Unbidden, a smile crossed Clara’s face as she watched the gentle rise and fall of Callie’s chest, the vulnerable expression on her face. Callie had become much less annoyed with Clara’s touches since their return home and subsequent squabble, and Clara had exploited that acceptance every chance she could. Though she still hadn’t been able to brush Callie’s golden hair, her brief touches and caresses had become more abundant, some even instigated by Callie herself. Clara wondered if the trend would continue, or would Callie put up the walls once more when she attained her full health?
I think I love her. The thought brought a hot rush of both pleasure and confusion to Clara. She’d spent her life accepting the societal precepts of her status—daughter of a well-to-do businessman with certain obligations and expectations. As a child she had played house with her brother Bradford and Emma, always knowing she’d grow up to marry, have children and raise a family.
That prospect had become somewhat stymied in adolescence when she’d discovered several novels on the topic of New Women. The books evinced a feminist ideal of women who controlled their own social and economic lives without sovereign men dominating supreme. The novels, which she had wickedly shared with Emma, took the concept past propriety, and delved into hints of lesbianism between the primary characters, each book filling Clara with the secret hungriness for an intimate relationship beyond what she shared with Emma. Is this what I am? Is that what I desire?
She frowned, uncertain. She’d had a tendency to overexcitement, an affliction from which most teenaged girls suffered. Giggling with Emma over the illicit material had been both effusive and oddly inadequate. Emma’s cheeks had flushed just as brightly, her eyes sparkled with the same impish delight, but she hadn’t been as intrigued by those mannish women as Clara. They would playact through parts of some scenes, but Emma always balked when it had come to the kissing.
The idea of kissing Callie in the manner of those books sprung fully formed into Clara’s head. Her heart thumped and she felt a sensation in her abdomen that made her dizzy. “Oh, my!” She stared at Callie.
I’m in love with her!
* * *
“She’s driving me to distraction. I don’t know what else to do anymore. The more I push, the more she digs in her heels. I tell her it’s for her safety, and she either ignores me or gives me a stern look and accuses me of treating her like a child.” Callie sat at Jasper’s grave, frowning at the pile of twigs in her hands. She’d spent the better part of a quarter hour peeling bark from the wood as she vented her exasperation with Clara to the only person who would listen without recrimination. She gave his headstone a significant glare. “This is all your fault, you know. You wanted a wife and now I’m stuck with her.”
Movement from the cabin drew her attention. Clara, large bowl in hand, crossed the yard to her garden and let herself into the patch. She spied Callie and waved with a smile.
Callie waved back, bits of bark and wood fiber flying from her hand and into her hair. Grumbling, she brushed them away as Clara knelt to weed her garden. “You should be here, not me. Some days I wish you were back so I could kick your behind for leaving me with this mess.” She stewed a moment. “Oh, and I heard what you did with Jamie Perkins that one time. I’d kick your butt for that too. What did you think was going to happen if something ever happened to you? Everybody in town knows that you had to protect me, and now you ain’t here to do the job. He’s had it out for me for years because of you. He’s expecting payback.”
She tossed the twigs aside, hands automatically searching for more to do in the undergrowth. Sullen anger faded into sorrow. “I’m sorry. I know you were just trying to help. Hell, I’d have done the same thing if our positions were reversed.” In silence, she pulled grass stems from the ground. She heard the whistle of yet another steamer in the distance as it made its way up the Taiya Inlet to Skagway, filled with more newcomes looking for the red. A gentle wind played along the trees, and she heard the forest groan and whisper in counterpoint to birdsong and the buzz of insects. She even heard Clara humming as she weeded the garden. Clara sounded like an angel.
“I think you’d have liked her,” she told Jasper. “She’s stubborn as all get out, but other than that she’s almost above reproach. When she got here, she took the cabin over by storm. I can hardly find anything now.” Despite herself, Callie grinned. “And her cooking! She’s a marvel at baking bread and pies. I’ve yet to taste anything of hers that I didn’t care for. She’s got a gentle touch with the spices that sits well with me. You know how much I hated it when you poured salt on my eggs. I swear, you must have gotten your taste buds from Pa; he was just the same.”
