The air in the church was stifling, despite the dozens of ladies' fans in motion. There were tellingly few men in the congregation, but a contingent of seven Federal officers in blue uniforms took up one whole pew near the front. She supposed they were from one of the numerous companies that moved through Elkgrove on their way to nearby Cincinnati. A dark-haired lieutenant turned to catch sight of them. His lips parted in surprise when he saw her, and she wondered briefly if she knew him.
In search of an empty pew, they walked down the center aisle, she and Jesse, the baby propped still on Jesse's shoulder. Every head in the sanctuary turned to study them as they threaded their way into a pew.
She felt Jesse's fingers against the small of her back, guiding her ahead of him, reminding her that she was not alone. Andrea glanced up at him with a grateful smile for that small mercy and he nodded to her, with an almost imperceptible movement of his head. As they took their places, there among the congregation, a small part of her felt as if they belonged, she and Jesse, with Zachary snuggled against his shoulder. Almost as if they were a family. But another part of her, the logical part, told her not to wish for what could never be.
Angelina Butterworth, Loretta Pease and Camy Micheals, three old acquaintances, stood directly in front of her and Jesse. Camy's blond sausage-curls bobbed perkily around her plump face as she craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the man beside Andrea. When she did, her eyes widened like a fish who'd suddenly run up on land and her voice went distinctly off key. An addlepated grin tipped the corner of her mouth when her gaze returned to Andrea. Camy waggled her finger at her before turning around.
A flash of jealousy speared through Andrea, but she concentrated on the hymn and the surprising sound of Jesse's fine, clear baritone voice joining the rest:
Through many dangers, toils and snares,
We have already come.
T'was Grace that brought us safe thus far
And Grace t'will lead us home.
The hymn seemed unusually appropriate this morning. Surely, she thought, Grace had led Jesse back to her when she needed him the most. And Grace would see her through his leaving again as well.
When the hymn ended, the stout, balding Reverend McConneghy read the names of three local young men whose lives had been claimed in recent fighting. Among them were Danny O'Dell and Pike Weaver, old friends of Andrea's who'd volunteered early on in the war. She squeezed her eyes shut at the sad news. Elkgrove was a small hamlet, and like Zach, the men who'd died were well known and liked. The war had become personal to every living citizen of the town whose numbers were shrinking weekly; hardly a family hadn't been touched by death.
Naturally, the war became the subject of McConneghy's sermon, as it had been often these many years since the conflict's beginnings. He spoke both of war and cowardice, which, in a roundabout fashion, he tied to the raiders' attacks on nearby farms. Casting an entreating look at the soldiers filling the front pew, the reverend alluded to rumblings of vigilantism. He cautioned against losing sight of both God's and man's law and encouraged prayer as the answer to the troubled town.
But as Andrea looked around the church, she noticed that few of the men appeared to be in agreement with the good pastor. Several men sat, red-necked with frustration, grumbling to each other in whispers and nods. She glanced up at Jesse to find him in tight-lipped agreement with the masses.
At the conclusion of the service, parishioners filed past Reverend McConneghy to shake his hand and thank him for his inspirational message. But it appeared that most of the men seemed inspired by something besides the Reverend's message, and outside they clustered together in small groups airing their feelings.
James McConneghy reached out his hand to Andrea as she drew near. "Ah, Andrea, my dear. It's good to see you in church again. And look at this healthy little lad." He patted little Zachary's back who was fast asleep against Jesse's shoulder. "And no doubt this is who I think it is?" he said, grinning at Jesse.
Jesse smiled and shook his hand. "Reverend?"
"I must say I'm glad to see you at long last, Jesse. We all thought you were—"
"—dead, I know." Jesse winced. "Nasty rumor."
McConneghy laughed, his gaze going back and forth between him and Andi. "I hope you're home to stay, this time, Jesse."
Jesse smiled uncomfortably avoiding Andi's eyes. "I'm afraid not, Reverend."
The reverend's gaze flicked to Andrea, who shifted her eyes to the floor. She didn't want anyone to see how deeply his answer affected her.
"I see," the reverend said. "That's too bad. All the same, it's good to see you, son."
"You, too."
