Satisfied that all was as it should be, Deborah returned to the bedroom. Soft snoring indicated Case was already asleep. She smiled into the darkness. At least one of them was enjoying their adventure.
She rested the candle on the crate and reached up to remove her dress. Her tired fingers stumbled over the buttons. Finally she finished the last of the long column of tiny shell buttons and slipped out of the black wool dress, letting it drop in a heap on the floor. Beneath it was a second dress, this one of heavy cotton twill, which she also unbuttoned and removed, adding it to the stack. Beneath the second dress was a blouse of lightweight cotton with tiny puffed sleeves and a gray skirt. Once out of the third outfit, Deborah removed the two layers of heavy petticoats and finally the pair of pants that had belonged to her eldest brother. The discarded clothing on the floor made an impressive mountain.
She sighed as cool night air brushed across her skin. Wearing only a light muslin chemise, she felt as though she could finally draw a full breath, her first one in weeks.
The idea of wearing the layers of clothing as a disguise was her Aunt Mimi’s. Aunt Mimi was convinced that a young woman and child could not make the trip from Louisiana to Texas without attracting unwanted attention. The only way Deborah could reassure her aunt of their safety was to agree to disguise her youth by wearing layers of clothing, the top layer being heavy, black mourning clothes.
The disguise had worked wonderfully. All those clothes were hot and cumbersome, but she knew of no better way to avoid notice than to look the part of a frumpy widow. The fistful of ashes she’d scrubbed into her face and hair probably didn’t hurt. Even that sharp-eyed Indian saw nothing but a dirty, shapeless hag.
She probably didn’t need to keep wearing all those clothes once they’d arrived here, but seeing the Indian made her afraid to shed the bulky disguise. She still had the oddest feeling that he watched her throughout the day. Impossible, of course, she’d seen him ride away, but she couldn’t shake the feeling her activities were being observed.
More nerves. She’d let the stress of the journey and need to protect her brother make her overwrought. Deborah bent to blow out the candle then crawled into bed beside her brother. She lay there listening to his rhythmic breathing and waited for sleep to claim her.
“Good morning, Debs. Are you awake yet? I’m awfully hungry.”
Deborah’s eyes shot open to meet those of her brother just inches from her face. “I’ll be up in a minute.”
Deborah closed scratchy lids over tired eyes. She’d slept little and fitfully through the night. Each sound had had her wide-awake and wondering if someone had broken in. Just as she would finally drift off to sleep, another noise would jolt her awake.
She forced herself to crawl out of the warm bed, shivering in the early morning chill, and donned the black wool mourning dress. Without the layers of clothing beneath it, Aunt Mimi’s cast-off dress sagged and bagged unbecomingly. But Deborah found she wasn’t quite ready to discard the disguise completely. Just in case.
She pinned up her long hair and wrapped it in a cotton turban as she’d seen servants do. It was difficult to do without a mirror and a goodly quantity of hair straggled from beneath the red calico headdress.
Deborah opened the back door slowly and carefully scanned the yard before going to the lean-to to milk the cow. The milking done, she handed the cow several fistfuls of hay, then carried the bucket of warm milk inside.
For breakfast, she and Case had the rest of the leftover biscuits topped with some of Aunt Mimi’s peach preserves and a cup of frothy milk.
“As soon as we’re finished, can I take the mouses outside, Debs?” her brother asked between mouthfuls.
She looked into his hopeful face and smiled. “Yes, you may take the mice outside, but you must promise me to be very careful. If you see anyone, I want you to hurry back inside. You must wear a warm coat to keep from being chilled, and you must wear my leather gloves to protect you from bites.”
“Oh no,” Case said with a solemn shake of his head. “These mouses don’t bite. They like me.”
“I’m sure that’s true, dearest, but you must wear the gloves. And hurry back inside, just as soon as you have them settled.”
Case gobbled the last of his breakfast and hopped up from the table to hobble out to his beloved creatures. Deborah lingered at the table only a moment more before picking up the dishes and carrying them over to the tub to be washed.
