"Told him when he settled to set the place lower. Wonder how much wood it takes to keep him warm? And I don't suppose he packed between the logs very well."
His contempt for Reg was hardly held at bay. "I know you hate him because of his attraction to your wife. But surely, you can forgive him for his interest. After all, she was from all accounts a perfect woman…" Dear Lord, what was the matter with her? Why was she baiting him at a time like this?
"Enough," David grumbled in warning. "I'll not be dragged into yet another argument with you." Pulling Ned to a stop in front of the cabin, he dismounted and secured the beast to the hitching post.
She watched him and wished with all her heart that he would change, if not for her, for himself.
As if reading her mind he looked up, his lips pinched tight beneath his bushy mustache. His eyes flashed with a stubbornness that would make even the nastiest mule cower. "Come on girl, let's get this over so with so you can commence to healing." He lifted his arms and she slid from the saddle, her feet sinking in the snowy ground.
Trapped between his body and Ned's she stood still, staring up into his face, attempting to see the man she knew, the kind man who had saved her, the man who made her body hum. "What makes you think I can heal when you couldn't?"
"Because you're a survivor."
She should have just accepted the compliment, instead she pushed him. "Maybe," she acknowledged. "Or maybe it's just that I'm not a quitter."
He didn't say anything in response, just continued gazing upon her, no sadness in his eyes, more the eyes of a fox at the ready to devour a big fat hen. Finally, he answered. "Be careful, Bobbie."
At the sound of the cabin door opening, David stepped back and turned his full attention on Reg, his flexing jaw noticeable despite his heavy beard.
Reg stood in woolen trousers, knee high boots and the same frock coat he wore the day before. The wind whipped at his blonde curls and a wide smile crossed his clean shaven face. "Do come in out of the weather you two. I've a fresh pot of coffee and some biscuits."
David offered Bobbie his hand and without hesitation, she curled her fingers around his. Following him toward the house, she struggled with snow drifts, and despite her layers of clothing, their chill touched her knees and added to her mounting discomfort. Fighting a shiver, her gaze traveled out past the cabin. Mountain upon mountain met her stare and despite her misery, she grudgingly admitted the beauty of the place. But would she ever grow accustomed to the cold and did she really want to? She knew the answer. No.
Upon entering the cabin, her thoughts of the weather faded. The place was immaculately kept, if not sparsely furnished. But the furniture that was there was fine, not the rustic fashion that she expected.
A crimson settee fronted by a mahogany coffee table rested a comfortable distance from the fireplace. Brass hand irons glistened beside the stone fireplace and in the far corner of the one room cabin was the largest four poster bed she'd ever laid eyes on. The bedspread not a homemade quilt but dark red brocade threaded with gold. White fluffy pillows beckoned a weary head.
She dropped David's hand and moved toward the fire. Atop the polished mantle were photographs. Several women and one stern older fellow stared back at her from the past.
"Those unhappy looking people are my father and sisters," Reg said, coming up beside her.
Bobbie turned to face him and when he looked at her his eyes spoke of sorrow. "Where are they now?"
"Father is in the ground and my sisters are in Boston's high society, married with children whom they plan to wed off to others in high society."
"Why are you so far away?" she asked, not really enjoying the proximately of his body to hers. Why was it he constantly wanted to be so close? She turned her head to look to David for reassurance, but she got none.
He stood by the door with his arms crossed over his chest and his mouth an angry, tight line. But what worried her most was the anger that danced in his eye. She knew him well enough to realize that meant trouble. Big trouble.
"I suppose when I left it was because I didn't want my father running my life. Now, I know the real reason."
She looked to Reg, the spicy scent of his cologne not nearly as enticing as David's clean, natural scent. "What would that be?"
"I wanted to wed a woman I could treasure and love. Not one that would bring me cold treasure and spoiled children." His lifted his dark blonde brow. "What are you looking for, Roberta?"
"She's looking for her family," David interrupted. "Why not show them to her so I can get her home."