Callie’s gaze found Clara, and she watched as the woman worked. “She wants to build a chicken coop out here. I’m still not convinced it’s the thing to do what with all the predators. Chickens would just be waving a red flag at them, don’t you think? ‘Want a free meal? Head over to the Glass cabin!’ Still…she has a good idea about butting a henhouse up against the cabin, using our heat to keep them warm in winter. That close, it’d be easier to know if they were in danger, too.” Her eyes drifted to the side of the cabin, imagining a chicken coop there to provide plenty of eggs for breakfast and desserts as well as the occasional drumstick at dinner. A body could get mighty tired of venison when that was all that was available. “I don’t know. We’ll see. If this thing with Perkins doesn’t settle, it won’t matter anyway. I expect one of us to be dead first.”
She looked at Jasper’s headstone. “Sometimes I imagine you ain’t dead, that you’re here and you’ve married Clara. For a wonder, I’m glad she wrote you. I don’t think another woman would have been near as compatible with either of us. She’s got a wonderful sense of humor, kind of brassy if you know what I mean, very much in line with yours. For being a high society gal, she sure knows how to play a joke. I think it’s because she has those large, guileless eyes—you think she’s being true when in reality she’s cutting a shine.” Callie chuckled. Again she watched Clara work.
“She’s a hell of a beauty too. Striking. Creamy skin and hazel eyes that reflect her moods. I love the color of them when she’s in a good mood.” She snorted and stared at her hands. “Not the bad moods though. That color is a warm cinnamon then. Gorgeous. But she’s…volatile when she gets her dander up. She’s the bossiest thing I ever met at those times.” Callie placed one of the grass stems in her mouth and leaned back on her hands to stare at the trees. “No, when she’s happy her eyes are almost a silvery blue, not gray-blue like yours. I’d wager you two would have had a whole passel of beautiful children, each with curly dark hair and hazel eyes.”
She pulled her lower lip into her mouth as she thought. “Even though she’s bossy, she’s got the gentlest of touches too. She changes my bandages, and I hardly feel the pain. I don’t know why. When the doc came by a couple of days ago he did the same damned thing and it hurt like a son of a bitch.” She straightened her legs, and rested on her elbows, feeling the muscles in her chest stretch and her ribs twinge. The discomfort didn’t stop her as she forced herself to remain in that position a while longer.
“Doc says I can go out on the trapline again starting tomorrow. It’s probably a hell of a mess and it’s going to take a lot of work. As much as I can’t wait to be doing something instead of sitting around all day, the thought of leaving Clara here all alone isn’t sitting well with me. Not that she can’t take care of herself! I’ve been teaching her to shoot her new rifle, and she’s a natural marksman! I just…” Her voice trailed off as she searched for the words. She verified Clara wasn’t within hearing. “I just think I’ll miss her.” Sitting up, she shook a warning finger at Jasper’s headstone. “Don’t you dare tell her that either!”
Callie dropped her finger as she stared at his headstone. Jasper would keep her secret, not because he was a loyal brother but because he wasn’t even there. He’d gone on to his great reward, his soul oblivious to the scrabbling of his mortal sister on t
his plane. Her chin sagged to her chest.
Though she would never be happy for Jasper’s loss, she had to admit deep in her heart that the more she came to know Clara, the happier she was that Jasper wasn’t around. Her brother had been a gregarious, confident and outgoing man—the perfect husband in Callie’s books. Had she ever met a man like him, she might have considered changing her stance on men and marriage. Jasper would have swept young Clara off her feet in a whirlwind romance that would have left all three of them breathless. It would have also left Callie on the outside, falling for a woman she could never have.
Her spine straightened with a jolt as she corralled her wandering thoughts. She shot a look at Clara as though expecting her to have witnessed her epiphany. I’m falling in love with her?
Clara chose that moment to look over at Callie for a brief instant. Their eyes met, and Callie swore she saw a flash in Clara’s even at this distance, a white-hot connection that disappeared as soon as it came. She gasped aloud.