First on her agenda for the morning was to clean the kitchen. She stood in the center of the room, hands on hips, and tried to decide which part of this impossible mess she should tackle first. Her eyes lit on the stove. She’d been afraid to light it last night, fearful that the thick layer of grease might ignite and burn down the house. She’d have to clean it before she could use it. Since growing boys needed more than cold beans, she might as well get that done first.
Before she could scrub it, she’d have to empty the overflowing ashes. She scooped them out and placed them in several of the large tin cans she found on the floor.
That accomplished, Deborah pushed up the sleeves of her dress, pumped a bucket full of cold water, and with a stiff brush and a bar of lye soap, she set to work. The accumulation of grease clung stubbornly to the stove. It took three changes of water and several hours of backbreaking work before the stove was clean.
By then, Case had come in to join her. “Oh Deborah, you should have seen the baby mouses. They were so cute.”
“Mice,” Deborah corrected automatically.
“They were pink and wiggly. Their little eyes weren’t even open yet. I wanted to pick one up, but I remembered what you said about worrying the mama if I touched the baby, so I carried the whole nest of rags very carefully and put it out under a bush by the fence post, just like you said.”
“Thank you, Case. I know they’re happier outside.”
Case nodded. “The mama twitched her whiskers at me. I think I saw her smile.”
Deborah kissed him on the tip of his freckled nose. “I’m sure she did.”
Case looked around the room. “I’m ready to help you clean. What can I do?”
“How about getting out your McGuffey reader? We have some lessons to catch up on.”
Case wrinkled up his nose. “Aw, Debs, can’t I help you instead? I could sweep some more.”
How could she resist such a heartfelt plea delivered so sweetly? “You can clean today, but tomorrow it’s back to the books. And remember, I don’t want you to get overtired.”
Case launched himself into her arms and pressed a great smacking kiss on her cheek. “Thank you.” He limped over to the broom propped against the wall and began sweeping so enthusiastically that he raised a cloud of dust in the air.
“Let’s see if you can get some of that in the dustbin, dearest, and not all in our nostrils.”
Case giggled with delight but did manage to calm his efforts enough to corral the dirt.
By suppertime the kitchen was much improved. The stove gleamed in the corner. The table and two chairs were washed, and glowed under a fresh coat of beeswax. The floor, though still scuffed, was free of dirt and trash.
“What’s for supper, Debs?”
Supper! She’d been so busy scrubbing and cleaning, she’d forgotten about food. If she was going to prepare something hot, she’d have to light the stove, and she hadn’t cut any wood. She glanced toward the still-dirty windows. Even through the grime it was plain the sun was already sinking in the sky. Too late to go out to chop wood, she’d have to make do with twigs or any branches she could find lying around the yard.
She took her shawl from its hook in the hall, and wrapped it around her shoulders before stepping out the back door onto the porch. The first thing that caught her eye was a large stack of wood lined up along the outer wall of the lean-to. She stopped to stare at the pile. Funny, she hadn’t noticed it before.
The wood was split into large pieces, the kind that would work well in the fireplace, but a bit t
oo big for the stove. Still, it was a blessing. Instead of having to scour the countryside for twigs, she had only to split the cut wood into smaller pieces to fit the stove. Deborah went back into the house for an ax and her cowhide gloves. Thirty minutes later she carried a nice bundle of split wood into the house and stacked it by the stove.
She regarded the fragrant pile of freshly cut wood with satisfaction. It should hold them till tomorrow evening, when she’d have to chop again. Deborah set the wood in the stove and lit it before beginning preparations for dinner.
Following a dinner of ham and biscuits, she heated several pots of water and filled a basin on the kitchen table for a bath. It wasn’t a sink-down-to-your-neck soak, but she was too weary to fetch the heavy tin bathtub out of the wagon.
After Case was scrubbed clean and tucked into bed, Deborah peeled off her clothes and washed her hair and skin with a bar of sweet-smelling soap. It was the first time she’d felt clean in weeks. She still hadn’t hung the mirror she’d brought from Louisiana and didn’t know how she looked, but she felt much better.
