“Is it true he got his inspiration from the Bible?” he asked.
Charlene laughed, a sound Matthew immediately decided he’d like to hear again. “He was quite a character, even back then. He’d read that morning how David feigned madness before the Philistines. If it worked for David, he figured it might work for him, too. So, instead of running away, he rushed right toward them with a huge smile on his face, pulling his Bible out of his pack as he ran. He jumped onto a big rock, flipped open his Bible, and started preaching to those braves at the top of his lungs.”
“And it really worked, the way it did in the story?”
“It worked, all right. They must have thought he was crazy as a loon, for they grabbed that deer and took off as fast as they could. Grandpa just kept on preaching, long after they were out of sight. He said he’d read that God’s Word never comes back void, so he figured the Lord would be able to use it somehow in their lives.”
Matthew threw back his head and laughed. “I can just picture him doing it.”
“Are you ready?” Her eyes still danced with the excitement of the story.
Matthew nodded and stared in rapt attention as they crested the ridge, tracing the actions of the story in his mind. He stepped down from the wagon as soon as Charlene drew the team to a halt. Walking slowly, he threaded his way through the trees, his feet making little noise as they padded along the forest floor, pressing into the carpet of pine needles, grass, and the leaves from a hundred autumns.
In the center of the bowl-shaped depression was a clearing, perhaps two acres in size. A stand of aspens, with their erect paper-white trunks and distinctive black markings, ringed the grassy expanse. The trees stood sentinel, swaying gently in the breeze.
A more pastoral setting would be hard to imagine, but in his mind’s eye Matthew could picture the Indians looking up, startled, from their work. He could imagine Jed stopping abruptly as he realized the gravity of the situation and tried to think of a way out. That he had done so was a testament to the man’s quick thinking and courage.
The aspens framing the clearing, backed up by the tall Ponderosas, the faint trail leading the unsuspecting Jed into danger, even the rock where Jed had preached his “sermon”—everything was just as he had pictured it.
No, he corrected himself, it was just as Charlie Matkin had portrayed it, painting with his words a picture as vivid as a photograph.
He shook his head slowly, marveling at the varied talents of the former mountain man. Who would have thought it possible an untamed spirit like that could prove to be such a gifted writer?
The descriptions in the Nick Rogers stories had fired his imagination. He knew after reading the first few accounts that he wouldn’t be able to rest until he had seen those places for himself. And to think he had the privilege of meeting and spending time with the man who had done all this!
Matthew closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The tangy pine scent and the earthy smell of the aspens mingled in a sweet perfume far more enticing to his way of thinking than the Paris imports favored by the young ladies of his acquaintance in Baltimore. There was nothing, absolutely nothing back home that could compare with this.
Charlene had busied herself setting out a picnic lunch and sat waiting patiently when Matthew wandered back, his heart and mind full of the wonder of this place. He lowered himself onto the blanket she spread out and, after closing his eyes for a brief blessing, helped himself to fried chicken and biscuits, grateful that Charlene seemed to sense his disinclination to talk.
Early wildflowers dotted the clearing, bravely opening themselves up before their fellows to welcome this new season of growth and hope. Matthew noticed a plant growing within arm’s reach and plucked a stem from it. “What is this?” he asked, indicating the blossoms nodding from its tip.
“Lupine.” She smiled at him across the blanket. “It’s one of my favorites. It blooms early and keeps on blooming until fall.” She pointed to a spot off to her right. “Look over there. See that mass of pale blue? That’s blue flax. And up there on the slope—the bright orange spot—that’s the first Indian paintbrush I’ve seen this year.”
Matthew shook his head regretfully. “I’m ashamed to say I know almost nothing about wildflowers. You seem as knowledgeable about them as my mother and grandmother are about the flowers they grow in their gardens.”
“Grandpa taught me most of what I know. And in a way, I guess these flowers are my garden. I don’t plant them or tend them, but to me, all of this is part of my home. Home doesn’t end at the edge of the dooryard.” Her hands fluttered as if she felt embarrassed to reveal so much, and her cheeks stained with that pink flush that never failed to fascinate Matthew.
Did she know she looked like a flower herself? What would she do if he told her so?
Instead of speaking, he turned to examine the lupine in his hand more closely, gently caressing the purplish-blue blossoms with a fingertip. The petals’ shape reminded him of miniature sweet peas—delicate, yet hardy enough to survive in this harsh climate and thrive year after year. Much like Charlene, he realized with a start.
He stole a look at her as she gathered the remains of their lunch. Those delicate features, that slender build—a casual observer would never guess what inner strength they concealed.
Having taken it upon himself to perform many of her chores, he was amazed at the amount of heavy work she did as a matter of routine. True, a number of things had been left undone—apparently there were things too hard even for Charlene—but like the lupine, she thrived and grew sturdily in her element, adding beauty to the world just by being in it.
Looking up, Matthew watched the slender-trunked aspens sway in the wind. Seated as he was in the hollow, he only felt the slightest of breezes, but up above, the treetops waved back and forth as if nodding to one another. The soughing of the wind through the treetops waxed and waned, almost like the sound of breathing. Matthew looked again at Charlene, who had repacked their lunch things and sat still, hands folded in her lap, as if awaiting his command.
