Bittersweep

by Wareeze Woodson

  Elizabeth spoke slowly to the landlady, her tone calm and reassuring. “That should do the trick.” With her arm around the landlady’s shoulders, she edged Mrs. Ledbetter to the top of the stairs. “I’ll remove a few things I need and pay next month’s rent before we leave.”

  The landlady nodded and made her way down the stairs still muttering under her breath. Elizabeth turned back to the tangle and helped JP sort through piles of personal belongings. Correspondence with his family, a small cache of jewelry, a tie pin, a pocket watch, and a fob were scattered on the floor. JP placed the letters and his other personal items in a box he found in one of the drawers. She bundled up the clothes and tossed the bed linen out in the hall. Order was soon restored.

  JP tucked the box under his arm. “I think we’re finished here. We can go over all of this stuff at the ranch.” With a frown, he gazed around the room. “What was the culprit looking for?”

  “We were looking for the blue ledger, but it isn’t here. Maybe the intruder found it.”

  JP frowned. “Let’s leave it for now. I want to question Betty about the ring we discovered. I’ll let the sheriff know what we find out. He’ll want to know about the search at any rate.” He shut the door quietly and halted outside Franklin’s door. “Marry me and we’ll bring everything.”

  She cast a look of reproach at him and pasted a sarcastic smile on her lips. “Dare I say no to such a romantic proposal?” Giving him a dark frown, she said, “No.”

  He grimaced. “I suppose you want it all, me on my knees with ring in hand.” He grinned, all male, his features craved in harsh lines, his lids narrowed. “No way, lady. Not again. I did try to offer exactly that a while back.”

  The satisfying clomp of his boots followed her down the hall to her room. The clod, offering her a marriage proposal without one word of love, or even caring, she wanted to box his ears. Still, he had tried, but his aunt’s presence intruded on every occasion, then and now.

  Elizabeth said over her shoulder, “It shouldn’t take long to collect a few of my things.” Turning the key in the lock, she pushed the door open. She remained in the threshold, shocked by the state of her room. A chaotic disaster met her stunned regard. The mattress had been upended on the floor, clothes plus the bed linens were scattered about, and every drawer had been dumped onto the clutter much as in Franklin’s room. Her bottle of scent lay on the rug with the stopper loosened enough to spill half the contents. The fragrance of roses overpowered the musty air in the chamber.

  “No, no.” She stumbled into the room and fell on her knees beside the spilled dresser drawers. She raked through everything until she located her mother’s box. Gathering the tin container to her chest, she sank onto the mattress and cried with great, shuddering sobs.

  JP knelt by her side and draped his arm around her shoulders. “What’s wrong? I know the room’s a mess, but there’s no reason to carry on so.”

  She leaned against him, still sobbing. Moving onto the mattress, he gathered her in his arms and brushed her hair off her forehead. “Tell me what’s wrong. I’ll do my best to fix the problem.”

  She shook her head. “You can’t fix this.”

  “You’re not making sense. Tell me.”

  “My mother’s box. I thought someone had taken it, but it’s here. It’s here.” She cried against the strength of his frame, against the beat of his heart, against the warmth of his embrace until her body stopped shaking.

  He mopped her face with his handkerchief and gently kissed her forehead. Tracing her eyebrow with one finger, his touch trailed down her face to her lips. “It’s all right. You have your box.”

  Her lips trembled, trying to hold back her sobs. “My sister. She was only three months old. Papa said she was gone.” Her voice rose before she caught it back. She huddled in his arms, comforted. “I had to dig a hole with a stick and my bare hands. I wrapped her in her blanket and put her in the ground under a tall pine tree.” Blinded by tears, she shook her head. “I can see it in my mind, but I don’t know where. I just don’t know.”

  He kissed her cheek with tender caring. “Tell me all of it. Share the pain with me. It’ll ease the hurt.”

  A sigh shuddered through her, and she exhaled a deep breath. “My real name is Nancy Elizabeth Clarke, not Campbell. The house—the Clarke homestead—belonged to my family before it was burned to the ground.”