That night, after checking the barricade at the front door and the latch on the back door, Deborah fell into bed, certain she’d be asleep in seconds. Hours later, still awake and alert to every sound in the strange house, she wondered if a body ever grew accustomed to functioning with only a few hours’ sleep.
The next day progressed in much the same manner. Deborah and Case were up with the sun and worked till nightfall, trying to make their log home habitable. Progress was slow but steady. Deborah still had her doubts about the wisdom of having left Louisiana, but they were fading as their new house took shape.
It was early evening and the chores were done when Deborah slipped on her shawl and stepped outside to chop another day’s supply of wood. To her surprise, stacked on the far end of the woodpile, was a large pile of wood cut just the right size for the stove.
Twice she rubbed her eyes with fisted hands to be certain she wasn’t seeing things. Had she been so tired last night that she hadn’t noticed the smaller wood pieces? Was she so tired tonight that she was imagining the whole thing?
She approached the mysterious woodpile warily, looking from side to side in the yard to be certain she was alone before scooping up an armload and scurrying back into the house, bolting the door behind her.
She fought back a sense of panic and the hideous notion that someone had been watching them. Nonsense. She was tired, that’s all. Surely tonight she’d get some sleep.
CHAPTER 4
Surely tonight I’ll get some sleep,” Luke said, stretching wearily in the saddle. He rubbed sleep-gritty eyes with his gloved hands. The first glimmering rays of dawn lanced across the wide Texas sky, signaling him he could head back to the shack to grab a couple of hours of sleep before he needed to get back on patrol.
His horse, familiar with the route she’d trod several times a day for the last week, needed no direction. She walked to the grassy patch on the far side of the rise and stopped. Luke dismounted and tied her loosely so that she might graze. He pulled his rifle from its sheath, then trudged up the short hill to the shack and his pallet.
Too tired to pull off his boots, Luke flopped down on the blanket and was out in minutes.
He awoke several hours later to the jeering calls of a mockingbird. For a moment he lay there, uncertain where he was. Seven days of short snatches of sleep, an hour here, two hours there, were beginning to take their toll. His thinking seemed continuously foggy, his senses dulled, his reflexes slowed.
Lack of sleep coupled with a meager diet of dried beef strips and underripe berries for a solid week left Luke feeling mean as a rattler. It was only the knowledge that his nursemaid vigil was up today that kept him sane.
He folded his blanket, a deeply ingrained habit of tidiness held over from his days with Cyrus, and laid it in the corner. He’d be back to collect it and seal up the shack after he made sure Lumpy and the boy were loaded up and on their way.
Rifle resting on his shoulder, Luke strode down the slope toward his horse with considerably more enthusiasm than he’d moved with in days. With the departure of the greenhorns, Luke’s duty to Cyrus was fulfilled, freeing him to follow his own pursuits.
His week spent guarding Cyrus’s people had left him plenty of time to think about his life, to plan his future. And if he hadn’t been too tired to string two thoughts together, he’d have done just that. As it was, he resolved nothing. He was no closer to quieting that nagging voice of discontent than he had ever been.
His horse, still saddled from the evening’s ride, stood patiently munching the tender shoots of grass. He stroked her nose and she nuzzled his arm. “Tour of duty is just about up, old girl. Soon, it’ll be just the two of us again.”
Luke climbed into the saddle and swung the horse around to head back to the main house. The sun’s position in the sky told him it was close to noon. Cyrus’s people should be packed and ready to leave.
They had grit for city people, Luke thought as he rode across the open field. They didn’t belong here in Texas, couldn’t have survived the hardships, but somehow he admired them for trying.
From what he’d observed, they were industrious people. Though Lumpy mostly kept indoors, he could tell by the growing pile of trash she’d hauled out that she’d been busy straightening the place up. Shame she’d done all that hard work for nothing. Maybe he should stick around a day or two and enjoy the fruits of her labor.
