Dearest Darling

by Andrea Downing

Dust motes shifted in the pale band of sunlight coming in as she knelt beside the bed amongst some hay bales set on the straw that covered the floor. She nestled into it and pulled his blankets around her, scattered the letters on the coverlet, and picked one carefully. She checked her hands were not damp so they would leave no trace. And one by one she read them, losing track of time, losing sense of place.

  My Dear Daniel,

  On Wednesday, Kitty and I rode in the park and I thought I could not wait to see your Wyoming one day where I might ride through open fields…

  Dearest Daniel,

  Last night some friends and I went off to the opera and to dine after at Delmonico’s… …We had a great game of piquet with some friends visiting from France…

  What was this? Who was she? It didn’t make sense at all for a woman who led such a life, a social whirl with friends and family, to give that up for a man with whom she had only corresponded. Daniel had fallen in love with this?

  Stunned, Emily sat back, her hand across her mouth, disbelief immobilizing her. But there was nothing she could do, nothing she could say or ask. She certainly could not admit to reading the letters. She could not advise him as he was his own man. But how...how had he fallen for this capricious creature?

  She shuffled the letters together again and threw them back in the bag. Rearranging the blankets and bedroll, she stood and checked everything was as she had found it, and then dusted herself down.

  Leave it be, she told herself. Leave him to his fate, to the future he has made for himself. Perhaps he misses that life after all. Perhaps it is the eastern life he left behind, and now regrets it.

  Outside, the early evening had given in to a light rain, and she lifted her face to the sky, eyes closed. Would Miss Ethel Darton appreciate this? No, she would not. Most certainly, she would not. There would be no shopping on the Ladies’ Mile, no sashaying through Delmonico’s in fine furs, no parties, no jewels, no balls in Wyoming.

  The scrunch of the wagon on the slushy road and the smack of reins on a horse’s back sounded. Emily’s heart raced with a desperation to protect this man, to stop him from dashing headlong into this ridiculous union and, yes, to keep him for herself.

  But how? How?

  With a guilt that riddled her, she could not look at him, could not face him just yet.

  ****

  She must have heard him; she couldn’t have missed the sound of the wagon. But Emily continued to stand, face to the sky, rain coming down, hair wet. The drops and the chill made her cheeks bloom, her lips rosebuds.

  “You’ll catch your death,” Daniel said as he unhitched the horse and led it away.

  “Did you live in a city? Do you remember it at all?” She didn’t open her eyes, but stayed with her face to the rain, licking her lips briefly to taste it. “I would be inside almost all day, every day. Except to hang wash or perhaps shop. This is heaven, feeling the rain like this. Pure heaven.”

  He stood silent for a moment, an ache in his chest, before he shook his head and strode away. She’s crazy. She is crazy.

  In the barn, he rubbed down the horse, then forked out its feed. He could let it out to pasture tonight now the snow was melting. Wild May weather. Unpredictable.

  As he walked back to the cabin, she was still there, face to the sky, the drizzle laving her. He stopped, then bent and retrieved the one hay stalk off the back hem of her dress.

  He should have known. It was to be expected.

  “So, you found them,” he said simply.

  Emily spun around as Daniel held up the single stalk. In the fading light she wouldn’t be able to read his expression, but he’d kept anger from his voice.

  “I...”

  “It’s only natural, I reckon—you wanting to read her letters. I’d probably feel the same, though whether I’da done it, gone looking, I don’t know.” He flicked the stalk to the wind.

  “I wanted to know who you had fallen in love with.”

  Her face was wet, as if she might have been crying, and her hair glistened slightly in what light was left. Dusk settled about them, but still he remained, motionless. He didn’t know what feelings he had but it wasn’t anger. What he said was true. It was natural. What was that old Indian saying? Don’t judge a man until you have walked a hundred miles in his moccasins?

  He didn’t know, couldn’t know, what she was going through, what she thought or felt. Coming out here alone like that. Brave. Living as Wilfred’s servant in her own home...

  Did she really want to get married? Or am I only what’s available? Why should she care about Ethel, or what she wrote? Why should she care about me?