  He gave her a comforting squeeze. “What does your mother’s box have to do with all of this? You were only a young child back then. How did you remember your mother had a box?”

  “I was five, a very traumatic time for me. Certain memories are printed on my brain forever.”

  In a low tone, he coaxed, “I would imagine so. What else?”

  She’d never spoken of the past to anyone before. Lost in her memories, she emptied all the horror she’d kept bottled up inside her into words. “The fever had already entered the house and the town. I was afraid and hid in the woods till nearly dark. I crept up to the window and peered inside. I watched my mother wrap the box in a piece of leather and oilcloth. She hid the bundle beneath a couple of stones in the hearth. After I left Bittersweep, I wanted that box more than anything.”

  “No wonder you were so anxious to search the burned-out shell.” Regret and sympathy were amplified in his tone. “I didn’t understand. You left Bittersweep at such a young age.”

  She gave a bitter laugh. “You could say that. The town folks loaded us in a wagon and told us to get out. It was frightening to leave my mother behind. I didn’t realize she’d succumbed to the fever.”

  He stroked his hand up and down her back, soothing and encouraging.

  “My brother drove and drove until night. We slept in the wagon. The next day and the next, he kept driving, not knowing where to go or what to do. I took care of my baby sister. She didn’t cry, and she wouldn’t eat. I don’t know if she had the fever or not. She died in my arms, and I didn’t even realize she had passed on. I don’t know how long I held her after that. Even now I recall how heavy she became after holding her for endless hours.”

  “No wonder you remember all of this so vividly.”

  Clutched by her memories, Elizabeth barely heard him. “Papa had the fever when the folks loaded him in the wagon, and he lay unconscious. He drifted in and out for days until finally, in a moment of awareness, he told us to bury my sister.” With a voice nearly suspended by tears, she sobbed, “I had to dig the grave while my brother held the horses. Afterwards, I couldn’t tell my papa where to locate the gravesite so he could put up a marker.” Tears gushed down her cheeks.

  “You were young to go through so much. I’m sorry.” He gathered her close and rocked her.

  When he tried to break the embrace, she wouldn’t let him. She wanted the closeness, the comfort, anything to drive the bad memories away. She needed his strength. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him down, down onto the mattress, down into her arms. She planted a tentative kiss beside his mouth, then on his lips.

  Yes, this is what she wanted, the heaviness of his body half on top of hers, the tingling sensations racing down her spine, and his kisses. He took over and his tender caresses sent heated sensations to every nerve in her body. She wanted his touch, his comfort, his passion. She needed him.

  He cupped the back of her neck and kissed her. When she kissed him back, he deepened the kiss. His hands roamed over her, stroking, enticing. The heat of his touch seeped through the thin cotton of her blouse, and her breath caught in her throat. A sigh shivered through her.

  His mouth was gentle, his tongue slipping inside her lips, not threatening, but inviting her to respond. She could hold nothing back. Her breath became quick and shallow. The sensitive pads of her fingertips brushed against his throat, down his neck to the collar of his shirt, crisp to the touch. The stout muscles in his arms bunched
under her hands. His scent, fresh as night air, personal and alluring, engulfed her. His embraced tightened drawing her closer. She thought she might go up in flames when he pressed her into the mattress, tighter, harder. She groaned.

  He stilled instantly, his breathing harsh in her ear. After a long minute, he levered up on one elbow and stared into her eyes, searching, assessing. With an oath under his breath, he gained his feet and stood studying every inch of her form. He paced to the window and looked out. “Lady, after that, you’d darn well better marry me.”

  Shocked by his withdrawal—empty, wanting, helpless to recover—she listened to the fraught emotion in his voice. He wanted marriage. She wanted to cry until there were no tears left.

  “Next time, I might not be able to draw back.” He turned from the view outlined in a blaze of sunlight shining around him, his face in shadows. After a long moment, he said, “You couldn’t either. We want each other too much and that’s not going to go away.” He paced back to the mattress and stared down at her. “Face it. We are meant for each other.”

