Phoebe's Valentine

by Duncan, Alice

  “W-W-William’s got a—a big ugly thing, Aunt Phoebe, and he’s not lettin’ me near him to give him his medicine. He says he’ll sic it on me and it’ll bite me, and it’s poison, and my arm will rot and fall off!”

  In spite of her recent resolve, guilt lashed at Phoebe when she heard her poor little niece burst into tears. She scrambled out of her bed, only to rediscover she was buck naked. Even though she’d allowed Jack Valentine the greatest liberties a gentleman could take with a lady mere hours before, she felt herself blush. In a rush, she tried to cover herself with the blanket.

  “Oh, Lordy. Will you please hand me my clothes?”

  But Jack only smiled at her. Then he kissed her on the cheek and whispered, “I’ll take care of Sarah and William, Phoebe. Why don’t you just take your time this morning?”

  His tone was so sweet that Phoebe felt her heart puddle up. “But . . . well . . . thank you.”

  Then Jack ducked under the privacy screen, and she heard his hearty, “Now what’s this about a big ugly thing William’s got, Sarah?”

  When Phoebe peeked out from behind the canvas, she saw the child throw her arms out wide and Jack scoop her up as easily as if he had a dozen children of his own. With a discouraged sigh, she guessed he deserved them. Even if he did tend to be overbearing at times.

  He hadn’t been overbearing last night. Phoebe took her piece of hard lye soap and shivered as she stepped into the cold waters of the Pecos. She continued to muse about last night as she scrubbed herself. The fragrance of their pretend-love lingered on her this morning and she washed it away with regret. She felt an even greater tug upon her sensibilities when she soaped her stomach and recalled the sweet kisses he’d drizzled on her awful, hideous scars.

  It was as though he didn’t even care how ugly she was. Or that she was barren.

  She knew better than to believe it, though. Any man would care.

  But that was neither here nor there. He’d played her game of pretend, and she’d got to find out what it was like to have a man love her—or pretend to.

  Phoebe shivered, partly from cold and partly from memories. Then she admitted that Jack Valentine was a good man. And he’d made her feel good. Very, very good.

  And, since she knew she’d never have another chance at love or find another man to pretend with, Phoebe was grateful to him.

  # # #

  As Jack supervised Sarah and William, he began to wonder if Phoebe would ever join them. Maybe she was ashamed about last night and shy about making an appearance this morning, a possibility that grieved him. He was just about to go fetch her when she stepped out from behind her privacy screen, and the greeting he’d prepared for her clotted up and got stuck in his throat.

  She’d washed and rinsed her hair in the Pecos, brushed it out, and hadn’t braided it yet. It shimmered around her shoulders in a magnificent dark chestnut wave that made Jack long to bury his face in it. And then he wanted to bury himself in her. Lord, almighty, he had it bad all right.

  “Aunt Phoebe! Look what William’s got!” As Sarah sang her cheery greeting to her aunt, she didn’t sound at all like the teary-eyed waif who’d come to Phoebe’s campsite earlier in the morning.

  Jack finally found his voice. “Lord on high, Sarah Finnerty, your Aunt Phoebe’s about the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen in all my born days.”

  “You think so?” Sarah withdrew her attention from the fascinating creature crawling on William’s blanket and turned to watch her aunt approach. “You really think so?”

  “I really think so.”

  Jack surged out of his stupor and ran over to take Phoebe’s hand and guide her to the children as though she were something fragile and precious. Which she was, even if she didn’t know it. She looked at him quizzically, her cheeks pink with pleasure, a question in her pretty brown eyes.

  “We’re on our honeymoon, remember?” he teased softly.

  “We’re still pretendin’?”

  “I reckon.”

  More and more, Jack wasn’t sure what he felt was make-believe. A practical man as well as one committed to the single life, he decided to keep his uncertainty to himself. He’d never been infatuated with a woman before. He was sure the malady would go away soon.

  “Looky here, Aunt Phoebe!” Sarah giggled and appeared about as full of mischief as Jack had ever seen her.

  “Come see what I got, Aunt Phoebe.” William’s croak was getting better but he still sounded decidedly strange.

  “Oh? Is this the ugly horrid thing that’s going to bite Sarah and make her arm rot off?”

