Prairie Fire

by Catherine Palmer

  Jimmy gave a chuckle. “Fresh air? Sure, it’s cold enough to freeze your lungs out there. I’m expecting snowfall any moment. Leave the storage door unlocked tonight, Caitie. Nobody’s going to steal your precious supplies.”

  “No, no. I’d better see to it.” Before the others could try to dissuade her, Caitrin grabbed her shawl, pushed open the soddy door, and hurried outside.

  As she raced across the open yard toward the barn, her heart beat out a frantic prayer. Oh, Father, what shall I do if Jack is still here? How can I make him go away? And why does the merest thought of him leap into my soul on wings of hope and joy? He’s not a good man. He’s caused so much trouble for everyone. Father, I pray … oh, I beg of you … don’t let my loneliness blind me! Show me the man as he truly is!

  The barn was pitch-black inside, but Caitrin flew across the dirt floor without a thought for roosting chickens or clumps of hay that might trip her feet. Gasping for breath in the frigid air, she forced her steps to slow as she approached the storage room. She could see the faint outline of the open door, and she pushed it open with one hand.

  “Mr. Cornwall?” she whispered. “Are you here?”

  The little room was cloaked in silence. As she calmed, a chill crept up her bare arms. She stepped inside and peered around, but it was too black to see. “Mr. Cornwall?” she said a little louder. “’Tis Caitrin Murphy. Where are you?”

  Again, nothing. Fumbling in the dark, she found the lamp on a shelf. She managed to light it and take it down. The faint yellow glow revealed an empty room. The pallet of quilts lay folded in one corner. The pickle barrel was shoved up against a wall. A stack of books sat beside it along with the crock of salve. The bandages lay in a heap on the ground.

  So he had gone away tonight, just a little before Jimmy came in to blow out the lamp. Or perhaps Jimmy’s near-discovery had caused him to flee. Perhaps even at this moment, he was riding his black horse toward Missouri and the man who wanted to hunt him down. Swallowing, Caitrin picked up the length of bloodstained fabric and studied the delicate lace edging. Been a long time since I saw fine lace on a lady’s petticoat hem. Jack’s deep voice drifted through her thoughts. I decided you were something different, Miss Murphy. Something I’ve been needing a touch of.

  Why had he needed her? She reflected on their conversation, and the answer was obvious. Jack Cornwall had needed Caitrin Murphy because of the three words she spoke on their first meeting … words he confessed he had never heard in his life. I love you. So simple, so easy to say. He had asked those words of her again and again. Yet she had not deigned to speak them to him a second time.

  Despite his poor opinion of her in the letter to his parents, Jack had expressed a need. But she had been too proud … too high and mighty … to fill the empty place in him. Because he thought her stubborn and mouthy and because he had trifled and flirted with her while intending to marry another woman, she had railed out at him. Called him wicked, treacherous, a liar.

  The Lord Jesus would never have done such a thing. Though Christ stood in righteous judgment of the unrepentant wicked, he also loved them so deeply he came to earth to give his very life for them. Aye, he dined with tax collectors, forgave thieves, and protected wanton women. “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her,” the Master had said. “All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.”

  Oh, but the haughty Caitrin Murphy had been wounded. Too miffed to see beyond herself to Jack Cornwall’s need for true love—the love of God—she had spurned the man. And now he was gone.

  Caitrin carried the lamp to the door. Who was the more wicked of the two? She knew very well the Light of Life, yet she had snuffed out that holy glow in the face of a man who had never heard a word of love spoken to him.

  Shivering in misery, she pulled the door shut and glanced at the empty keyhole. Jack had gone off with the key. And that was all he had taken from this place—a little food, a few days rest, a head full of harsh words, and a key.

  Remorse forming a lump in her throat, Caitrin set the lamp on a nail keg and fell to her knees beside the pile of hay on which she had first discovered Jack Cornwall. Clasping her hands together, she bent over and poured out her heart.

  “Forgive my pride,” she whispered, “forgive my cruel words, and forgive my selfishness … my jealousy… . Oh, Father, that was it. I was jealous of her, that woman in the letter. It was Sean and the miner’s daughter all over again, and I was the one abandoned. Forgive me, please forgive me—”

  A loud thump sent hay scattering across Caitrin’s lap. “Who’s Sean?”