  She sat up, still at his feet. “It isn’t possible. My mother’s box.”

  He studied her for a long time, his gaze filled with exasperation, pushing for answers. “What are you on about now? Why is her box suddenly so important? Why did you leave it behind instead of taking it to the ranch?”

  She shrugged and hung her head. Now she was no longer protected in his arms, from the world, from wanting him, she longed for the questions to end. “I didn’t know I would be away so long and . . .”

  “And what?”

  She ducked her head and murmured, “I thought it would be safer here.”

  His tone drifted a faction higher, clear and demanding. “Safer from what?”

  Swallowing several times, she finally managed to speak. “Prying eyes. There are no maids here to dust and clean. At your ranch, folks wash the clothes and put everything away. Someone always dusts the furniture and straightens every drawer.”

  “So?”

  She raised both hands, palms up. “Here, I clean my own room. Mrs. Ledbetter or Betty change the bed linens and bring more towels. Everything else is under my control.”

  His lids narrowed to slits. “You thought someone might steal your box.”

  “No,” she vehemently denied.

  His deep stare was long, silent, searching. He crossed his arms over his chest, his thumb under his chin, his finger rubbing against his lips in contemplation. “Explain.”

  “I didn’t want any prying eyes. That’s all.”

  His shoulders lifted with a deep breath that hissed out in a long sigh. “I suppose you changed your name because of what happened?”

  She nodded. “Partly. I wanted my mother’s box. We’d been told never to return, so I assumed a name and came back. When I discovered ours was the only home burned, I wanted to know why.” She lifted one shoulder and cocked her head to the side. “I found the box. The content was more of a curse than a blessing. My papa never talked about my mother or Bittersweep after we left.”

  She opened the lid and fished out the hinged pictures. “Take a look. Then, you’ll understand.” Sitting back on her heels, her attention focused on him, she waited.

  He gazed at the pictures. “These are your parents.” He studied the tin types for a long moment. “There’s a remarkable resemblance between you and your mother. You have your father’s eyes though.”

  “Now do you see why I can’t marry you?”

  With a dangerous smile, he said, “No. Why?”

  In exasperated tones covering the need to cry, she said, “Because my mother had Indian blood. I suppose that is the reason we were burned out.”

  “And perhaps that’s not the reason. At least not the entire reason. Whole families were wiped out. Some survived, but bitterness ran rampant. Folks had to hold someone accountable for their losses. Your family bore the brunt along with the blame.” He pulled her to her feet and placed one arm tenderly around her shoulders. “So it’s not only Aunt Maude. I can never make up for the past and the loss you suffered, but I’m offering a future with me.”

  “What about my Indian heritage?”

  He shrugged. “That’s part of you. I want you, and all you bring with you.”

  She stared at him, her mind churning. She couldn’t believe he didn’t hold her heritage against her. He was a good man, noble, honorable, but how could she accept him when his aunt would have no part of such a marriage. He loved his aunt. She couldn’t ask him to choose. With that hanging over her head, how could she marry him? But how could she not?

  Chapter 26

  From the horsehair sofa in the grand parlor, Elizabeth stared at Maude, unable to say a word. She clenched her hands in her lap thankful she’d been sitting when Maude entered and began her tirade. This room, so like Maude, expensive, sturdy with no nonsense, serviceable furnishings seemed to close in on Elizabeth, stifling, intense.

  The fresh smell of the outdoors spread from Maude as she advanced and swished her skirts, her hands curled into fists. “You told him, didn’t you?”

  “What are you taking about?”

  With her expression filled with bitterness, Maude snarled, “About you being a half-breed’s spawn?”

  Elizabeth swallowed hard. “The subject did arise.”

  Maude’s eyes narrowed, and she screeched, “I told you JP wasn’t for you.”