Unmindful of how the shared look had affected Callie, Clara simply smiled and returned to business.
Callie physically turned her back on Clara. Her blood pounded in her ears as she attempted to grasp the seriousness of the situation. She was falling for her brother’s promised bride! How could she do that? Now she was more thankful that Jasper wasn’t here to witness her nefarious thoughts. He’d known of Callie’s predilection for women and had never denigrated her for it. Once she’d heard him say that God had made man in His image—Callie was just another manifestation of God’s will. It wasn’t a popular opinion among the religious folk. Would he have changed his tune knowing that I coveted his wife? Wife-to-be in any case.
She frowned. Had Jasper and Clara married, it was possible Callie wouldn’t be thinking this way. Clara would be her sister-in-law, a pleasant enough woman but hardly a potential love interest. She sneaked a glance over her shoulder, immediately enamored of the sun reflecting from Clara’s dark hair. Callie tore her gaze away. She may have developed a crush, but who didn’t once they came to know Clara? Even old Daryl McKenzie was wrapped about her little finger.
The frown faded into a faint smile. She imagined spending the rest of her life with Clara—building that henhouse, expanding the garden and strengthening the fence, enjoying the companionship of someone who intrinsically understood the vagaries of being a woman in such a rustic existence. They’d enjoy a freedom with one another in a manner they couldn’t attain with menfolk, a gentle camaraderie and intimacy that Callie had never seen between a man and his wife.
She’d seen Clara in her nightgown, ankles brazenly revealed when she slipped into bed at night. Sometimes Callie laid awake, listening to Clara breathe, wondering what it would be like to hold her as she slept, to be held. She imagined slipping into Clara’s bed in the middle of the night, Clara waking just enough to snuggle together, Clara’s welcome smile…
Clara wasn’t a deviant like Callie.
The thought dashed cold water on Callie’s aspiration.
Clara had come here to marry a man, not a woman. She didn’t find herself attracted to women at all. Which meant that Callie’s idealistic vision was fiction. Clara had insisted on staying but for how long? How long would it be before she’d feel the biological imperative to have children? When that happened, she’d be gone like a shot to Skagway. And it didn’t matter how close she and Callie became, Callie would never allow another man to live on her property. None would ever compare to Jasper, and she couldn’t stand the thought of anyone lesser residing in his stead.
With a deep sigh, she set aside her woolgathering. She’d already accepted a friendship with Clara—an annoying and exhilarating friendship, but a friendship all the same. And Clara had shown a remarkable obstinacy when it came to threats against Callie. Despite Jamie Perkins and his feud, Clara refused to budge from her position. Perhaps she feels that we’re friends too. Callie nodded, proud to have figured out that much at least. She’d never had a close female friend before and had no similar relationship with which to compare. She could only accept Clara’s words and actions at face value.
“That’s that then,” she murmured to Jasper. “We’ll be friends and support one another for as long as it takes before she figures out what she wants in life. After that…” Her voice trailed off, smothered beneath the weight of past and potential sorrow. After that, perhaps she’d see if Jasper’s laudanum was still viable.
Chapter Fifteen
Clara smiled as she and Callie returned to the homestead. The packhorse pulled a laden sledge, its breath puffing mist into the winter air. Clara felt the cold of the season upon her cheeks and nose but little else, bundled as she was in heavy clothes and long underwear.
Callie scooped up snow and threw it at her.
She ducked and laughed before she returned the favor. In no time there was a monstrous snowball fight in the yard. The packhorse flinched out of the way, moving his load to the shed that doubled as his stable while the two women continued their play.
After a face full of snow met its mark, Callie left off the snowballs to tackle Clara. Hysterical laughter caused Clara to fall into a snow drift, and Callie straddled her.
“Got you now,” Callie said.
“Yes, you do.” Clara pulled Callie down and gave her a thorough kiss, triggering a liquid heat.
