"Supper will be ready when you are," she promised.
He nodded. "Oh, yeah, Silas told me to tell you he'd be eating at the Rafferty's tonight. So it's just you and me for supper." He opened the door and looked back at her. "And, of course, the U.S. Army."
* * *
Silas sat down beside Etta on the circular wrought-iron bench that surrounded the old elm tree in the Rafferty yard. The moonlight spilled down on them through the swaying branches above. Leaning his head back against the bark of the tree, he stared at the three-quarter moon.
"You reckon that ol' moon looks the same up in the North as it do right here?" he asked Etta.
She nestled her head against his shoulder and nodded. "We're in the North, Silas."
"I mean... the truly North. Like... Dee-troit."
"It looks just the same," she said slowly. "Why?"
"'Cause, I'd sorely miss seein' it if it don't."
She sat up at that and stared at him. "What are you talking about?" She shook her head disparagingly. "Dee-troit... why there's nothing there, but a lot of people and buildings and shops where folks like us sweat sixteen hours a day."
"For money," Silas added.
"Not enough money. Not enough to make it worth living like that. I've been there. Air smells like a smokestack, and the rooms folks live in are crowded and bug-infested. Silas, you're not thinking of—"
"I's thinkin' of a lot of things," he said, looking down at her. "Mostly, how I can keep a woman like you happy."
She shook her head. "You old fool. Don't you know I am happy? Can't you see it on my face? It's been a long time since I've been happy like this."
He smiled when she threaded her arm through his and leaned her head back against his shoulder. "I don't mean jus' for today, Etta," he said softly. "I mean... for the rest o' our days."
She went rigid beside him, but didn't look up. "A-are you asking me to marry you, Mr. Mayfield?"
"I reckon so, Mrs. Gaines."
She sat up slowly. She pushed her spectacles up on her nose with one finger and looked him in the eye. "You mean it? You're not just joking with me are you? 'Cause if you were, I—"
He silenced her with a kiss, wrapping his big hand around the back of her head and pulling her close. His mouth moved over hers with the sweet pressure of desire. "That feel like a joke?" he asked when he released her.
Stunned, she shook her head. "No." Then a slow smile spread over her face. "No," she repeated and pressed her full mouth against his once more.
Silas drew her into his arms and held her tight against him. "My feelin's for you ain't nothin' I cares to joke 'bout, Etta."
"Nor do I. Oh, Silas, I never thought I'd feel this way again." She sighed. "It makes no sense, because we're as different as day and night."
"Apples an' oranges," he agreed.
"Scissors and paper," she added. "But maybe that's why it's good, you know? Maybe my late husband, Marcus, and I were too much alike. We thought alike, taught alike, spoke alike..."
He laughed. "You ain't gots to worry about that with me."
"No, I don't. And if you can stand my—as you call it—'prissiness,' I can certainly stand your conjugations."
"My what?"
"Never mind." She smiled and tightened her arms around his chest.
"Only thing is," he said, "I ain't got no notion how we's gonna live. You go to Dee-troit with me?"
"We don't have to go to Dee-troit. I've got a job... and you've got a job..."
Silas scoffed. "We ain't never gonna get ahead that way. And how we gonna live? Me there, an' you here?"
Her thumb trailed absently back and forth across his sleeve. "Mr. John, he was just saying the other day—like he does at harvest time every year—how he couldn't handle all the land he had. He was thinking of selling some of it off."
"I can't buy it."
"No," she agreed, "not now. But there's not much market on land now either. Maybe he'd let you work it for a few years, and share the profit with him until you can pay it off. I read there's talk of that sort of arrangement already cropping up in the South."
Silas frowned, considering it. "I don't know."
She sat up, excited. "Why not? I've got some money put aside. We could build ourselves a little house on the land and I could keep working for the Raffertys and you could keep working for the Winslows. We'd make it. I know we would."
"You think Mister John would do somethin' like that?"
"There's only one way to find out," she said, kissing Silas on the cheek. "We ask him."
Chapter 22
Silas gave Jacksaw's traces a little shake as he drove the blackboard home in the moonlight. He felt light. Lighter than air. Why if he didn't concentrate on keeping his seat on the wagonbench, he might just float home and the mule would have to find his own way.