  What the heck?

  “I’ll take you on in to town tomorrow, and we’ll see if we can find you a job.”

  Chapter Nine

  Emily liked the sound of his voice, low but not husky, a slight twang he had cultivated, but not pretentiously so. When he spoke, she envisaged melting caramel, something delicious, the way it could be so appealing as she stirred, with a shine and slow drip from the spoon, before it gradually solidified. Soothing. A liquid velvet.

  But he hadn’t spoken today. Not since first thing when he’d told her to get ready. Not through breakfast, or as he helped clear dishes, or gave her a hand up into the wagon.

  “You haven’t seen her. You didn’t see her picture, did you?” The questions came sudden, yet without malice.

  Emily straightened, alert. “No. No, I didn’t.” Would I understand better? Is that what he meant?

  “I keep it with me.” Daniel began to fish in his pocket. “Would you like to see it?”

  “No. No, you keep it, please. It won’t change anything.” Emily panicked. She would be beautiful, the other, that would be the answer. So stunningly beautiful that just her photograph had enthralled him, mesmerized him into loving her. Emily couldn’t bear to look, didn’t want to know the answer. Didn’t wish to torture herself further. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for reading the letters.” A rush of words, they flowed out of her. “I should never have done that. It’s not like me. But you…well, you understand it seems—”

  “You’re probably wondering what I see in her. Or what she sees in me. As for that, what she sees in me, I have no idea. Maybe, like you, she wishes to get away.”

  Emily studied his profile, the planes and contours of his face, the eyes set straight ahead, the slouch hat low on his brow. He gave nothing away, was a man in control of his emotions, thinking, maybe still wondering how he had won that woman. Or maybe set on keeping the answer to himself.

  Overhead, clouds scudded, scoured the sky, leached the blue, threatened.

  “Did you ever ask her? Why you?”

  “I did. She never answered. I’m thinking what she sees in me is husband material. I guess. She tells me about her day, the people she knows, what she does. As you read.”

  “She just seems so…so outgoing, so…so very social to ever want this life. I found it difficult to believe.” She jutted her chin out, then turned to him, waiting.

  He gave the reins a sharp shake. “I don’t know. I never asked if she knew what she was getting into. I described it. I assumed if she wanted to stop the correspondence there, she would have. I was pretty damn amazed and happy she’d wanted to come, written back even though I described the cabin to her, the isolation.” His gaze slid toward her.

  “And you think she’ll make you a perfect wife, do you? Be happy living here? Cook your meals, mend your clothes, keep your cabin, have your babies?” Exasperated, she tried to make him think, think of what he was letting himself in for, how long a marriage like that could go on, how it could end up being even lonelier than he was now. Emily would seem to him to be trying to win him over rather than making him see the truth, but push him she must, save him, stop him. She knew those sorts of women, the debutantes, the socialites. Not a one would last out here, not for a single day.

  His head snapped around to stare at her. “She’s been writing. She hasn’t stopped.”

/>   “Someone who goes to the opera and dines at Delmonico’s?” she persisted. See it, can’t you? See it.

  “She says—”

  “I know what she says. I read the letters, remember?”

  She couldn’t hide the annoyance, and he no doubt caught her look.

  “If she accepted my proposal, I have to believe her. I gave her my word. She gave me hers.” There was silence. His features set, his jaw firm. “I wish you could understand.”

  “I do understand, Mr. Saunders.”

  “For heaven’s sake. You can call me Daniel. You best call me Daniel, anyway, in town, if we’re to make out we’re cousins.”

  “Daniel, then.” She didn’t look at him, avoided his gaze. Cousins? I’m not even that much to you, am I? “I understand you have given your word to this woman and I have done something wrong, something rather terrible in taking the tickets and coming here in her place. I understand you have fallen in love with her, and she with you, and I am nothing to you, something you must dispose of. But since you are…are kind—and good—you are trying to make the best of a bad situation and see I am taken care of. But also doing what you must to get your money to bring her here.” She sat up straighter, giving it one more try. “You know, it strikes me, if she dines at these fancy restaurants and goes about as wealthy people do, why hasn’t she her own money to come here? Why is that?”

