra measure of oats for being so patient with the milking that evening. She then headed back to the rear stalls where Orrin kept his spare team.

  “Hello, Ginny.”

  Even before the voice registered in her consciousness Ginny felt a faint premonition. She turned and stared straight at Billy Wicks, the dread rushing into her limbs like a bitter tide.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He looked at her in mock pity, shaking his head and offering a tsk of regret. “How could you have forgotten so soon, my pet? I’ve come to take you home.”

  Ginny backed against the last stall, wondering what she was going to do. No one would hear her if she cried out for help.

  No one but Billy.

  “Come now, Ginny. You knew I would come for you.”

  “No.”

  His lips thinned in annoyance, and he eyed her stomach in blatant disgust. “In truth, I had hoped you would have dropped the brat by now, but that fact can’t be helped.” He stepped toward her. “Come with me. We haven’t much time.”

  Ginny reached for the stall behind her and edged sideways. She had no doubt that Billy meant to take her, one way or the other. She could see his eyes gleam harshly in the shadows.

  “
I’m married now.”

  “You belong to me!”

  “No. I belong to Orrin.”

  He lunged for her, taking her arms in a painful grip. “You belong to me! I saw you first. I courted you first. I took your virginity and planted my bastard in your belly. You’re mine.”

  “Why are you doing this?” she exclaimed, trying to pull away, but he held her tight.

  “Because you owe me. I waited years and years for a chance to advance in the Parker hierarchy. Then you returned, and your father promised me—promised me—that if I married you, the bank would be mine one day. All mine.”

  Ginny wanted to believe that he was lying to her, but a tiny corner of her mind knew what he said was true. Herbert Parker had always wanted a son. He’d always hated her for not being a boy.

  “Let’s go.” Billy yanked on her arm.

  “No! I won’t go with you!”

  Billy was furious. “You will!” Slapping her across the cheek for emphasis, he declared, “If I have to drag you every step of the way, you’ll come.”

  Ginny staggered beneath the force of the blow and lifted her arms to stave off the punishing grip of his hands. It was then that she saw the planks piled against the inner wall.

  Wrenching free, she hurried toward the boards, but the weight of her stomach and the pounding of her cheek seemed to mock her efforts. She had barely managed to take hold of one of the broken boards when Billy caught her.

  Turning toward him, she swung with all her might, but the board cracked ineffectually against his shoulder.

  Billy swore and threw the weapon away.

  Ginny searched wildly for some avenue of escape, but Billy stood between her and the door. Deciding surprise would be her only recourse, she ran as quickly as she could to the back of the barn, where another door was situated beneath the ladder to the haymow.

  Her sudden change of direction confused Billy, and she was nearly able to reach her goal. But then he dodged in front of her.

  Gasping for breath, she reached for the ladder. As she scrambled up the rungs she told herself she could get to the top and shut the trap.

  “Damn you, Ginny!”