They made their way out to the milling crowds in the yard. Isabelle Rafferty stood fanning herself beside her husband, John. Jesse guessed two youngsters hanging from the tails of John's frock coat were the girls Etta had told him about, and half the children nearby were likely theirs, too.
"Jesse!" Isabelle called. "It's about time you dragged that gal into town. Lemme see that youngun!"
Jesse dipped a shoulder so she was level-eyed with the sleeping baby.
Isabelle gasped with pleasure. "Oh, ain't he a button? Look at that little face, will ya, John? Don't it just make you wanna have another one?"
Isabelle's husband was close to forty, tall as Jesse, but wiry as a bedslat. He laughed, lifting the two little girls dangling from his arms. "I don't suppose you'll ever get enough younguns, Izzy."
She chuckled and looked lovingly up at her husband. "I don't reckon I will. Can I hold him. Just for a minute?"
Jesse obliged, gently shifting the sleeping child to her shoulder.
Andrea kissed Isabelle on the cheek. "Feel free to borrow this one any time, 'Aunt' Isabelle," she teased.
Isabelle grinned with pleasure. "You're lookin' purty as a new day, Andrea. Jesse, you must be doin' somethin' right with this little gal."
Andrea could have sworn he blushed.
"She, uh, doesn't need any help from me in that department Isabelle," Jesse replied, glancing at Andrea.
"Oh, for heaven's sake..." Andrea laughed, warmed by Jesse's words.
"Andrea! Whoo-oo! Andrea Winslow!" called a female voice from behind them. Andrea turned to see a white-gloved hand pumping in her direction from the center of a crowd of people. Camy Micheals' blond ringlets went momentarily horizontal as her head bobbed up and down over the shoulders of the crowd. "Whoo-oo!"
"Tie down the men," Isabelle told Andrea in a sotto voice. "Camy Micheals is comin'."
Andrea sighed. Everyone knew the rubenesque Camy Micheals was perpetually on the hunt for a husband. She emerged from the crowd, a cloud of pink silk, fanning herself rapidly in the morning heat, a flush rising prettily to her cheeks.
"I swear," Camy exclaimed, puffing up beside Andrea. "I thought I'd never get through that throng before you left. Hello, Isabelle, Mr. Rafferty. I was just dying to meet that new little baby of yours, Andrea," she said, unable to tear her gaze from Jesse.
"How sweet of you, Camy," Andrea said, containing the sarcasm in her voice as she tucked back the thin blanket covering Zachary's face.
"Well, he's just as cute as he can be. Why, he looks just like you, Andrea. Don't you think so?" she asked, looking with artful guilessness at Jesse.
"More and more every day," Jesse agreed, his gaze on Andrea.
"Camy," Andrea began, "I don't think you've met my brother-in-law, Jesse Winslow. Jesse, Camy Sue Micheals."
"Miss Camy Sue Micheals," Camy amended, boldly extending her hand to him.
"Charmed," he replied, obliging the woman with a brush of his lips against the back of her hand.
"Oh, my," she gasped, and fluttered her brown eyes up at Jesse. "You are the mountain man we've all been hearin' so much talk about, are you not? Zach's long lost brother?"
He nodded.
"Tell me, Mr. Winslow, are all men from Montana so... gallant?" She imbued the word with a French accent so phony that Andrea had to press her lips toget
her to keep from smiling.
"I can't speak for any but myself, Miss Micheals," Jesse allowed, "but I'd wager you'd find a few more 'gallant' than me." He glanced at Andrea, who fought to keep a straight face. "I am greatly relieved to know that my sister-in-law has such charming and lovely friends as you here in Elkgrove."
Camy gulped. "My, my... how kind of you to say so, Mr. Winslow. I'd dearly love to hear all about that wild country out West sometime if you're ever so inclined to reminisce. I'm sure you have some utterly fascinating stories to tell."
John Rafferty took hold of Jesse's arm. "I'm sure he does, Miss Camy, but right now I'm going to drag him over there for some man-talk, if you don't mind."
Looking greatly relieved, Jesse nodded. "I'd like that, John. Some other time, Miss Micheals?"
"Of course," she replied, batting her fan below her eyes with her left hand so he'd know her interest was genuine.
As Jesse and John walked toward the group of men on the far side of the yard, Camy's gaze followed him. She sighed dramatically. "Now there's a real man."