  His mouth fell open for a moment. “Well. It isn’t her place to pay her own way. If I’m to marry her, I must pay her way, of course.”

  “But you have no…” It struck her then. Wealthy people…of course. The book. The book with Collegiate School’s bookplate. “You attended a private school, didn’t you?”

  His look burnt into her, his eyes piercing her very being.

  “I was a charity student. Scholarship. Why? How did you know?”

  “You have a book from the same school Wilfred attended. Collegiate. It struck me.”

  He said nothing, gave no explanation, but his eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted into a scowl. “Boy, you sure musta spent a great deal of time going through my things,” he said at last. “Anything else you wish to know? Anything at all?”

  Ashamed, Emily sank against the backrest. Yes, but she couldn’t ask.

  ****

  Daniel helped her down, clutched the tiny waist between his hands, smelled the lavender off her skin, saw the way her neck arched as she looked about. If he gave into these growing feelings, these sensations intruding on his body, he would break his word to Ethel, not care a fig about her, and lose himself in Emily.

  It couldn’t happen.

  He wouldn’t let it.

  To have given his word and then break it was wrong, so wrong.

  Once more, he considered what Emily had asked of him, dismissed it as obscene, and led her into the new hotel in Jackson.

  “I’m sorry, Saunders,” the manager replied to Daniel’s enquiry. Trussed up in a clean collar and shirt, a waistcoat and bow tie, the man’s rotund form gave weight to his words. “There’s too many dang folks out here looking for jobs. Can’t make a go of it on their land year round. Your cousin here is a fine looking woman, I’d be happy to have her about the place, but you know, well…”

  “No housekeeping positions, Mr. Johnson? No—”

  Johnson put his hands up to bring the conversation to a halt. “Nothing. Like I said, too many people after too few jobs. Soon as I advertised for a housekeeper, there were ladies in from several ranches. You tried looking in the mercantile? Signs go up there occasionally, ’fore they pay for advertisements in the newspaper.”

  Daniel nodded his thanks and led Emily out the door. Discouraged, he stood, hands on hips, looking up and down the street. Yeah, the mercantile. That was about the sum of it. He couldn’t drag her in and out of every dang shop and office. If they had positions going, they’d be posted on that board. “Come on, then. It’s up the road.”

  He set out across the street; Emily followed, lifting her skirts from the mud, side-stepping to avoid a pile of manure.

  “Watch it!” He grabbed her as a horseman dashed through, then took her by the elbow to the other side. She was the most exasperating woman. He shook his head and grimaced. “You’re not used to crossing streets?”

  “Not these sort of streets. New York, remember? Cobbled or paved. No…no cowboys stampeding through.”

  “He wasn’t stampeding. Though he was going a mite fast for town.” His back to her, he walked on.

  “I guess you’re angry at your cousin.” There was a note of sarcasm in her voice, which was loud enough to garner attention from two men conversing outside the barber’s as they passed.

  Daniel nodded to the two men. “Emily, cousin dear, you must keep up. I can’t spare too much time away from the ranch, and I have an order to fill while we’re in town.”

  She raised her eyes to the heavens and Daniel chuckled and pursed his lips.

  The mercantile was a marvel to her. A large store carrying about everything and anything someone could want out here. Barrels of apples, their perfume vying with the aroma of coffee. Rows of canned peaches and beans, brightly labeled. Bolts of fabrics and piles of overalls and blue jeans. Racks of handguns and rifles, cartons of ammunition. Rolls of chicken wire and shelves of implements, tools for farm and ranch and home. Jars of sweet candies and a stack of newspapers and books. Emily’s eyes were big with wonder and Daniel was rewarded to see it as she did, the color, the diversity, the spectacle, not just the practicality of things in a jam-packed shop with sawdust on the floor. And then he shook his head to remove the distractions, concentrate on the matter at hand.

  “What can I do for you today, Dan? Not your usual day in town.”

