But, just as they stood up to sing “Nearer My God to Thee,” the dull background roar died away, although she could still hear water dripping from the eaves. She couldn’t quite let out a sigh of relief, but something inside her seemed to relax slightly. Yes, it would be muddy as hell, and she’d probably have to borrow Mrs. Wilson’s wire brush to get the mud off the hem of her dress after it had dried thoroughly, but at least she wouldn’t have to worry about looking like a drowned rat.
After the final hymn, everyone sat back down to hear the minister make that week’s announcements — the Ladies Aid Society would be giving a supper the following Tuesday, and volunteers were needed to come rake the churchyard in the next day or so. Finally, though, it was all over, and Danica was able to squeeze her way out into the aisle and head toward the back of the church. Mrs. Marshall and her two boys followed, but Danica wasn’t paying any attention to them. Instead, her eyes sought out Robert Rowe in the crowd, taller than almost everyone around him, except Clara’s Elias, the Nordic transplant from Minnesota.
Robert didn’t look back at her, though. No, she realized that would be too obvious. He’d probably linger in the churchyard under some pretext and would find a way at that point to glance in her direction, as if merely performing a casual survey of the crowd to see who was in attendance.
“Miss Prewitt?”
Damn, a Wilcox. But not Jeremiah. It had been his sister Emma addressing her.
As much as she really didn’t want to, Danica slowed her steps so the other woman could catch up to her. The other members of the clan kept moving forward, including Jeremiah. However, he did tilt his head at her and smile slightly, so Danica knew she could do nothing else but smile in return, even though her heart was not in the expression at all. Her response seemed to satisfy him, though, because he appeared to nod, as if to himself, before following his brothers outside.
But Emma lingered off to one side in the entryway, clearly wishing to speak. Danica waited with her as the rest of the churchgoers filed out of the building, although she wanted to scream in frustration. What if Emma took too long, and Robert decided not to wait? That tiny glimpse Danica had caught of him was definitely not enough to last her for any amount of time.
If Emma noticed her frustration, she didn’t show any sign of it. Serene and pleasant as always, she said, “I just wanted to let you know what a lovely time we had when you came over the other night.”
“I had a lovely evening as well,” Danica responded, knowing she had to be polite. Anyway, she liked Emma and didn’t want to seem rude, even if Danica’s every nerve ending was tingling with the need to get out of the church and into the yard, where she could see Robert.
“Oh, good. We were thinking we would like to have you back. Perhaps Wednesday?” A faint hint of a dimple appeared in her cheek as she added, “You see, I must confess that we all do get rather tired of looking at one another. Having a new face at the dinner table is always a pleasure.”
Was there a way to decline? Probably not. The sad thing was, if she could have simply gone to dinner with Emma and her husband, or even with Edmund and Nathan and their respective wives in the mix, Danica wouldn’t have minded so much. They were all pleasant enough people, and she had to admit there was something fascinating about seeing these ancestors of hers in the flesh, and trying to discover the small mannerisms and inflections that reminded her of people she knew in the present day. There was definitely something in Nathan’s easygoing manner that reminded Danica of her cousin Lucas.
Being around Jeremiah, however, was an entirely different matter.
“Oh, that’s very kind of you,” she began, hedging. Danica had no idea whether Emma was colluding with her brothers to get her to hook up with Jeremiah, but she did know that the more time she spent in his company, the more awkward things were going to get. Of course, this wasn’t the Middle Ages; it wasn’t as if anyone could force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. The Wilcox brothers must have their own particular powers, but coercing people the way Matías had been able to didn’t seem to be one of them. Thank God.
She was still searching for a polite way to decline when she heard raised voices from outside. Men’s voices, angry, although she couldn’t make out the words.
“Oh, no,” Emma said. “That sounds like Samuel. I’m sorry, Miss Prewitt, but we’ll have to discuss this later.”
