by Kaki Warner
“That reminds me.” Thomas pulled an envelope from his shirt pocket. “This came today. I told the Western Union man I would give it to you, but then . . . I forgot.” No need to mention his shock when he heard the women talking about him and heard what Pru had endured. He still couldn’t come to terms with all of it.
“Is it from Ash? What does it say?”
He handed it to her. “You open it.”
She read Rayford Jessup’s name on the envelope and tried to hand it back. “It’s not addressed to me.”
“That did not stop your sister and Lucinda Rylander from opening my box of books.”
She opened the envelope. Pulling out the note, she read, then grinned. “They’re coming home!” She read the words aloud. “‘Will arrive by month’s end. House better be ready. Kirkwell.’” Laughing, she hugged Thomas, then Lillian, then raced toward the door. “I have to tell Luce and Ed!”
“You leavin’ already!”
“I’ll be back soon, Lillie. I promise.”
“What Daddy do this time?”
Thomas ignored her. “Should you not tell Jessup first, since the telegram was sent to him?”
But she was already rushing down the porch steps. “I’ll return soon.”
“Miss Pru not a very nice mama to go runnin’ off like that.”
“She will be back.”
“She gonna stay here now?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll be like a real family?”
“Yes.” Eventually, he hoped.
“Who Ash?”
“Who is Ash,” he corrected. “He is a man who wears a skirt, carries too many names, and speaks in a strange way.” Thomas scooped up his daughter and walked toward the kitchen where Winnie stood at the stove, basting a roasting chicken. “His dog is father to Bitsy.”
“So he my stepdaddy?”
“Exactly.”
Winnie snorted. “You’ll get in trouble, Mr. Thomas, saying things like that.”
“I hope so. I have not fought anyone in a long time.” He set Lillian back on her feet. “Look in my coat pocket, Katse’e. I made something for you.”
Rising on her toes, she reached in and rooted around until she pulled out the flute Thomas had carved from the elk antler. “A stick? You gots me a stick?”
“A flute.” He showed her where to blow and where to put her fingers over the holes. Soon the house echoed with high-pitched screeches and whistles. He must have done something wrong. He had never made a flute before.
Winnie told Katse’e to go take her flute to the porch, then sent Thomas a sour look.
He shrugged. “I would have made her rhythm sticks, but I thought she might hurt someone.”
“So you let her make us deaf, instead. Good thinkin’.”
* * *
When Pru rushed into the hotel, Yancey was crossing the lobby. Before she could ask, he pointed a finger at the closed dining room door. She veered toward it.
Since Lucinda had turned her office into a nursery, she often did her paperwork in the dining room before the staff set it up for the evening meal. Perhaps Edwina was still with her.
She wasn’t. But Mrs. Bradshaw and Mrs. Throckmorton were.
Lucinda must have seen the excitement on her face when Pru rushed in. “What’s happened?”
“Wonderful news!” Waving the telegram, Pru hurried toward them, then slowed when she saw the serious expressions on the women’s faces and the way Mrs. Bradshaw hurriedly wiped her eyes. “Am I interrupting?” Pru made a half turn toward the door. “Perhaps I should come back later.”
“Nonsense.” Lucinda waved her to an empty chair. “Join us. We could use some happy news.”
Reluctantly, Pru did. It was obvious she had walked in on a serious discussion. With an embarrassed nod to Mrs. Bradshaw—who was still fighting tears—Pru turned to Mrs. Throckmorton, who held the sleeping Rosaleen. “Aren’t you the lucky one. She looks quite content in your arms, Mrs. Throckmorton. You must have a calming touch.”
“So I’ve been told.” The elderly lady sniffed in that haughty way she had, but Pru saw the smile teasing her lips. “I have a way with children. I always have. Ask Lucinda. I shudder to think what would have become of her if I hadn’t taken her to my bosom.”
Pru didn’t dare look at Lucinda, fearing she might catch her in one of her sardonic eye rolls. Even though Luce and her guardian loved each other dearly, they did bring out the claws occasionally. Pru didn’t want to get caught between them.