"Home?" she asked. Now, it was her turn to lift her brow. "You're not taking me to the post?"
"The trading post?" Reg's voice registered his surprise. "My dear lady, you are more than welcome to stay here! The post is no place for a woman."
"Stay out of it Reg, it doesn't concern you," David warned.
"It's all right David, Mr. Crocker. I'll do what David sees fit."
"Oh, my God!" Reg shouted, his pale face flushing. "What is it about this man that has beautiful women doing his bidding?"
Without warning, David sped across the room. He curled his hands around Reg's lapels as he slammed him into the far wall so hard the floor actually vibrated. A vase toppled from the fireplace mantel, crashing to the floor.
She could hardly believe what she was witnessing. The two men trading punches, colliding into walls, shattering dishes. What was the matter with them!
"Stop it this instant!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "I cannot fathom this insanity." She waded into the fray just as she did when her brother and his friend, Ty began fighting over who would ask Betsy Seymour to dance. It was ridiculous, but what was even more ridiculous was the fact that they were fighting over a dead woman. A woman neither one of them could ever have.
David reared back and shoved Bobbie aside, just as Reg's fist made contact with his chin. He stumbled back. "Roberta get out of the God damned way. You're going to get hurt!"
She realized he had saved her from Reg's misplaced wrath, but that did little to ease her pain. He wanted her out of the way and although he was protecting her…that was always his desire. To have her out of his life, gone and forgotten. Well, so be it.
Turning away from the fools, she allowed them to continue exchanging blows. Through bleary eyes, she made her way to the door and out into the cold October afternoon. Large fresh flakes of snow fell from the suddenly gray sky. "Wonderful," she moaned. "I hate this place."
With her lower lip trembling, she stumbled through the drifts toward the horse. When she reached Ned, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in the shaggy coat. Patiently, the animal stood vigil as she sobbed, never wavering, never pushing her away. Still and stoic, he was exactly what she needed. Too bad he wasn't human.
Oh, how she needed her mother's comforting embrace, her father's words of wisdom, or even a snide comment from her brother.
Finally, she stopped, all her tears spent. Glancing over her shoulder she realized that neither of the stiff-necked fools was coming to be with her at her most desperate hour. Neither one could curb their rage or their pride nor their passion for Sarah, long enough to help her deal with her fresh, debilitating pain.
Wiping her eyes with the sleeve of Sarah's coat, she turned toward the small stable that lay a few feet from the cabin. Her family was in there. She knew it, but was she strong enough to enter on her own?
"I'll be there to catch you…"
David had lied. He would never be anything but an empty vessel, a man in love with a phantom. She sniffled and dragged in a breath of icy winter air and for the first time accepted the fact that he was indeed irreparably broken. That there was nothing she could do to help him. That her future, no matter what it held, would call on every ounce of strength she possessed to endure.
"I can do this, Ned," she whispered and fighting the anxiety that twisted her gut into a knot, she moved through the snow and toward the barn. Just three more steps and sh
e would be there.
Her hand trembled as she unhooked the latch. Dim light cascaded into the now open barn. She curled her hands by her side at the telltale scent of lime mixed with the underlying perfume of leather, hay and horses. Lime…her stomach roiled because she knew what that meant.
The wind pushed her nearer to the entry and stepping inside she held onto the dusty, wooden wall planks for support. Deeper and deeper into the barn she stumbled, her shadow falling across three forms bound tightly in thick, woolen blankets. They lay side by side at the far end of the stable. Her body grew numb, everything around her taking on a dark, nightmarish quality. This wasn't happening…no it was just a dream. A terrible dream.
As she reached them, she fell to her knees. Through glassy eyes, she stared at the bundles, her mind blank, and her body ravaged by adrenaline.
Her hand quaked as she stretched her fingers toward the cloaked forms. There would be no seeing anything but their faces, for their bodies were bound beneath heavy dark wool and knotted rope. Still, she would be able to see their faces for Reg and draped them with pale white linen cloth. Outside, the wind howled, a shrill cry that whistled through the boards and raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck.