She gathered up her silken skirts and hurried for the door, Danica right on her heels, or at least as closely as she could follow without stepping on the other woman’s modest train. What on earth could have provoked Samuel to create a scene in the yard outside the church, of all places?
The answer came to her almost immediately. Robert was out there — and he hadn’t exactly been working to endear himself to the Wilcox clan.
As she feared, Robert stood near the gate, the Wilcox men gathered around him while their wives held the children at a safe distance. The rest of the congregation also seemed to be standing a few feet off, although Reverend Pierce hovered near Edmund Wilcox’s elbow, as if he knew he should probably intervene but wasn’t too eager to do so.
“…no-good swindling sonofabitch!” Samuel was growling. “We should’ve run off your sorry fancy-pants ass the second you got off the goddamned train!”
The crowd gasped collectively at that threat. Bad enough to have a confrontation in the churchyard at all, but to take the Lord’s name in vain on Sunday?
Jeremiah’s voice was low, but commanding. “Samuel, that’s enough.”
“That’s not enough! He stole that land right out from under us!”
Danica wanted to groan. She’d known that “deal” Robert was so proud of would most likely cause trouble. True, she hadn’t thought that trouble would erupt so soon, or quite so spectacularly, but….
And the awful thing was, she couldn’t do a damn thing about it. For a second or two, she’d had the wild notion of running right smack in the middle of things and interposing herself between the two men. Creating a scene like that, however, would only make matters worse. For the moment, Jeremiah appeared as if he was attempting to defuse the situation. If she went down there and gave the impression that she was trying to defend Robert, she didn’t want to think of what might happen next.
It looked as if Reverend Pierce had finally gotten up his nerve, because he took a step forward and said, “Gentlemen, if you have a real estate dispute of some kind, this is not the place to settle it. There are women and children present.”
Samuel only sneered, but Jeremiah nodded. “Of course, Reverend. We didn’t mean to make a scene.” His gaze flicked toward Robert for a second, as if to say, This isn’t over. His next words, however, were addressed toward his brother. “Samuel, I think it’s best that we go home. What’s done is done.”
Again Samuel’s lip curled. The pretty blonde Wilcox wife — Grace, if Danica was remembering correctly — stepped forward and laid his hand on his arm, murmuring something too low to be overheard. He shook, rather like a horse when a fly landed on it, but he didn’t remove her hand. After a long pause, he nodded, jaw tense, then stalked off through the churchyard gate.
The rest of the Wilcoxes followed him, the children looking puzzled but seeming to understand that it was better for them not to say anything. Emma brought up the rear, and sent a quick apologetic glance back at Danica. Their conversation would clearly have to be picked up at a later date — a much later date, which was fine by her. Maybe Emma would decide everything was a bit too unsettled right now and abandon the idea of having Danica back over for dinner.
And Robert…well, he hadn’t moved, stood silently as the churchgoers murmured amongst themselves and cast furtive glances in his direction. Most of them appeared more puzzled than anything, although there were a few who seemed almost angry. Wilcox supporters, probably; they didn’t own the sawmill, but they did have large timber and ranching interests, and a number of people on their payroll. Anyone who depended on them for their bread and butter pro
bably wouldn’t be too big a fan of someone cutting them off from an opportunity to expand their empire.
It could have been the presence of Reverend Pierce, who hadn’t moved from where he stood, either, and watched his flock with narrowed eyes, as if willing them to try anything. Apparently no one wanted the wrath of God to descend on them, because everyone began obediently filing out the gate as well. Mrs. Wilson and Clara had been lingering near the edge of the crowd, but the landlady caught Danica’s eye at that point and tilted her head, clearly expecting her to come over and join the two of them.
Since there certainly wouldn’t be any opportunity to talk to Robert, not after this whole debacle, Danica did as Mrs. Wilson clearly wanted and went to meet them, then headed out to the street. At the last minute, she risked a glance at Robert, who was buttoning his coat against the cold, face impassive. But his eyes did meet hers for a second before he glanced up at the sky, as if trying to gauge whether the rain intended to start again soon.