Lucinda poured a cup of tea and set it before Pru. “So what is this momentous news that sent you rushing in here?”
“A telegram from Ash.” Unable to restrain her excitement, Pru thrust the envelope at her friend. “They’re on their way and will arrive by month’s end!”
Lucinda’s face lit up as she read the wire. “At last! We shall have to plan a grand welcome.”
“I wonder if he’ll bring Pringle back with him?” Mrs. Throckmorton leaned toward Pru to add in a whisper, “He’s been in love with me for years, you know. That’s why I had to send him away with the Scotsman. It would never do to form an alliance with a servant, you see.”
Abruptly, Mrs. Bradshaw rose. “I have to check with Cook about tonight’s menu.”
As the housekeeper disappeared through the door into the kitchen, Lucinda shot her guardian a severe look. “That was uncalled for, Mrs. T.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Helen Bradshaw is a friend and erstwhile employee. I never thought of her as a servant. As for Buster Quinn, I had no idea he had a wife in a mental institution, or that he and Mrs. Bradshaw had developed feelings for each other. Had I known, I certainly never would have allowed him to accompany us from New York.
Pru blinked. Wife in a mental institution?
Lucinda stood, hands clenched at her side. “I think you judge him too harshly. And too soon. He’ll be returning to town shortly. Until then, if you can manage it, please refrain from condemning the man until we hear his side of it. Now, if you will excuse me, I’ll ask Yancey to fetch Edwina. Hopefully they haven’t left for the ranch yet.”
As Lucinda swept from the room, Mrs. Throckmorton sighed. “The child always was a woefully poor judge of character. That’s why I had to save her from a disastrous marriage to that Irishman. I don’t care how wealthy the man was, he was still a thug.”
Pru wasn’t sure how that related to Quinn or Mrs. Bradshaw. “Do you think she’s misjudged Buster Quinn?” Pru scarcely knew the man. He and Mrs. Bradshaw had moved permanently to Heartbreak Creek with Mrs. Throckmorton after Pru had left for Indiana. But from what little she knew, he seemed honorable.
“Quinn?” The old woman reared back to glare at her. “Were you not listening? It was my character she was impugning. Insinuating I was a snob and looked down on Mrs. Bradshaw. Poppycock. As for Buster Quinn, he is above reproach, although he could certainly have been more forthright with dear Mrs. Bradshaw.”
Pru was thoroughly confused now. “What did Mr. Quinn do?”
“I shouldn’t say. I abhor gossip. But I assure you it was nothing illegal. Not yet, anyway. Luckily, he absconded before any real harm was done. There you are.” She held Rosie out to Lucinda as she came back into the room. “You daughter has a definite odor.”
* * *
Over the next days, Pru settled into the Arlan house, grew to love the Abrahams, and learned what a challenge it was to mother a blind ten-year-old who was smarter than she was. Her respect for Thomas and the Abrahams grew daily.
Having been passed around like unwanted baggage for most of her short life, Lillie had grown accustomed to scrabbling out her own place in this world, and was fearless in defending it. No matter that she had once been a slave, or that she was blind, and only a child, she refused to be ignored.
Pru adored her, and saw great pro
mise in her future . . . once she learned to curb her demanding ways. She also suspected the child’s often indecipherable speech was a form of self-protection. If she sounded ignorant, she would be discounted, which would leave her free to do things her own way, how and when she wished.
Pru wasn’t fooled. But rather than browbeating the child into speaking properly—which Lillie’s pride wouldn’t allow—she gently corrected her without making an issue of it, then quietly moved on. At some point, Lillie would understand that Pru wasn’t out to change her, but to help her find other ways of expressing herself. Words—well-spoken and understandable—would be more effective than broken speech and flailing the air with her blind stick.
She continued the lessons in the Braille primer and was astounded by the progress Thomas had already made with her. The evening readings continued, except—at his listener’s insistence—Thomas read from his own book. It was an amazing story, and Pru understood why Rafe Jessup predicted Thomas would be famous someday. Not only were the words powerful and compelling, but when spoken in Thomas’s low, musical voice, it touched something deep inside her.