  Her eyes flew open to find Jack Cornwall himself crouched on the hay in front of her. Shirtless and smiling, he was the picture of vigor. For a moment, her mind reeled. Had God dropped the man from the sky? Was he an apparition to which she must beg forgiveness in person? She stared, unable to speak.

  “Sean and the miner’s daughter,” Jack said. “Anybody I would know?”

  Caitrin squinted up at the barn’s rafters. Then she focused on him again. “Where did you come from?”

  “The loft. I exercise my shoulder up there at night.” In demonstration, he leapt up, grabbed a low wooden beam, and swung himself onto the loft ladder. From there, he seized a support beam with both hands and pulled up and down, his chin meeting the top of the bar as his muscles strained with the effort. Three, four, five, six. On the seventh, he let go and dropped down onto the hay again.

  “I reckon I’m just about as good as new,” he said, breathing hard. “Take a look at the shoulder.”

  Her tongue still tied in a knot, Caitrin studied the mound of hard sinew with its visible scar. Indeed, the wound had closed in front and back. Though the mark the bullet had left remained thick and tight, his shoulder obviously was flexible. Powerful. Massive.

  “So, tell me about this Sean fellow,” Jack said. He squatted on the hay across from her and draped his arms across his knees. “Somebody back in Ireland?”

  Caitrin blinked and focused on his face. Shaggy brown hair, squared cheekbones, silver eyes. Her heartbeat faltered. “I thought—I thought you had gone away.”

  “Tomorrow. I wanted to get back in shape for the journey in case I run into trouble. Long way to Cape Girardeau. After I’m there, I’ll need to find a job. The work I do takes a good arm.” He looked her up and down. “Didn’t expect to see you again.”

  “Jimmy said—”

  “The lamp. I know. I watched until he’d gone into the soddy before I lit it, but he came back out to check on Scratch—my horse. He must have seen the light while I was up in the loft. I reckoned I was done for, but he just blew out the lamp and walked away.”

  “He assumed I’d left it lit.”

  Jack nodded. “So you came out to see if that wicked, lying scoundrel was still in your storeroom.”

  “The door …” She gestured vaguely in that direction. “I needed to lock it.”

  “Figured I’d finally gone, huh?”

  “Oh, Mr. Cornwall, I must tell you how sorry I am for my harsh words,” Caitrin burst out. “You have every right to think me mouthy and stubborn, for that is exactly what I am. And even though your dear mother believes ill of the Irish, she’s no worse than my sister, Sheena, who holds a poor opinion of the Cornish—never mind how vigorously I dispute her. I should not have spoken so cruelly to you, for you are indeed precious to God and—”

  “Hold on a minute. How do you know what my mother thinks of the Irish?”

  Caitrin trembled in the cold, but she knew she must confess. “Your letter. It fell into a puddle at the mercantile, and while it dried, I read it. Not all, but some. More than I should. It was truly bad of me, and I implore your pardon. You see, when first we met and spoke here in the barn, our words together were heated and lively and full of spirit. I began to think of us as truly a pair of candles burning bright … as though we were alike in purpose and in heart. I believed we were something of a match, you and I
, and a measure of my loneliness faded in the hope of a kindred soul. But then I read your letter. It was the knowledge of your beloved Lucy that provoked me so. When you spoke words of admiration for me the other evening, sure, I could only think of poor Lucy waiting for your return and the day you would make her your wife.”

  “My wife?”

  “Aye, and what you did was so like Sean O’Casey, you see. He declared his undying devotion to me, yet all the while he knew he would marry that miner’s daughter. Instead of accepting you as a man like Sean—capable of wooing one woman while another waited in assurance of marriage—I expected better somehow. I always expect the best of people, and so often I’m disappointed. But I never learn, do I? Sure, Sean spoke all manner of fine words and tender nothings until I was no better than butter in his hands. And when I heard your flattery—”

  “Did you melt?”

  She swallowed at the implication behind his question. “Your words put me in mind of Sean O’Casey and the miner’s daughter. All the while you were speaking to me, I knew about your Lucy waiting at home. Aye, but I momentarily forgot what a wicked man you are, and that is where I made my error. Rather than hear you out and forgive you as a Christian ought, I grew angry at you for toying with me while Lucy sat in expectation of becoming your wife.”