A lump filled her throat as she realized by the stature of the first set of remains that she was about to gaze upon her brother. Her nine year old brother had always been so full of vigor, so excited by the sight of a caterpillar or for the pleasure of a swim on a hot summer day. Now, he was still…stilled forever by winter's greed for warmth.
Pulling off her mitten, she snatched the cloth from his face and stared at the unnatural color of his lifeless flesh. Touching his cheek, her tears sped from her eyes. It was him. There was no denying the freckles that dotted the bridge of his nose, his bright red curls, or the scar on his upper lip from a fall from a tree three years before.
"Oh, Robert," she said, her words coming out on a sob. She smoothed his cheek and leaned over him and placed a kiss upon his forehead. "I am so sorry." Her stomach clenched at the heaviness in her heart as it increased two-fold.
She gazed upon him but a moment longer, knowing her chore would not be done until she kissed her parents goodbye.
Pa would be next. He lay between his wife and son, the outline of his form one she could recognize despite the thick shroud that covered him. Her fingers numb from cold and emotion battled against her will to pull the linen from his face. "T-This must be done," she said through chattering teeth. She had to see, to be convinced, to put an end to the dreadful hope that she clung to.
Taking in a deep breath, she jerked the cloth from his face. Her heart squeezed painfully, a sob catching in her throat. "Pa," she could barely say his name for crying. Bearded, heavy forehead, thinning sandy colored hair…it was him. He was dead…gone. "Oh, God," she mumbled. "Please let me wake up from this nightmare."
She set her hand upon her own face, her lips tingling as she gasped for air. She no longer felt the biting chill, no longer heard the howl of the wind. All feeling was gone. All the sounds of the outside world drown out by the loud pulse of her racing heart.
Leaning back, she tried to compose herself and knew that there was going to be none of that until she finished her ordeal…until she was away from here and sitting by Albert and remembering her family as they were, not where they were now.
She set a kiss upon her father's cheek before scrambling around her father and to her mother's side. Despite her love for her men folk, this was going to be the most difficult. Ma had been the one to raise her, teach her, and comfort her.
"Bobbie honey, you need to remember that being a lady is harder than being a tomboy."
"And a lot less fun," she grumbled, plopping down on her bed. "I'm thirteen Ma, do I have to wear a dress? Britches are easier and I can't climb the oak in a skirt."
"I don't want you climbing the oak anymore. To make a proper wife you'll need to learn to tend the garden and milk the cow. I've been lax and you have been wild. This fatigue I feel has done more to harm than I care to admit."
It was true, for as long as she could remember Ma had been tired and cold. Still she did all she could and didn't really complain. Pa said she did her best and that was all anyone could do.
"Cows and radishes don't give a fig if I wear britches or not," Bobbie whined.
Ma knelt down before her and took hold of her hand. "Sweet girl, I'd let you wear britches to church, but I'd be disappointing the Lord."
"God cares if I wear a dress?"
"No, but God gave me a daughter and not two sons."
She closed her eyes and braced herself. The sheet was cold and brittle under her touch, rough against her fingertips. Slowly, she pulled the cloth away, and her heart shattered. Graying dark hair, pale skin void of her usual blush, the small goiter at the base of her neck...
There was no doubt, this was her family. Everyone that loved her in the world had gone on to the next. She kissed her mother's cheek and all her anguish flood through her on a sob so loud that it surely echoed into the heavens. Falling over on her side, she curled up next to her ma on the dusty floor. "Dear God," she mumbled over and over, all the time wondering just how she was supposed to go on from here.
Chapter 10
"Damnation!" David growled trying to pull free from Reg's grasping hands. His panic cleared his mind. What if she had run off on her own? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if harm came to Bobbie. "Will you stop with the nonsense already? Can't you see she's gone?"