Isabelle thwacked her across the arm with the tip of her fan. "Camy Sue Micheals! You're shameless."
Camy's eyes widened with pure innocence. "Well, for heaven sakes! I didn't mean anything by it." She plucked a thread from the black lace at the wrist of her pink silk gown. "It's just that we get so few through here like him. In fact, so few men around at all who aren't either soldiers or... or taken."
"Camy Sue," Isabelle said sternly, nodding at Jesse, "that one's taken, too."
Andrea glanced sharply up at Isabelle.
"You don't mean—Is he gonna marry you, Andrea? But... you're in mourning, aren't you?"
Isabelle braced her hands on her wide hips. "O'course she is, but she's got a child and a farm to look after, too. In these hard times, ain't a body in this township would blame her, nor half the widows this war's made, for marryin' up again right away."
"Well, is Mr. Winslow gonna marry you?" Camy asked Andrea.
Camy's bluntness never failed to surprise her. "I—I wouldn't know. He hasn't asked me."
"—yet," Isabelle amended. "Camy, you find somebody else to go all taffy-headed about."
Camy glared at her. "Well, I swear! He's been here near a month, Isabelle. I suppose if he was of a mind to ask her to marry up with him, he would have by now. After all, everyone knows he's got the best of both worlds without having to put a ring on her finger, with her cookin' and cleanin' and sharing her house with—"
"Camy! That's enough!" Isabelle's eyes took on a furious light. "Lord, I never met anyone who cottoned to the taste of shoe leather more'n you."
Camy clamped her mouth shut, realizing she'd gone too far. Through a fringe of brown lashes she looked up contritely at Andrea whose face was hot with anger. "Oh... uh, I didn't mean to say that, Andrea. Really, I do apologize. Sometimes, my mouth runs on... I—I hope you'll forgive me."
"Camy," she said calmly, "go bang your head against a wall."
Camy's mouth fell open as she watched Andrea stalk away from her.
"Gal," Isabelle told Camy before starting off after Andrea, "I always did say you had more vines than 'taters."
* * *
"I don't care what McConneghy says," Clyde Briggs grumbled amidst the cluster of men. He tore the hat off in frustration and slapped it against his thigh. A warm breeze ruffled his graying hair. "If we don't do somethin' soon, ain't one of our farms gonna be safe from them thievin' bushwhackers. Prayers may save our souls, but they ain't gonna protect us."
"That's right," put in the bespeckled wheat farmer, George Potts. "Why, only two days ago, they hit Cal Moore's place, a few miles down the road from me. Robbed him blind whilst he and his wife were in town, and set fire to his wheat. Darn near burnt down his barn in the process. We were up half the night tryin' to put it down."
"Anybody know who they are?" Jesse asked with a frown. "Anyone seen their faces?"
All eyes in the group turned to Jesse. The men searched his face with undisguised suspicion. John Rafferty dispelled the tension with a good-natured clap of his hand on Jesse's shoulder. "You fellas remember Tom Winslow's boy, Jesse? Well, this here is him. Back from Montana Territory to work Willow Banks. Jesse, you might remember Clyde Briggs, George Potts and Sam Eakin."
The men each nodded in turn and reached a welcoming hand out to Jesse. Potts, the oldest of the bunch, stood with his hands shoved in the pockets of his black frock coat, his thinning white hair ruffling in the hot breeze.
"So," Jesse repeated. "Has anyone gotten a good look at these men?"
"The only person to catch a look at them," Potts answered, "Was old Eli Larson. He said they all wore some sorta sacks over their heads. A couple of 'em had Butternut stripes on their trousers. They kilt a negro at his place. Strung him up 'cause he was there, I reckon. These vermin are mean son's of guns."
That news settled in the pit of Jesse's stomach like a weight. Searching the crowd for Andi, he found her standing in a circle of women, showing off the baby. He thought of the day he'd ridden onto Willow Banks to find Andi alone, and the look of terror in her eyes when he'd burst into her room with his gun drawn. He could have just as easily been one of the raiders.
And what about Silas? His gaze found him standing in the shade of the church, deep in conversation with Etta. The truth was, Silas had no gun, nothing with which to protect himself if that gang came upon him alone, as he often walked over to Etta's place. Jesse decided he'd would have to remedy that lack right away.