  Jack shook his head as an odd grin tilted one corner of his mouth. “Miss Murphy, you’re a wonder. A miracle. A flame-haired, green-eyed marvel.”

  Wariness stole over her. “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve forgiven me for the sin of turning you into a puddle of melted butter. And all for the sake of Lucy. Lucy Cornwall—my pretty little sister.”

  Sudden heat raced into Caitrin’s cheeks. “Your sister? But the letter said—”

  “What was it I put in that letter meant only for my parents’ eyes? Could you refresh my memory?”

  “Please forgive me for reading it.”

  “Me forgive you? I thought I was the wicked one.”

  “Sure, I’m wicked, too.” She could hardly force out the words. Her face grew hotter as she studied her clasped hands. “You wrote that you would return to Lucy and never leave her. You intended to keep her with you all your life. I never thought—”

  “I reckon you didn’t.” He stood and walked away.

  Caitrin bent over and buried her face in her hands. Oh, this was too horrible. She had all but confessed to the man an attraction she couldn’t admit even to herself. And she had mistaken his sister for a fiancée. She had to leave! The soddy would be warm and cheerful, and maybe she could put this wretched encounter out of her mind.

  “Cold?” Jack’s voice spoke behind Caitrin as he draped a thick quilt over her shoulders. “It’s starting to snow. They’ll come looking for you pretty soon.”

  “Aye.” She sniffled and clutched the quilt at her throat. “I must go.”

  “Just a minute.” He sat down beside her and slipped his arm around her. He had put on his jacket, but she could feel the bulk and strength of his arm through the fabric.

  When he spoke again, his words were rough. “I’m going to tell you about Lucy. Maybe after I explain things, you’ll see past my so-called wickedness to the man I really am. Maybe you’ll understand why I went after Chipper the way I did. For years my parents have been embarrassed to speak Lucy’s name beyond the walls of our house. I’m not sure Mary even told Seth Hunter about her. But I’m not ashamed of my sister, and I don’t mind that you read the letter. You see, Chipper meant everything to my parents. My sister Mary had died, and I was a grown man making my own way. In their minds, Chipper was all they had left of a real family.”

  “But what about Lucy?” Caitrin asked. “Why don’t your parents claim her?”

  “Never mind what they do or don’t do—I claim her. Lucy is my sister, and she’ll be my family long after the rest of them have passed on. Chipper already chose to stay here with Seth Hunter. My father isn’t well, and he’ll be gone soon. Ma won’t be long after him. But Lucy is young. And she’s …” He lowered his head for a moment. “Well, she’s troubled. But I’m going to take care of her, I swear it. I plan to take a job in a livery and hammer horseshoes from dawn till dusk if that’s what it takes.”

  “Your purpose in life is to care for your sister?”

  “Protect her. I’ll use my blacksmithing to provide for her. I learned my skills in the army. One day I’ll have my own smithy. But now—Cape Girardeau—I’ll work for somebody else to look after Lucy and my folks. I’ll save what I can. Buy some land. Put up a house.”

  “Then you’re a builder after all, Mr. Cornwall.” Caitrin let out a shaky breath, finally beginning to relax in the warmth of his embrace. “I said you weren’t, but you are.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  She ventured a glance at the man beside her. His face was so close she could see the texture of his skin. He smelled of shaving soap. Staring into a mist through which she couldn’t see, his gray eyes were depthless.

  “Your sister,” Caitrin whispered. “What is the nature of her trouble?”

  Jack looked at her, and she read the pain in his face. Clearly he was assessing her, weighing whether this mouthy, unforgiving, judgmental woman had the capacity to understand the sorrow that wracked him. Humiliated at the pride that had formed such a barrier between them, she reached out from between the edges of the quilt and laid her hand over his. Slipping her fingers through his, she became aware of firm sinew, callus, and a breadth that dwarfed her clasp.

  “This is a hand that can protect a dear sister,” she said softly. “You will bring healing to your Lucy.”

  “No.” His jaw clenched tight, he shook his head. “No. Nobody can fix her troubles.”