Etta's gonna marry me! Me. Silas Mayfield, ex-slave. A woman like her could turn a man's whole life around, he thought. The way she thought things up... like the land-sharing idea with the Raffertys. Who would'a thought a fine man like John Rafferty would trust someone like him to farm a piece of land on his own. It was more than he'd ever dared hope for.
The sound of that was so sweet, Silas could almost taste it. He sucked in a lungful of night air. Ah, freedom! It had been a lucky day, that day he'd stepped in front of Jesse Winslow on this very road. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks to God and gazed at the glowing moon. There'd be no stoppin' him and Etta now. All he had to do was—
A high-pitched sound coming from close by made Silas draw Jacksaw to a stop. He tipped his head, trying to catch the sound again. Standing utterly still, he heard the rustle of evening air through the rattling stalks and the call of an owl in the distance. That must'a been it, he decided, and clucked to Jacksaw.
As soon he started, he heard it again. A whine? It came from across the road, near the ditch that ran beside the corn. Darkness kept him from seeing anything clearly.
Cautiously, he climbed down from the wagon, and moved toward it. The sound came again, louder this time. Silas fingered the collapsible pocketknife Jesse had given him for protection. He never carried a gun off the farm. Any colored man caught carrying one would like as not be hung, even in the North.
"Who's in there?" he asked in a soft voice, hoping no one answered. "I got me a knife."
The sound came again, this time at his feet. Silas swallowed and looked down into the shadowy ditch. What he saw sent his heart to his throat.
"Oh-hh, Lord a mercy, no."
* * *
Jesse helped himself to more potatoes and ladled another spoonful of brown gravy over them. As he ate, he watched Andrea jiggle Zachary on her lap while she tried to enjoy her own meal. The baby's fussy time always seemed to coincide with supper. His gaze traveled over her face, appreciating the crescent of shadow her lashes made against her cheek as she studiously avoided meeting his eye.
He returned his gaze to his food, wishing talking hadn't become so hard between them. He missed her company, and more than that, he missed her smile.
He'd made the mistake of practically walking in on them when he'd come back today for lunch. He'd seen Andi holding the soldier's hand and laughing with him over something he'd said. It had been all he could do to contain the flash of jealousy that sight provoked and make it back to the kitchen to slap a sandwich together. But he hadn't gotten the picture out of his head all day.
"More sausage?" she asked, noticing he'd finished his.
He shook his head.
"Captain Steele is doing much better," she said brightly.
"Oh?" he replied dispassionately.
"M-m-hmm. As a matter of fact, his fever is nearly normal again. But it left him weak. He wasn't well enough to join us for supper tonight."
"What a shame. Does that mean he'll be out of here soon?"
Andrea took a bite of hash. "He offered to leave tonight—" Jesse looked up hopefully, "but I told him he needed another day to recover his strength. I've given him so
mething to help him sleep."
Jesse tightened his grip on his fork. "Yeah, well, tomorrow, I may just ride into town and have a talk with his superior officer."
"What?"
"Captain Steele is doing no one here any good. You're working twice as hard to feed the three of them, not to mention the extra work of caring for a sick man. Besides, this whole idea of laying in wait for the raiders is ridiculous. They're not going to hit while the soldiers are in the area."
"That didn't deter them from robbing that train shipment. Captain Steele thinks—"
Jesse slammed his fork down, about to tell her exactly how he felt about what Steele thought when Silas burst through the door, eyes wide and troubled.
"Boss—"
"What is it, Silas?" he asked getting to his feet.
He swallowed hard. "Better come. It's Mahkwi. I found her on the road. She been hurt bad."
Jesse grabbed the lantern from the shelf near the door and was out the door before he could finish.
The wolf lay on the wagonbed of the buckboard. She lifted her head with a whine of pain when Jesse approached. Jesse held the lit lantern aloft. He could see the sheen of blood glistening on her shoulder. He could even smell it.
"Easy girl," he murmured. A wolf, or any animal who'd been injured, could be dangerous even to a friendly hand.