  “Pshaw! William was only bein’ mean when he said that, Aunt Phoebe. He was foolin’ me.”

  Sarah took a swipe at her brother’s shoulder. William flailed back at her, and between them they created a little windmill of children’s arms until Phoebe stopped them with, “I’m going to slice those arms off and nail ‘em to a tree if the two of you don’t stop hittin’ at each other.”

  Sarah cried, “Aunt Phoebe!” and the children subsided into giggles at her fierce promise. Then they peered at their aunt like a couple of small devils.

  It appeared to Jack as though Phoebe were familiar with that look of theirs. She tiptoed cautiously up to William’s blanket. Then she leapt back, aghast. “Oh! Great God in heaven, what is that thing?”

  Phoebe’s horrified recoil sent William and Sarah into another gale of giggles. Jack put his arm around her waist as though to do so were the most natural gesture in the world. “It’s a horned toad, Phoebe.”

  “There’s a million of ‘em in the territory. Jack said so. They’re ugly as sin, but they’re harmless,” Sarah announced.

  “They’re good to scare stupid little sisters with,” William added smugly.

  “And stupid big aunts, too, I reckon,” Phoebe said with a shudder of unfeigned repulsion

  “Farmers like ‘em. Jack told us so,” Sarah informed Phoebe in her teacher’s voice. “They eat bad bugs.”

  “They ain’t poison like gila monsters, neither,” William rasped.

  Phoebe looked a little green. “What’s a gila monster?”

  “Poisonous lizard. They’s oodles of ‘em out here, too. Jack told us so. I ain’t seen none yet.” William frowned and looked as though he were unhappy about the paucity of poisonous lizards in the neighborhood.

  “Oh. I had no idea.”

  “Reckon it’s not the most hospitable land in the nation,” Jack told her with a chuckle.

  “No. I reckon it isn’t.” Phoebe made as if to sit on a log beside William but caught herself before she sat. She inspected the log minutely, and then sat with the greatest of care. Even then she didn’t look entirely happy. Jack couldn’t contain his grin.

  “Tell her about the tarantulas, Jack,” Sarah begged eagerly.

  “Tarantulas?” Phoebe looked at Jack. She did not seem pleased.

  “They’re big, hairy, poison spiders,” the little girl told her, giving an eloquent, excited shiver.

  With a shrewd look at Phoebe, Jack said, “I think tarantulas can wait for a while, Sarah. Let’s you and me catch us all some breakfast.”

  “Okay!” Sarah realized she’d used a forbidden word and cast a look of chagrin at her aunt.

  Phoebe only waved a hand. “It’s all right, Sarah. I expect ‘okay’ is about the least objectionable thing we’ll have to deal with in our new life.”

  Jack leaned over and gave Phoebe a little kiss on the cheek, as if he’d been doing so his entire life. As he strolled off with Sarah to get the fishing poles, Phoebe pressed her cheek and felt her heart turn to slush.

  She heard Sarah’s, “Why’d you kiss Aunt Phoebe, Jack?” and his, “‘Cause I wanted to, Scamp,” as the two walked away.

  Phoebe felt, oddly enough, quite happy.

  Antelope returned to the camp while the four of them were dining. He flopped down and grabbed a skewered fish.

  “Good chow,” he muttered with his mouth full.

  Phoebe realized b
oth children were looking at her as though they expected her to chastise Antelope for improper manners. She just sighed and said, “Thank you.”

  “See any sign?”

  Although Jack asked the question in an offhand manner, Phoebe saw the sharp look he shot Antelope. She tried not to worry about that look, but suddenly every single dire tale she’d ever read about Indian massacres swooped into her brain and niggled at her. She watched Antelope closely. When he peered up from his fish and nodded, she nearly fainted.

  “Looked like a Mescalero band from the sign. Small band. Mostly women and kids. Didn’t look like they meant no harm. Probably huntin’ for food.”

  “Mescalero? Sign? Do you mean there are Indians close by?” Phoebe tried to keep her voice even, but it was a struggle.

  “Yes’m. Indians.” Antelope said the word as another person might whisper “Boo!”

  Then he grinned at her and she felt embarrassed. “You know what I mean. I meant wild Indians.”