With a gasp, Clara sat up in bed. She panted, and patted her chest as she surveyed the room. In the other bed, Callie snorted and rolled over. A dream! It was just a dream.
The urge to both laugh and cry assailed her. She pushed both responses away as she calmed her ardor. She was overwarm and tossed back the covers. Again she glanced at Callie, the dream-kiss emblazoned across her senses. Clara swallowed against a rush of heat and longing. Her blood pulsed through her veins and pooled uncomfortably in her nether regions. She shifted, and the sensation was both pleasant and embarrassing. She’d been taught that masturbation was a sin against God but had never accepted that He would allow her to feel this ache without allowing some sort of relief. Unfortunately with Callie a mere few feet away, Clara couldn’t chance being discovered should she attempt to ease her desire.
Her respiration calmed, though her desire did not. She slowly lay back in bed, the blankets pooled at her thighs, and allowed the cooler night temperatures to leech the fire from her body.
Her dream wasn’t a surprise, not after her recent self-revelation regarding Callie. Clara had experienced similar dreams throughout her adolescence, dreams of yearning for one or another young man who had captured her fancy. There had even been a few with Emma in the role of Clara’s True Love, so it was no oddity to see a woman now. Besides, the New Women Clara had read about believed in equality of the sexes in all things, including whom one should love and bed. Why, some of them had been known to bed one man after another, and then slept with a woman right after! Though Clara didn’t care for the idea of nonmonogamous relationships, a shared life with another woman wasn’t far-fetched.
Perhaps that is why I’ve always been fascinated by women of a masculine stature. She turned toward Callie’s bed. The issue was whether or not Callie felt the same. Just because a woman didn’t have an effeminate nature didn’t necessarily mean she was interested in intimate feminine companionship. There had been one girl at Clara’s secondary school who’d been as mannish as they came, yet she had pined for the boys worse than Emma ever had, swooning over the cutest lads in town. That girl had unfortunately suffered multiple horrid experiences among her peers. Men were fickle and overly confident; they required women to meet a certain level of physical attractiveness to win them. By the time Clara had graduated from school, the masculine schoolgirl had grown into a bitter young woman who shunned her former friends, having been the butt of far too many cruel japes.
Callie tended to shun people too. She’d shown an irrational reluctance to make the trip to Skagway to sell her goods or pick up supplies. To hear her tell it, she’d only been in Skagway once since Jasper had died, and h
e’d been gone for two months or more. If Clara hadn’t arrived when she did with a thousand pounds of supplies, Callie would probably be starving to death or living off squirrels and wild onions, loaded down with moldy hides and meat that no one wanted.
Clara’s heart ached for Callie’s secret vulnerability. She wished there was something she could do to protect her from the slings and arrows of disdain from men like Perkins. Even if Callie wasn’t interested in her as a—what would she be? Partner? Wife? Was there even a term for what she considered? —Clara couldn’t abandon her now.
She lied on her back and stared at the dark ceiling as she drew the blankets up to her chest. The physical desire lounged in her body, relaxed and easy as it awaited an opportunity to surge forward again. In the meantime, Clara focused upon the earlier part of her dream.
Callie had said she would teach Clara how to trap, but their argument and Callie’s injuries had brought that plan to a halt. Now that Callie was well enough to go back out onto the trapline, perhaps it was time for Clara to become insistent. She considered what needed to be accomplished to counteract Callie’s immediate resistance. If there was one thing Callie knew, it was the word “no.” Clara needed resourcefulness and imagination to put herself in a position that made “no” impossible.
Once Clara negated every argument Callie could come up with, she’d be able to convince Callie of the efficacy of her plan. She felt a smile cross her face as she dipped deeper into contented slumber.
* * *
Callie panted as she walked beside the horse. She’d argued against the packhorse, knowing the trapline would be a disaster after her absence, but Clara’s insistence and Callie’s private worries that she’d weakened too much in her convalescence had forced her to say yes. Now she was glad she had. The doctor had said her ribs wouldn’t be fully healed for another month. The walk alongside the horse was exhausting enough; hauling her pack on her own would have been agony.
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