"I saw her go just after you shouted at her to get out of the way. You damned fool. You hurt her." Reg's face registered his contempt. The sneer, the narrowed eyes, the way the muscles in his neck bulged with each word he spoke, proof of his hatred.
His irritation reignited and despite the tremor in his hands, David longed to unload both barrels into to Reg's smug, if not bruised and bleeding face.
"And who do you think she's going to be angry with for this fiasco?" Reg hissed, still attempting to hold David in place. "You. And who do you suppose is going to be there to offer her support?"
"You'll not lay a finger on her, do you understand? She's not for the likes of you, you philandering lothario."
"Is that a fact?" Blood slid from Reg's split lip. "I would marry her here and now if that was what it took to see her away from you! The likes of me? You've a nerve…you drunken sot." Reg snarled and shoved him backward with a force that had David reeling toward the ridiculous bed.
What the bloody hell was the matter with him? He should have been able to put the sniveling fool down with one blow. It was a sickening realization that instead of being the stronger of the two, he and Crocker had become physical equals.
"Look at you, defending a dead woman over a live one. And what a beauty Roberta is." His eyes grew soft with his obvious contemplation. "I can almost taste her sweet kiss, feel her body writhing under mine. Do you think she and I would make strong, handsome sons?"
The thought of his hands on Bobbie had him seething. "You'll not find out, I guarantee it."
"You can't guarantee shit," Reg growled and then with a smirk, "Except that you'll be drunk come morning."
He fought back a fresh surge of anger, knowing he could spend all day taking out his unspent rage on Crocker. Instead, he turned toward the door. Bobbie was outside. She needed him and suddenly that was all that mattered. He didn't stop to think why.
"Where are you going, Henderson?"
David didn’t reply, his mind on only one thing, being there to catch Bobbie if she fell. But upon hearing the thud of booted feet rapidly approaching from behind, he spun around just in time to see Reg flying toward him with a raised silver teapot. He lifted his arms to block the coming blow, but once again his reflexes proved to be faulty and the pot smashed his skull, leaving him to fall helplessly to the floor.
***
Bobbie struggled to stand, wishing she didn't have to. Wishing she could merely sink into the floor and never rise again. She sniffled, still s
taring at the faces of her family. They were still so beautiful, still all she had.
Yes, to be with them…
With her body numb from sorrow and her cheek stinging from frozen tears, she fought for a reason to go on. Wondered how she would move from this spot. And then came a stirring from deep inside. She knew without a doubt that giving up would be wrong. That wasting her life would displease them. She bit back another sob and could almost hear her father.
"Bobbie girl. Time for you to get up off your backside and get on down the road."
She could almost feel the warmth of her mother's embrace and see the love in her pale eyes. "We'll be together soon."
And Robert? A small smile touched her lips. He would pinch her arm, kiss her cheek and remind her that she was just a girl. The taunt that always annoyed her now had her rallying.
"H-How am I supposed to move forward?" she asked, waiting for one of them to answer, knowing none of them could. "I love you all. I don't know what to do."
"No one expects you to do anything on your own."
The sound of Reg's voice both appealed and abhorred. Where was David? She turned toward Reg, a fine silhouette against the open stable doors, but there was no joy in his appearance.
"The wagon, our things," she said, her voice unnaturally low and emotionless. "Were you able to save anything?"
He lowered his chin and shook his head. "I'm sorry. There was an accident and the wagon slipped off into a ravine."
"I only just wanted our Bible and maybe Ma's lace." She set her hand to her lips. "The horses are lost, too?"
"Yes."
"I see." She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Why would God rob her of every shred?
"I'm sorry, Miss Roberta," he said, his voice soothing. "So very sorry."
The words were right, the person saying them wrong. "W-Where is David?"
Reg remained quiet for a long moment and dropping her hands, she gazed at him, expectantly. He finally spoke. "He wouldn't quit until I made him."
"You didn't kill him, did you?" Her words came out in a whisper as fresh panic surged, followed quickly by anger. "He's not well!"
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