  His grin got wider. “Oh, they’re wild all right, them Mescalero.”

  “It’s probably nothing to worry about, Phoebe,” Jack assured her. “I’ll head out with Antelope after breakfast and keep an eye on things. You’ll be safe here. Just stay close to the wagon.”

  “Pete’ll be comin’ with the army pretty soon anyway,” Antelope said, as though the entire matter were of scant concern to him.

  Phoebe noticed that Sarah had scooted a bit closer to her, and she put an arm around her. She was grateful for the little girl’s trust. All at once she recalled something Jack had told her about Pete Spotted Pony and Antelope and blurted, “You’re still here.”

  Antelope cocked his head and looked at her as though she’d lost her mind. He also looked as though it didn’t surprise him any.

  “I . . . I mean, I thought you and your cousin were going to leave us when you got Mr. Basteau.”

  Antelope and Jack exchanged a look Phoebe couldn’t account for. Then Antelope shrugged. “We decided you could use some help. At least until you get the wagon fixed.”

  “Oh.” Phoebe felt an unexpected swell of emotion. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

  Jack sighed as he stood from his cozy seat on the log. “Well, you three stay close together today. Why don’t you do some swimming? It’s going to be a hot day, and it’ll keep you cool. There’s plenty of food when you get hungry.”

  “Oh, my, yes,” Phoebe said in her bright, auntly, everything-will-be-all-right voice. “We have cold biscuits and bacon and we’ll be just fine.”

  “I think I’ll look for a horny toad for my very own,” Sarah announced.

  “You better just stick close to your Aunt Phoebe and your brother Bill today, Sarah. Don’t want you scalped.” Jack rubbed the top of her head and her eyes got huge as her hands lifted to rest on the spot he’d teased.

  “Naw. Go on out and look fer a horny toad, Sarah. I wanna see what you look like bald.” William gave her a brotherly grin.

  “William Finnerty, you just be still now.” The gruesome levity being displayed by her young kin appalled Phoebe.

  Jack only laughed at her, and Phoebe decided things were much as they’d always been after all. For just a few minutes last night and this morning, she’d felt as though something special had happened to her. But she guessed she’d just been entertaining foolish fantasies. It was a flaw in her nature, one for which her mama used to scold her on a regular basis.

  “We’ll be back for supper,” Jack assured them as he hefted his rifle. “You know how to shoot a gun, Phoebe?”

  “I . . . I have my derringer.”

  “You’ve got a derringer?”

  “Yes,” she said, irritated by his incredulity. “You didn’t think I’d set out to cross the plains of Texas unarmed, did you?” His grin aggravated her even as her heart skipped in appreciation.

  “S’far as I knew, the only weapon you carried was a frying pan, Miss Phoebe.”

  She gasped, affronted. “That’s not true and you know it, Jack Valentine. I shot that stupid snake, if you’ll remember.”

  “Oh, that’s right!” He winked at her. “Glad I didn’t remember your derringer last night.”

  Her indignant expression made him chuckle. “Come here, Phoebe. I have to show you something.”

  She felt insulted and considered disobeying but knew he’d only grab her and drag her along behind him if she did. With considerable stiffness of manner, she stalked to his side.

  “I’m only teasing you,” he whispered into her ear, his mustache tickling her cheek and sending warm tingles glittering through her body. “It’s only in fun.”

  She tried to maintain her indignation, but it seemed to melt away under his tender manner.

  “Here, I want to show you how to use this.” Jack hefted his big revolver onto his palm.

  “My goodness.” Phoebe forgot all about being miffed when she realized he expected her to pick up the gun. With the gravest misgivings, she did. It almost fell out of her grip before she clamped her fingers around it.

  “Good gracious, it’s heavy!”

  “Sure is. But it’s pretty effective.” Jack took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes, seriously. When he began to speak again she tried to concentrate on his words, but it was difficult because she kept getting lost in the enticing blue depths of those dratted devil’s—angel’s—she didn’t even know anymore—eyes of his.

  “I’m serious about sticking close together today, Phoebe. Go swimming, tell stories, take naps, but don’t let the children wander off by themselves, and don’t you go off anywhere, either.”