  His sideways glance caught Emily suppressing a smile.

  “Dan?” she smirked.

  He gulped a breath and ignored her. “Hey, Jason, how ya doin’? My cousin here is just out from New York, looking to make a new life. We wondered if there was any work going she might take up. And I do have a list, as usual.” He tried to put a cheerful, friendly note in his voice, something he was definitely not feeling.

  The shopkeeper took the list and studied it, shaking his head. “No work as I know of. With summer coming, some things might open up. We always get folks moving in, mebbe starting up businesses, in summer. But nothing as yet. You might want to check back in a week or two. Or there’s the saloon. I heared Ben’s been looking for someone to clean up each morning, but whether you’d want your kin working there, well, that’s another matter.”

  Emily stepped forward. “Where is it? The saloon?”

  “No!” Damn woman. Daniel sucked in a breath. “You’re not working there,” he said more gently.

  Jason’s gaze shot from one to the other. “’Course, I didn’t mean nothing by mentioning it. Mebbe shoulda kept my mouth shut.”

  Daniel locked on Emily’s hard stare. Her anger was evident, but she stayed silent.

  “Well. I’ll get this order together. Be about fifteen minutes. Can you wait?”

  “Sure thing,” Daniel said and grabbed Emily by the wrist. He dragged her outside after him, almost tossing her against the hitching rail.

  “If it’s the only job?” She stomped her foot. “I don’t belong to you, you can’t tell me—”

  “I can. And I am. You made yourself my responsibility…” They were shouting, and he lowered his voice, his gaze darting around. “You made yourself my responsibility the day you took those tickets and came out to me.” He let this sink in, reining in his own truculence. “You’re gonna do what I say, and I’ll make the dang decisions. You got that?” He waited for a response. “I said, do you understand?”

  Emily crossed her arms. “You said, ‘you got that,’ not ‘do you understand.’” Smugness was written across her face, her lips a thin, tight line, her eyes round with the correction.

  Daniel straightened. Then he laughed. And he laughed a little more. “Oh, heck.” He lifted his hat briefly, swept the hai
r out of his eyes, and set the hat back on his head. “How the hell did this happen to me?”

  Chapter Ten

  The moon emerged in the sky before it was even dark, a slice of orange with a dusting of stars to accompany it. Emily fastened her wrap about her, and Daniel bent to fetch the traveling rug and hand it across to her. He liked this time of day, jobs done, fatigue slowly seeping through his bones, satisfaction at the day’s work. Although, today there wasn’t much of that.

  More stars sprinkled through the opal sky, the clip clop of the horse a rhythm to which his heart beat. She spread the blanket out across her knees before stretching and, with a minute flick of her hand, threw it across his legs as well.

  Neither spoke.

  The sky paled into a white-gray with black hills before them, the chill deepening. If he were honest with himself, he would have liked to gather her to him, feel her head droop on his chest once more, know what lay ahead in the warmth of the cabin. But it couldn’t be. Couldn’t be.

  “Now what?” she said at last, a hint of resignation apparent.

  “Tell me something. Something I don’t understand. Your father left everything to Wilfred, to your brother?” The idea blossomed within him, a small plant that was taking root.

  She sighed. “That’s not what I meant. I meant, what happens to me now?”

  “I know what the heck you meant. But I’m asking this. Wait a minute and we’ll discuss what happens next.” When no reply came, he tried again. “So, your father left his entire estate to your brother?”

  “Yes.” Short. Sharp. Final.

  “What did the will say? His last will and testament?” He kept his tone even, enquiring.

  “I don’t understand what you mean. That’s what it said—Wilfred inherited everything. As far as I know, that was it.”

  She was obviously tired and fed up, annoyed with him, annoyed with everything. Yet he persisted. “But you read it? Surely, you read it, or it was read to you.”

  “No. Why would I? Wilfred said—”

  “Wilfred. Wilfred! I’m not asking about Wilfred. I’m asking what you know. What the will said.” He couldn’t keep his anger out of his voice. As much as he tussled with it, it was there. Would always be there where Wilfred Darling was concerned.