Luke approached the house from the rear. Since Lumpy had washed the windows day before yesterday, he couldn’t ride up in front undetected.
Just as he suspected, the yard at the back of the house was clear. The wagon and oxen were gone. He didn’t bother to peek into the lean-to on his way past it, but he knew the milk cow would be gone as well.
A smile, his first in a week, stretched across his face. He slid off his horse, looped the reins around a post by the lean-to and stepped confidently onto the back porch. He pushed open the back door and walked inside, nearly colliding with Lumpy.
A piercing scream rent the air.
Deborah woke up tired, achy, and generally out of sorts after another night of fitful sleep. She’d washed her hair last evening, but had been too exhausted to sit in front of the stove to dry it before she went to bed. Now it curled in wild rebellion. She fought the curling mass for several minutes, trying to confine it in a nice, respectable knot on her head, but it refused to cooperate. Finally in exasperation she gave up and pulled it off her face with a length of blue ribbon, allowing the hair to wave down her back.
She eyed the folded black wool dress on the bedroom floor with disdain. She’d worn it every day for a week now, scrubbed in it, chopped wood in it, perspired in it. It was too filthy to contemplate wearing it again. It was probably too filthy to use as a rag. It wouldn’t surprise Deborah if the dress got up and walked around on its own.
The weather was too warm for wool anyway, she thought as she pulled her long-sleeved cotton dress from the nail where she’d hung it. She pulled the dress over her head and buttoned it, enjoying the comfortable fit after a week of wearing a sack. The cheerful cornflower-blue color gave her low spirits a lift. Since she didn’t have the luxury of ruining any more clothes, she tied a full-length apron over the dress before going to the kitchen to start breakfast.
“What are we going to do today?” Case asked around a mouthful of biscuit.
“First thing this morning I’d like to find a nice place for the cow to graze since we’ve used up the little bit of hay we found in the lean-to. Then I’m going to harness up the team, and drive the wagon around to the front. I’m determined to get the tub in the house today, and since it won’t fit through the back door, I’ll have to bring it in through the front.”
“Can I drive the team?” Case asked hopefully.
“No indeed. They’re too much for you to handle. You could be hurt.” At his crestfallen expression she added, “Maybe you’d like to help me find a nice grassy
spot for Ruth.”
Case lowered his eyes, but not before she read the hurt in them. “Okay.”
Deborah felt guilty all morning. She felt guilty as they led Ruth, the cow, to a nice patch of tender green grass just outside the split-rail fence, she felt guilty as she harnessed the oxen and drove the wagon around to the front of the house. Though he never complained, she felt guilty every time she looked at her brother.
“Whoa.” Deborah pulled the team to a halt. She secured the reins, then jumped down from the seat. “Shall we go have a bite to eat before I unload the tub?”
Case’s eyes brightened at the mention of food. “That sounds great. I’m hungry.”
She lifted him down and they walked in the front door together. “Why don’t you sit at the table, and I’ll fix us something tasty.”
Case headed into the kitchen, while Deborah continued down the shadowed hall to the storeroom. She wasn’t two feet from the back door when it swung open and a man stepped inside. Deborah screamed.
“What are you doing here?” both shouted at once.
“I live here.”
“Not anymore.” The Indian pointed toward the door. “You’re supposed to be leaving.”
At that moment, Deborah was madder than she was tired. And that was saying something. “Who says?”
The Indian moved closer and thumped his broad chest. “I says.”
Drawn by the noise, Case limped into the hall. “Oh Deborah,” he cried in delight. “He’s back. Our Indian has come back. Can he stay to dinner?”
“No, he can’t stay to dinner,” she snapped, her eyes never straying from the Indian’s. “He’s leaving.”
The Indian advanced. “I’m not leaving. You are!”
Deborah’s eyes shot wide at his close proximity. “Do not touch me!”
The Indian rolled his eyes in response. “Are we back to that again?”
Case wedged between the combatants. “Why does he say we’re leaving? Where are we going?”
The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier Page 57