Silas came up behind him. "I be afraid she bite my hand off when I took her up in my arms, but she didn't. I reckon she was happy to see a friendly face."
"She's been shot," Jesse replied flatly. "The bullet's still in her shoulder from what I can see."
"Poor thing. Who would do something like that?" Andrea asked drawing near the circle of light.
Jesse's eyes met hers, filled with the only answer that came to mind.
"Oh—" Andrea said, "you don't think—"
"I don't know what else to think."
"It could have been anyone, Jesse. Someone who thought she was a rogue wolf."
"I doubt it."
Andrea looked down at Mahkwi again. "What can we do? We can't take that bullet out."
Jesse's expression had descended into fury. He stalked back to the house and returned with his gunbelt strapped to his hips and his rifle in his hand. Climbing into the drivers seat of the buckboard, he said, "I'm going to take her into town. Maybe Doc Adams can do something. Silas you stay here and watch out for Andi and the baby. Tell the men in the barn what happened. I'll be back as soon as I can."
* * *
"But I treat people, Jesse," Doc Adams protested, standing over the buckboard in his nightshirt and cap. His breath smelled vaguely of whiskey. "Nope, I don't work on animals. Especially... a wolf."
"I know that," Jesse answered patiently. "But I'm asking you to make an exception. And she's half dog."
Adams shook his head, his whiskered jowls jiggling in the moonlight. "You'd be better off to put the animal out of her misery."
"No!" Jesse growled. "She doesn't deserve that. None of this is her fault." He raked a hand through his hair. "Dammit, Doc, it can't be that different cutting a bullet out of a dog than a man. I'll pay you whatever you want."
"It's not the money," Adam's hedged. "She, uh... she might bite me—"
"I'll make sure she doesn't."
"And I... well, if it ever got around I was workin' on animals, it might, you know, raise some eyebrows. Plus I'd have every farmer from here to New Richmond bringing' me their cows and horses and—"
"Twenty-five dollars, cash," Jesse said.
"—goats to unplug a teat or some such nonsen—" Adams stopped. "You say twenty-five dollars?"
"And my word of absolute silence about the matter."
"I see." The doc rubbed his jaw. "Well... then again, I might be able to help the poor animal at that. Now, that's no guarantee mind you..."
"Twenty-five," Jesse repeated grimly, "no matter what the outcome."
Doc stuck out his smooth hand. "I'll do my best, son. You can carry her into my examining room...."
* * *
Tension worked its way up Jesse's spine as he neared the Lodray's house on the corner of Third and Oak. He pulled the mule to a stop at the hitching rail and climbed down. A deep breath did nothing to calm the roiling anger inside him. Damn the bastard, he thought. He was worse than a coward, taking his retribution out on a dumb animal.
A pain fisted in his chest and burned there like an ember. Mahkwi was more than just an animal to him. She was a true and loyal friend. More loyal than any people he'd ever known. Her loyalty was wholly unconditional. It didn't matter if he made mistakes, used bad judgment, or didn't pet her when she thought he should. She forgave him everything.
And he'd let that bastard hurt her.
After checking her over, Doc Adams had assured him that the bullet he'd removed hadn't hit anything vital. She'd recover with time and care. Though his relief had been great, the fact that Lodray hadn't outright killed her changed nothing. He intended to make him pay for it. Dearly.
The Lodray house sat nestled behind a neat hedgerow of boxwood. The lantern that hung outside the door was still lit. White-winged moths hurled themselves mindlessly toward the flame, their wings making a whirring, futile ping against the chimney glass.
Jesse knocked on the door. When no one came, he knocked again. Deke Lodray opened the door, pushing his reading spectacles down on his nose and looking up at Jesse with a pleased smile. A half-spent cigar dangled from his fingertips.
"Jesse! What a surprise."
"Deke?" Jesse's attempt at a smile was a bad one.
"What brings you out tonight?" Deke asked. "Come in, come in." He ushered Jesse into the house. The furnishings befitted a successful newspaper editor. Burgundy velvet upholstered sofas and chairs beckoned from the parlor, heavy brocaded drapes curtained the windows, imported rugs covered the floor. The parlor shelves were covered with an assortment of bric-a-brac that would have driven any sane man running for an uncluttered space.