  “What problem could hold a woman prisoner all her life … and offer no hope of solution?”

  Jack was silent, but Caitrin could feel his heartbeat hammering against her shoulder. Finally he pulled away from her, the muscle in his jaw working hard. He looked up at the rafters of the loft. “Lunatic Lucy, they call her,” he ground out angrily. “Touched in the head. Crazy as a coot—”

  “Stop.” Caitrin grabbed his arm. “Jack, you mustn’t—”

  “People throw rocks at her. Taunt her. And now, for her protection, we have no choice but to keep her confined. My parents can’t manage her, but I can. And if anyone tries to interfere—if anyone hurts Lucy ever again …”

  Beneath Caitrin’s hand, the muscle in his arm bulged and hardened into solid granite. She laid her cheek against it, praying for the words to calm him. “You’ll save your Lucy. I’m sure of it.”

  “Yeah, like I saved Chipper from the clutches of Seth Hunter.”

  “Chipper belongs with Seth. They love each other.”

  He grunted. “Love.”

  “Aye, and your love will save Lucy from her troubles.”

  “Nothing will save Lucy.” His eyes hard, he scrutinized her. “What is it with you? You don’t back away from me like I have smallpox. Don’t you know I’m Loony Lucy’s brother? You know what people say—maybe it’s a family disease, and you’ll catch it from me. Or maybe my wicked, lying ways brought Lucy’s calamity on us. Maybe it’s the punishment for my sins.”

  “Stop it, now.” She covered his mouth with her hand. “Nothing you’ve done has brought this calamity on your sister. All of us have sinned in one way or another.”

  “I don’t stand a chance of forgiveness for what I’m feeling right now, Caitrin Murphy, and I can’t make myself repent.” He pressed her hand hard against his lips. “The need you bring out in me burns like a fire inside. I think about you day and night, wanting a taste of those sweet lips …” He covered her mouth with his and pulled her roughly against him. His fingers slid into her hair, dislodging pins and combs. “Caitrin, hold me. Hold me tight. I’ve had the scent of your hair racing through my head like a cyclone whirling out of control.”

  For a moment Caitrin hung motionless as his mouth ignited a blaze across her lips. Shock captured her brea
th in her throat. Pleasure reeled through her, sending tingles dancing down her spine and shivers skipping into the base of her stomach as she arched into his kiss. And then truth tore through her heart.

  “Jack,” she said, clutching his shirt and pushing him away. “Sure, you must not be so bold with me.”

  “Don’t tell me that look in your green eyes isn’t desire.”

  She shook her head. “I won’t lie to you, Jack Cornwall. You’re the first man since Sean to fill my thoughts for even a moment. Aye, I’m a woman, and inside me … there’s also a need …” She bit her lip. “There’s a longing in my heart that only the true love of a man can fill. But the Bible says—”

  “Don’t preach at me, Caitrin,” he growled.

  “No, but if you would possess my lips, then you must take my mind and spirit, too.” She struggled to her feet and tugged him up to stand beside her. “I’m more than a creature with flaming hair, Jack. I’ve a brain, so I do, and you know precious little of what’s inside it. I’ve a heart, too. The Spirit that dwells in my heart is not my own. Sure, it’s the very presence of God himself. You’ve a good face and strong arms, but I know nothing of your mind and heart. Indeed, you and I might find pleasure together. But pleasure lasts no longer than a season. And then what?”

  Jack searched her eyes, and Caitrin refused to lower them in modesty. Let him see that I meant what I said. Let him understand. And, dear God, please let my heart stop aching for another kiss from his lips.

  “It’s time for me to go,” he said. “Say the words, Caitrin. Say them to me before I leave. I want to hear them one last time.”

  Oh, Father, make them your words! she breathed upward in prayer. Make them words of the Spirit. Let them come from you and not from me. Not from my heart.

  “Say the words,” he repeated, gripping her shoulders.

  She reached out again from her protective quilt and laid her fingertips against the side of his face. “You are precious to the Father, Jack Cornwall,” she whispered. “You are precious. And with the Father’s love, I love you.”

  “Caitrin Murphy.” With a groan wrenched from deep inside him, he folded her into his embrace. “Please don’t tremble. I won’t hurt you.”