  Giving a thought to horned toads, rattlesnakes, gila monsters, hairy spiders and Indians, Phoebe shuddered and said, “Don’t worry. I won’t go anywhere, and I won’t let the children out of my sight.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  Phoebe’s heart fluttered madly for a second when it looked as though he might kiss her, but he didn’t. Instead, he said, “Now, let’s make sure you can use this thing,” and she felt a rush of disappointment.

  But she listened as he spoke and watched while he demonstrated. By the time Jack left camp with Antelope, they were both pretty sure she wouldn’t kill herself or the children if she had to pick up the gun while the men were away.

  “But I’m not so sure you should go swimming, William,” Phoebe told her nephew doubtfully a few minutes later. “You still sound like a frog.”

  “Look like one, too.” Sarah spurred her words on their way by a little push of her tongue.

  “That’s enough, Sarah.” Phoebe sighed and guessed it might just be Divine Will that had prevented her from bearing children of her own. She couldn’t even handle these two.

  She felt even more disheartened about her competence as a parent when William eventually wore down her strength of purpose about his going swimming.

  “Well, all right. But you must swear to me you’ll get out of the water the minute I tell you to do so.”

  “I will, Aunt Phoebe.” He wore such an angelic look on his face that Phoebe guessed she believed him.

  Then she forgot all about being Aunt Phoebe and a parental failure when the three of them got into the water and began to play. It had been so long since Phoebe’d played, she wasn’t entirely sure how to go about it. But then William tossed her Sarah’s balled-up stockings and hollered, “Don’t let her get ‘em, Aunt Phoebe!” and she felt something tickle way down deep in her middle.

  She tossed the ball back to William, laughing at Sarah’s indignant shriek as she swiped at the dripping bundle. “She’s attackin’ me, William! You take it!” And the bubble in her middle grew.

  William grabbed the soggy stockings and dodged his furious sister. After a long spate of keep-away, Phoebe got dunked and Sarah got her stockings back. By that time the bubble in Phoebe’s middle had grown up into a full-fledged, boisterous balloon full of playfulness. Together, the girls decided it was high time they taught William a lesson, so they snatched his shirt, wa
dded it up, and tossed it back and forth for a while.

  Eventually they tired of keep-away and played a desultory game of “I’m thinking of an animal.” Of course the children always thought of grotesque, crawly things. Phoebe was more apt to think of beautiful birds and sleek cats. Or dark-visaged, blue-eyed, grinning Yankees. She decided that particular animal was too dangerous even for a game, so she kept it to herself.

  After a while, play gave way to reflection. As the children paddled around, trying to determine who could find the most white stones on the river bottom, Phoebe allowed both her mind and her body to float on the placid water. Sensations remembered from the past two nights shimmied up and down her frame, and she smiled as she let herself drift along.

  “Aunt Phoebe,” Sarah said at one point, censure in her eight-year-old voice, “You’re starin’ straight up at the sun. You’ll get spots sure if you do that.”

  Phoebe opened one eye and peered at her niece. She thought about Sarah’s admonition and the conclusion she came to surprised her. She figured it would leave poor Sarah flabbergasted.

  “You know, Sarah, darlin’, your old Aunt Phoebe’s just about decided Jack Valentine—even if he is a Yankee—is right. Spots are the last thing in the world a lady needs to worry about. Now mind you, it’s a lady in Texas I’m talkin’ about. A lady in Georgia’s another matter entirely.”

  “Oh!” Sarah’s eyes went round and she sounded shocked.

  The little girl’s reaction to her confession didn’t surprise Phoebe much, for it was certainly a departure from her former avowed purpose in life.

  “That’s exactly what Jack’s always sayin’,” William offered.

  While her nephew’s information did not exactly make Phoebe’s heart sing, she guessed it was about true. She rolled over in the water and side-stroked lazily along the bank, much as she used to do as a little girl when she’d gone swimming with Paul and Philip in the watering hole by their farm. Pauline was already married and living in Charleston by that time or she might have joined them. Philippa, of course, was much too refined and ladylike to swim in a water hole, but Phoebe used to cherish those lazy summer afternoons with the twins. The boys used to tease her something fierce, but they’d had so much fun sometimes Mama had to send somebody after them to fetch them home for supper.