As for her and Thomas, it felt almost as if they were courting. Glances, touches, smiles when no one else was looking, and evening walks along the creek that ended with long, breathless kisses. She often awoke from dreams of him to find small, simple gifts left beside her pillow. An eagle feather. A button carved from a shiny black stone. A rock that glittered with gold dust. And once a lethal-looking knife that fit into a beaded scabbard she was to tie around her waist under her skirt. There were other, less welcome gifts, too, but she guessed it was Harry, the cat, and not Thomas, who left the half-eaten mice by her bed.
The days warmed. The nights grew shorter. As Pru lay in her lonely bed, listening to him move around downstairs, washing and preparing for another night on the couch, she wondered why she was denying herself the closeness with Thomas she craved. Many times, she thought about going down there and telling him to stop this foolishness and come upstairs to bed like a normal husband.
But then the thought would come that maybe she wasn’t the only one who had concerns about a future together. Maybe he had reservations, too.
Or, perhaps, he was waiting for her to court him.
So she tried that, cooking sumptuous meals, taking special care with her appearance, and waiting on the porch to welcome him home at the end of the day. She washed and mended his clothing, replaced missing buttons and turned the cuffs on his shirts. He accepted her offerings with a smile and a nod. Sometimes, she saw gentle laughter in his eyes. But still, at the end of the evening, he would follow her up the stairs to check on Lillie, give Pru one last kiss outside her bedroom door, then head back downstairs.
She was starting to unravel.
* * *
The month that whites called April came, and the first pink blossoms of wild phlox heralded the coming of the full Pink Moon. But still, Prudence did not come to him as he hoped.
Late one afternoon, he was in the side yard, putting Bitsy through his paces, when Prudence came through the front gate. Seeing him, she raised a hand in greeting and turned in his direction.
Motioning the dog to sit, he studied her. Even from this distance, he could see her steps dragged. Her hand was over her stomach again, and that nagging sense that something was wrong began to hum along his nerves.
He had heard what she had told Lucinda and Edwina about what the Arapaho had done. He remembered those days in the sweat lodge he had built for her, and his prayers that Mother Earth would take away her pain and fear. And he had seen how she had tried to hide from him the blood that stained her clothing.
Even now, it enraged and sickened him. Not only because of what she had endured, or that she might never bear his child, but because she suffered, still, over a year later.
Something was wrong.
The realization that he might lose her again—this time forever—opened a dark, empty place in his mind. A sense of urgency heightened that fear. And as he watched her walk toward him, he knew he could wait no longer.
“What’s Lillie doing?” she asked, stopping beside him. In answer, a high squeak erupted from the house, making her wince and the pup whine. Even birds fled the trees. “I thought you were going to accidentally step on that flute.”
“Are you in pain, Prudence?”
She startled, then frowned. “Why would you ask that?”
He nodded toward the hand over her stomach.
She quickly took it away. “Hungry, that’s all. I didn’t miss supper, did I?”
Before he could answer, she hurried on, words coming in a rush.
“I didn’t mean to be away so long, but Lucinda is in a dither over Mrs. Bradshaw. Apparently, she received a letter yesterday that upset her, then this morning, with only a hurried apology, she ups and leaves. Just like that. Lucinda thinks it has to do with Buster Quinn, but we don’t know what.”
“They are both trapped in rules and have not found the courage to take what they want.” Why was she trying to distract him?
“Perhaps.” Linking her arm through his, she steered him toward the house, the puppy following behind. “I’ll miss her, though. She was a lovely lady.”
“Your friends are happy that Maddie Wallace returns in a few days?”
“Ecstatic. Although with Helen Bradshaw gone, Luce will be shorthanded for the big welcome-home celebration. And anyway”—she smiled and bumped her shoulder against his—“they’re your friends, too.”
He nodded absently, an idea forming.