"...the hell," Briggs was grumbling when Jesse's attention returned to the conversation. "They's Johnny Rebs... or, leastwise was. But they ain't actin' like John Morgan's bunch who come through here last summer like a plague of locusts, a thousand strong. No, these bastards don't number more'n ten from all accounts, an' are more specific in their wants.
"They ain't partial to the livestock," Briggs went on, "or foodstuffs the Southern militia is hungerin' for. Oh, they've killed their share o' hogs an' Rhode Islands, but like as not, they leave the carcass there to rot. No, they're deserters, after silver, jewelry, money where there is some. I think the fires they set are just to get us off the scent."
"If ya ask me," John Rafferty put in, "I think it's mighty peculiar they always seem to hit a place when no one's around. It's as if they know the comin's and goin's of the folks around here."
That comment brought a round of thoughtful silence. From nearby came the sounds of the children's laughter as the youngsters engaged in a lively game of tag.
"Well," Briggs said at last. "We got a choice. We can take 'em on one on one or we can try to do somethin' about 'em together. The Union Army ain't got the manpower or the inclination to spare anyone for a whistle-stop like Elkgrove. I say we try to come up with a way to protect our places—together."
Sam Eakin, who'd been silent through the conversation, cleared his throat. "And how are we supposed to protect our own places if we're off huntin' them no accounts? You got three grown sons, Briggs." He raked a hand through his thinning brown hair. "I'm a widower. I got me five younguns to chase after and a farm to keep up. I don't see how we can be two places at once."
Jesse narrowed his gaze on the man. He remembered Sam from years ago. A few years older than Jesse, Sam had married a girl Jesse knew, Suzannah Kellogg. He was sorry to hear of her death, but the news that Sam was suddenly eligible made Jesse look at the man in a whole new light.
"Nobody's askin' you to leave your younguns, Sam," Clyde assured him as one of Sam's children came running up, crashing into his knees in a devilish hug.
"Paw, Paw!" shouted the towheaded girl dressed in a clean but worn pinafore. "Gregory won't let me have a turn wif the—"
Sam ran a hand affectionately over the four-year-old's head. "Not now, Lisbeth. You go play with your brothers. This here's man-talk."
"But, Paw... it's not fair," she lisped.
"Off with ya, rascal." Scuffing her worn boots in the dirt, the girl reluctantly o
beyed, then took off at a run for her brothers. Sam shouted after her. "You tell Gregory to give you a turn on that see-saw!" Satisfied, he turned back to the group.
"We all know your situation," Briggs concluded. "But there's those of us who are free to gather up in a posse and chase after them lowlifes 'fore they can hit again."
Sam scratched his head. "But Sheriff Cobb said—"
"Cobb's got his finger up his nose," Briggs said. "If he could'a stopped 'em, he'd a done it by now. These raids have been happenin' over a month now and Cobb's no closer to catchin' the culprits than he was then."
"What do you propose?" Jesse asked.
"A meeting. A private meeting."
"Including who?" John asked.
"Them with land to protect," Briggs replied, implicitly excluding outsiders.
"I'll spread the word." George Potts fitted his battered hat on his head. "Good day to you, boys."
The group broke up, and Jesse watched Sam Eakin wander toward his own wagon, where two of his boys were hanging like monkeys from the wheels.
"Jesse," John said. "When are you gonna come by with Andrea and the baby for a visit?"
Jesse wasn't sure he cared for the idea of being lumped together with Andi and her son, as if they were a family, even though it seemed that was how everyone already thought of them. "I'll try to get over soon, John."
He leaned closer. "I want you to meet Lexi."
He thought he'd heard all his children's names. "Who?"
"My draft mare." John grinned like a kid with an all day sucker. "My pride and joy. Isabelle thinks I'm crazy, but I'm buildin' a future on her and that youngun she's about to foal. Horse like that can do the work of two mules without the pigheadedness. Built her a special stall just to hold her and the foal in the barn when she delivers."
"Sounds like a lot of work."
He laughed and clapped Jesse on the shoulder. "It's good to have you back in town, Jess. Don't be a stranger, all right?"
Renegade's Kiss Page 14