In that brief second as they looked at each other, Danica could have sworn she’d seen a pleased glint in those sapphire-blue depths, as if this was exactly the outcome he’d hoped for.
And she couldn’t begin to figure out why.
16
Of course, Clara could talk of nothing else at supper except the nasty little confrontation in the churchyard. She’d gone off with Elias afterward for a walk, despite the muddy streets, and came back full of information provided by her beau.
“Elias says that Mr. Rowe went out and bought this piece of land that the Wilcox brothers had been bargaining over for weeks,” she explained, although Danica already knew all about that particular tidbit. “Offered full price, which no one does. The news of it just came down late Saturday afternoon, when Mr. Royer — the man who sold the land to Mr. Rowe — came into town to put up at the hotel and buy a train ticket back east. He said he couldn’t wait to get out of this damned town.”
“Clara, a proper young lady does not say things such as ‘damned,’” Mrs. Wilson scolded her, even as she passed along a bowl of whipped sweet potatoes.
All innocence, Clara widened her big blue eyes at the landlady. “Why, I was just repeating what Elias told me that Mr. Royer said. It’s a quote.”
Despite her worries about Robert, Danica had a hard time to keep from grinning at the look of consternation on Mrs. Wilson’s face, as if she knew there was something fundamentally wrong with Clara’s argument but couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
“Anyway,” the girl continued, undaunted, “that’s why Mr. Samuel Wilcox was so upset, because apparently he’d been doing most of the negotiating, and then to have all his hard work just stolen out from under him!”
Although she knew she probably should have kept silent, Danica found herself compelled to come to Robert’s defense. “I’m not sure you can call it stealing when he bought that land fair and square. If the Wilcox brothers wanted it so badly, maybe they shouldn’t have tried so hard to get Mr. Royer to lower his price.”
That argument made Clara twist her brow in thought, while Mrs. Wilson said mildly, “I suppose one could say that, Eliza, but the truth of it is, no one much likes it when a slick stranger comes into town, thinking he can do anything because he has enough money in his pockets.”
“I’m fairly certain that Mr. Rowe made it quite clear that he intended to purchase land in the area,” Danica replied. “So I’m not sure why everyone’s acting like he swooped in under cover of darkness and outright stole it.”
“Oh, you’re just saying that because you’re sweet on him,” Clara shot back, and Danica felt her blood run cold.
As calmly as she could, she said, “Don’t be ridiculous. I have no idea where you would have gotten that impression.”
Flushing, Clara retorted, “I saw the way you looked at him in the churchyard! Not that I can blame you, because he is such a very fine-looking man, but — ”
“Clara, that is quite enough,” Mrs. Wilson said in quelling tones. “Eliza has not shown any evidence of partiality toward Mr. Rowe. Sometimes I think you make these things up in your head so life can be as exciting as those novels you read. I’m quite sure your late mother would not approve of your choice in reading materials.”
That cutting remark made Clara pout and retreat into silence as she dished herself another slice of pork roast. Quiet reigned at the table for the next few minutes as the three women ate what remained on their plates and studiously avoided looking at one another.
Clara finished first, and got up and went into the kitchen, where she set down her plate and silverware with a quite unnecessary clatter before flouncing out of the room and heading up the stairs. For a long moment, neither Danica nor Mrs. Wilson said anything. Then, because the silence was beginning to become too heavy, Danica ventured, “What do you think the Wilcoxes will do about the situation?”
“‘Do’?” the landlady repeated. Under her gown of gray wool, her shoulders lifted. “I’m not sure how much they can do. Oh, Mr. Samuel Wilcox will make a rumpus, because that’s what he does. But I’m sure his brother will get him calmed down eventually. Mr. Jeremiah Wilcox is very good at that sort of thing. His brothers do seem to follow his lead in most things.”