“I can’t believe it’s been almost two years since the four of us came to Heartbreak Creek,” Prudence went on. “Now all of us are married, and Edwina, and Lucinda, and Maddie all have babies, and . . .” Her voice trailed off. She blinked hard, then put on a false smile that did not hide the sorrow in her eyes. “It will be so nice to be together again.”
He stopped and turned to her. “Go with me to the sacred pool, Eho’nehevehohtse.”
“The mineral spring? Now?”
“Tonight. Soon the workers will begin on the big hotel Tait and Ethan Hardesty are building. They will cut down the trees, and clear the slopes and shatter the silence with their hammers and saws. But for now, it is still a place of healing. Come with me tonight.” And maybe the waters would heal whatever damage the Arapaho had done.
He saw her wavering . . . remembering that earlier night he had taken her there. Reaching out, he cupped her cheek, needing to touch her in some way. “Eat well, then rest. I will come for you after the house sleeps. Bring extra clothing. We will be away for three nights.”
“Three nights? Where will we stay?”
“I have a tipi not far from there.”
“Lillie will want to go.”
“It is not a safe place for her. If she wants, I will put up a small tipi for her in the side yard, although she does not seem to have an interest in sleeping outside.” Seeing her brow pucker, he laughed. “Do not worry, Eho’nehevehohtse. I will keep you warm and safe.”
Interest sparked in her eyes. And a hunger that answered his own.
“I’ll let you tell her we’ll be gone,” she said with a saucy smile. “I’m already in enough trouble for not letting Bitsy sleep in her bed.”
The night was clear and cold. The moon had risen early and was already slipping down past the highest mountain peaks by the time they rode into the canyon. As before, Prudence wore the fur-lined coat and moccasins he had brought for her the first time they had come to this place, although this time he could see she wore no gown beneath it.
He held her in front of him, cradling her body against his as the horse worked his way up the steep trail. All around them the sounds and scents of the awakening season hung in the still air.
“The People have a saying,” he whispered against her hair. “‘Walk lightly in the spring; Mother Earth is preg
nant.’”
Instead of speaking, she turned her head and pressed a kiss to his neck.
His body instantly reacted. As it always did. As it always would. This woman was part of him now, lodged so deep that every beat of his heart, every breath, every thought circled back to her.
As they climbed higher, the sharp, strong smell of the heated waters drifted through the trees. He heard the sound of fleeing hooves striking the earth and guessed they had disturbed a small herd of deer that had gathered to rest in the warm mist rising off the water’s surface. “We are almost there.”
She held a hand over her nose. “I can tell. It’s lucky the sulfur smell doesn’t carry too far, or Tait and Ethan would have to put their building miles away.”
He laughed softly. “That is the breath of Mother Earth and is part of her healing powers. You will not notice it after a while.”
She looked up through the trees overhead, her soft hair brushing against his chin. “Do you think the lights will move across the sky again as they did when you brought me here last winter?”
“I do not know. The dance of the spirits is a rare thing. If we see them tonight, it will be after the moon leaves the sky.”
Thomas reined his pony toward the brush corral he had built below his camp. After helping her down, he untied the pouches of clothing and food he had brought, unsaddled, and turned the horse into the enclosure. “Come,” he said, and held out the hand not gripping the pouches.
There was enough moon left for him to see the wide trail cut by the many animals that visited this sacred place. As they wove through the tall firs and pines, the smell grew stronger. He drew it in and called silently on Mother Earth to put her blessing on the woman beside him.
This time, he did not have to ask her to remove her fur-lined coat. As soon as she reached the water’s edge, she pulled off her moccasins, tossed the coat over the boulders ringing the pool, then stepped down onto the shelf below the surface. “It feels heavenly.” With a deep sigh, she moved deeper until the water reached to her shoulders.
Thomas joined her. Remembering she could not swim, he wrapped his arms around her from behind and pulled her back against his chest. Her body was slick and soft against his, but he could feel the sudden tension in her back and shoulders when he walked deeper and her feet no longer touched the bottom. Her hands came up to grip his forearms crossed over her chest, her fingers digging into his skin.