  “What are you on about?” Elizabeth couldn’t drag her gaze from Maude’s fierce scrutiny, demented with rage. The sensation of an impending danger smothered her. She clutched her hands together in her lap.

  “You and your family was run out of town and told to stay out. You should’ve listened. Now, you’re back, stirring things up better left buried.”

  Maude’s voice smote Elizabeth’s ears with vitriol, and for a brief instant, she couldn’t close her dropped jaw. “I haven’t stirred up anything.”

  Maude scowled and prowled the length of the patterned carpet before twisting around to retrace her steps. She paused in front of the sofa and glared. “My Ben wouldn’t listen either. He landed chest deep in trouble when he went after your momma. Cussed her for being a half-breed squaw, he did.” With one hand on her hip, Maude shook her fist at Elizabeth. “Worse, your papa beat him near senseless.”

  Elizabeth drew a sharp breath. Ah, the answer to why her family was the only one burned out. Bad feelings on both sides. Why couldn’t such hatred stay in the past?

  Maude’s voice sank. “Ben never was the same after that. Wouldn’t do nothing but sit around. He wasted away leaving my brother-in-law to look after me. Near drove me crazy. If the boys’ mother had of lived, I don’t know what I would have done. Those boys needed me.”

  “I’m sorry, but that has nothing to do with me or JP.” No wonder Maude still seemed so bitter. Elizabeth swallowed to relieve the sense of an unseen disaster looming, intense and overwhelming.

  “Course it does. You’re back, ain’t you? Causing heartache all around. My boy’s a kind man, and he wouldn’t hurt you deliberate. To save him from more pain he don’t deserve, I’m letting you know the facts. Valeria and JP were sweet on each other till you showed up. He still has feelings for her, or else he wouldn’t be with her this very minute instead of holding your hand.” Satisfaction crept into her voice as she leaned down to gloat. “Take a gander out the window. See for yourself. Look toward the barn and you’ll see.”

  Apprehension swallowed her confidence as Elizabeth rose to discreetly shield herself behind the curtain Maude pointed out. She peeked through the window and let out a small gasp. JP held Valeria in a close embrace. Powerless to move, Elizabeth watched him kiss Valeria on the forehead and whisper something in her ear. She encircled his neck with her arms and brought his head down to kiss his lips this time.

  Elizabe
th could only stare. Her chest knotted with stabbing pains, and she couldn’t breathe. Barely conscious of Maude’s triumphant voice behind her, she covered her trembling lips with her fingers.

  “You’re tearing him to pieces, not wanting to hurt you or her. Your family was always trouble from the minute they settled here.”

  Elizabeth twisted around, and when she could speak, she tried to control the tremor in her voice to no avail. “I don’t understand.”

  “Course you do. Now you know how it feels to be rejected.” Maude stared down at her hands as if absorbed in past reflections. “My husband lost interest in me, in everything before I could have children of my own.” She shook her head and murmured, “He couldn’t do a thing about it. He wasn’t up to it. Your papa ruined him in that way.” She glared at Elizabeth. “Thankfully, I had my nephews or I would have been left out in the cold with nothing. No child, nothing at all—nothing. I fault your folks for that. If she had stayed on the reservation, none of this would have happened.”

  Elizabeth took a step back as hate-filled words spilled over her. Without success, she blinked wishing the bitter woman standing before her would disappear. “I realized you hated me, but I never understood why.”

  “Well, now you know.” Maude sniffed. “You got his pity. Will it be enough?” She lifted her chin, victory in the angle of her head. “Knowing you’d need a send-off to get you out of here, I sent a letter in JP’s name asking about a teaching post in Houston. I got the answer today. You got a new position. Take it.” She forced an envelope into Elizabeth’s hand. “At least this time you’ll have a place to land. I’d advise you to take it while the taking is good.” She held her head high, and with her shoulders thrown back, she marched to the door. Without turning, she said, “It was him as loaded you in the wagon when you and your family was forced out of town. His papa set the house aflame.” She quit the room and slammed the door shut behind her.