Yes, that tone of authority in Jeremiah’s voice was not something most people would want to contradict, even a hothead like Samuel. Ironic that Jeremiah Wilcox of all people should be the voice of reason in the family.
“Well, that’s good to hear,” Danica said. “I’m sure no one wants a long-running dispute over such a minor thing.”
Mrs. Wilson’s thin mouth quirked, as if she had to repress an ironic smile. “Oh, my dear, that’s not what I said. Mr. Jeremiah Wilcox may keep the peace in this instance. But he never forgets.”
* * *
That night Danica lay awake in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Since it was very dark, she couldn’t see much of anything. However, even though she knew she had to get up and teach school the following morning, she couldn’t seem to keep her thoughts from running this way and that, stubbornly refusing her inner exhortations to her brain for it to shut up so she could get some sleep already.
More than anything, she wished she could get to Robert somehow so they could talk — really talk. The cold glitter in Samuel Wilcox’s dark eyes had frightened her more than she wanted to admit to herself at the time. That was the look of a man ready to commit murder. Yes, Jeremiah had talked him down, but how long was the resulting peace going to last?
Not for very long, probably. The nights were getting colder and colder, and more and more leaves had begun to fall from the trees. Danica had the sense of time running out, slipping away from her.
But no, she couldn’t think about time too much, or it might end up betraying her. She’d managed to stay rooted here in 1884 for more than two weeks now, true, but if she started obsessing over the unknown day when Robert met his demise and wondering if it was today, she’d probably throw a wrench into the whole thing. She couldn’t take that risk. What if she slipped back to the present and couldn’t make herself return to this chilly October so many years before she was born?
She rolled over, hugging the feather pillow to her. If only it could be Robert she held like this. She would protect him, even if it meant throwing herself in front of that bullet. Surely even Samuel Wilcox wouldn’t shoot an unarmed woman — especially the woman his own brother wanted.
That was a truth she’d been trying to avoid for as long as she could, but Jeremiah’s interest was something she could no longer ignore. Thank God he wasn’t actually anything like the man family legend had turned him into, a man they’d said had forcibly taken a Navajo woman as his wife because he wanted her powers for his own. As it turned out, Nizhoni had gone to Jeremiah willingly enough. He would never force himself on Danica. Even so….
The pillow wasn’t offering much solace, so Danica turned once again on her back and let out a deep sigh. This wouldn’t be her first nearly sleepless night — she’d h
ad plenty of those after being released from Matías’ spell, her mind forcing her awake so she wouldn’t have to suffer another nightmare of him touching her, that strangely insidious voice of his seeming to penetrate every pathway of her brain.
Losing all that sleep hadn’t been fun, but it was still better than the alternative.
Now, though, she realized she was going to have to tell Robert the truth about herself, and about why she was here. He might think she was crazy, but making that long-overdue confession was the only thing she could think of to dissuade him from his pursuit of the Wilcox brothers. He might have a finely honed and special talent, but it wasn’t like the gift Caitlin’s fiancé Alex Trujillo possessed, the unique ability to create a barrier that no spell, no weapon, no anything could get through.
No, she knew all too well how vulnerable the man she loved really was. She’d seen the bullet strike the ghost-Robert’s chest, seen the blood well up to stain his shirt front.
All right, she would talk to him. When and where, she had no idea, because she had the sick feeling that the Wilcoxes were going to be watching his comings and goings like a hawk. But she’d figure something out.
She had to.
* * *
All during school the next day, Danica had to fight to keep her eyelids from drooping. Yes, she’d finally fallen asleep sometime during the darkest watches of the night, but the little sleep she’d gotten wasn’t nearly enough to keep her from feeling as if she was going to pitch right over if she didn’t pay attention. And of course in 1884 there wasn’t much chance of nipping out to the nearest Starbucks for a shot of espresso. She’d had a second cup of coffee that morning with breakfast, but the caffeine had worn off much too quickly.
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