Jesse removed his hat, but stayed by the door, not wanting his mission here to be mistaken for a social call.
"Mother—" Deke called into the other room, "Look who's here!"
"Is it Mitchell?" Sarah Lodray, Deke's wife appeared at the door, a look of disappointment spreading across her aging features. "Oh. Jesse Winslow. I was hoping it was—"
"Your son?" Jesse finished with a frown. "He isn't home then, I take it?"
"No. Why? Did you come to see him?"
"Yes," Jesse replied without a trace of a smile. "Do you know where I can find him?"
Sarah's eyebrows knitted together. "No, I don't as a matter of fact. I didn't realize you and Mitchell were friends."
"We're not."
Deke's expression descended into concern. "Then why do you want to see him?"
"It's a personal matter. Between your son and me."
"I see," Deke said.
"Anything you have to say, you can say to us," Sarah announced, pulling a perfume-scented lace hanky from her sleeve. She tore nervously at the delicate tatting with her fingertips. "Mitchell keeps no secrets from us."
Jesse slid his hat back on his head. "I'm afraid you're wrong about that, Mrs. Lodray."
Deke put a restraining hand on his arm. "Jesse, wait. Won't you tell us what has you so riled up? The truth is, we've been a little worried about Mitch lately ourselves."
"Deke!" Sarah turned to her husband, obviously appalled that he would share such private concerns.
"Well, it's true, Mother, and we might as well come out and say it here. Why, just the other day, Mitch came home with a black eye and moving real slow as if he'd been hurt. He said he'd had a riding accident, but—"
"Of course he did," Sarah affirmed. "That's what he said, wasn't it? He's a good boy. Always has been."
"Pardon me, Mrs. Lodray, but your son is no 'boy,'" Jesse pointed out. "He's fully grown and responsible for his own actions."
"Jesse's right," Deke told her, then looked at Jesse. "But he doesn't tell us where he's
going or who he's going with. Has something happened, Jesse?"
Sarah stepped in front of her husband. "I'm afraid we can't help you, Mr. Winslow. When Mitch gets home, we'll tell him you were looking for him."
Deke looked at his shoes, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Sarah's haughty invective made it plain that Jesse had overstayed his welcome. "There's no need for that, Mrs. Lodray. I'll find Mitch on my own."
"I'll walk you out," Deke said firmly, taking Jesse's arm.
"I don't think—" Sarah began.
"I said, I'm walking our guest out, Sarah. And that's exactly what I intend to do. I'll see you in a moment."
Put in her place for once, Sarah could do no more than sniff as she turned around and left the men to themselves.
Deke followed Jesse down the porch steps. "I want to know what this is all about, Jesse. Is there bad blood between you and Mitch?"
"He shot my dog tonight."
Deke blanched. "I'm sorry, but I find it hard to believe that Mitch—"
"He was paying me back. There was no riding accident, Deke. I gave Mitch that little warning a few days back after he came out to our place and bothered Andi."
"Andi? I'm surprised at you, resorting to violence," Deke said in a reprimanding tone.
"Sometimes, a fist makes a bigger impression than words."
Deke's dark eyes flashed momentarily, but he checked his temper. "That's what this is all about isn't it? Andrea Winslow?"
"Yes."
Deke rubbed a hand over his jaw. "I've known for some time that Mitch was in love with her. One of the reasons we sent him off to Harvard was to get him away from her. She wasn't interested, in fact she married Zach, but he didn't seem able to accept it."
"He still hasn't."
Deke shook his head. "Since he came home, I thought he had. Frankly, I was relieved. There was something not quite right about the way he idolized that girl. Sarah convinced herself there was nothing amiss in the boy, but I... well..." He looked off into the darkness. "Then earlier this afternoon, an unsavory-looking sort of fellow came to the house asking for Mitch. I didn't tell Sarah this, but I'd seen Mitch with that man once before. Of course, we're appalled by his choice of friends, but as you say, he's a grown man."
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