She rose when he did and they walked, as if by mutual agreement, up the slope to the far edge of the ridge that rimmed the hollow. From there, they looked down across a vast expanse of mottled greens. Matthew drew in his breath with wonder.
Charlene smiled at his response to the scene below. “The dark green areas you see are Ponderosas.” She stretched out her arm to point them out, then gestured father toward the left. “The clusters of yellowish-green are aspens. When the leaves turn in the fall, those spots will light up with the brightest yellows and oranges you can imagine, as if God put together an enormous patchwork quilt.”
Matthew studied the rolling contours of the hills and was filled with a yearning to see them dressed in their autumn finery, to see that and every other seasonal change, not only that year but the next, and the next. Before that could be possible, though, there was something he had to tell Charlene, and he didn’t know how to begin. He had kept up his charade for too long already. But how could he tell her the truth now, after he had misled her for this long? He turned and followed as she led the way back to the wagon.
As they descended, Charlene stepped on a small fallen branch hidden under a blanket of pine needles. It rolled under her foot, throwing her off balance. She flailed her arms in an effort to recover her footing, an effort she knew was futile as soon as both feet began sliding down the slope. She heard hurried steps behind her as she braced herself for the fall, but her descent was suddenly arrested.
Her chest heaved with quick, shallow gasps as she realized Matthew had caught her and now held her close. Both his arms wrapped around her and one foot braced securely against the base of the trunk of an ancient pine. They stood like that for an endless moment, neither of them moving except to draw breath, with one of Matthew’s arms supporting her shoulders and back, the other wrapped protectively around her waist.
Charlene stared into his deep brown eyes and felt sure Matthew’s gaze would bore right
through her. His lips parted slightly, and she could feel his breath, as quick and ragged as her own, move the loose strands of hair at her temples. His arms tightened about her, and for one electrifying moment, Charlene felt certain he was about to kiss her.
Instead, Matthew drew her to her feet. Setting her upright, he steadied her until she regained her balance. Then, without a word, he took her by the arm and escorted her gently down the bank.
They crossed the clearing in silence through dappled sunlight that painted shadowy patterns on the ground, and Matthew helped her into the wagon as though she were a fragile piece of china that might shatter at the slightest touch.
Neither of them broke the silence on the ride home, each keeping as much distance between them as possible on the narrow wagon seat.
Chapter 5
Their days fell into a pattern, with Matthew rising early to do odd jobs that had long been neglected, and the two of them going exploring most afternoons. Charlene often thought about the moment when Matthew held her in his arms and she had gazed into his face, only inches away from her own. Matthew never mentioned the incident again, and Charlene didn’t plan to bring it up. There seemed to be a tacit agreement between them to bury the episode in the past.
Had he intended to kiss her? Had she wanted him to? She briefly wondered if he hadn’t kissed her because he did indeed have a wife back in Baltimore. But he never mentioned a wife, so she quickly dismissed the notion. Charlene didn’t know the answer to her questions, and wasn’t sure she wanted to.
She was crazy even to consider such a thing as falling in love with Matthew Benson! He could take not only her heart but her income if he chose to. But she couldn’t truly picture Matthew doing harm to her or anybody else.
He would be going back east anytime now. That much was certain. Besides that, she barely knew the man. What kind of person was she, to risk losing her heart to someone she’d only recently met? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to that question, either.
No one mentioned the topic of Matthew’s departure. Matthew appeared content to fit into the routine they had established and showed no inclination to leave anytime soon. Jed seemed happier than Charlene had seen him in a long, long time. Having another man around the place was evidently good medicine for him. And Charlene found her life changing for the better in a multitude of ways.
Matthew’s assumption of the heavier chores left her free to concentrate on the duties she enjoyed most. And the shortcuts she had developed enabled her to keep house in record time. As for her writing… Charlene found, to her amazement, that she produced an astonishing amount during the uninterrupted times she had in the early mornings and in the evenings when Matthew and Jed talked by the fire.
Not only was she writing more, but the quality of her writing had improved markedly. Even she could recognize that. It was funny, she mused, that the very situation that drove her to write in secrecy had also enhanced her work beyond her wildest dreams. She was almost grateful to Matthew Benson for disrupting the even tenor of her life.
With another story finished and ready to submit ahead of schedule, Charlene decided to take a well-deserved break one evening. Gathering her mending and her sewing basket after supper, she approached Jed, who rested in his favorite chair in the living room. “Mind if I join you?”
“It’s about time you poked your head out of your room.” His eyes twinkled. “I’ve almost forgotten what female company is like. Sit down, honey. Matthew should be finished feeding the horses before long. We can all have a nice visit when he comes back.”
“He’s outside? Good.” Charlene pulled a folded sheaf of paper from her pocket and handed it to Jed. “It’s the latest story. Take a look at it and tell me what you think.” She threaded a needle and began replacing a button on one of her grandfather’s shirts.
Jed held the papers out nearly to arm’s length and began to read. His lips moved silently as he scanned the pages. Charlene watched anxiously, unable to gauge his reaction. She suddenly felt unsure. Had she been wrong? Had she overestimated the quality of this piece? No matter how many stories she sold or how many complimentary remarks she received from Mr. Emerson, her grandfather’s opinion was still the last word as far as she was concerned.
“What do you think?” She blurted out the question as soon as he lowered the papers, unable to contain her curiosity a moment longer.
His faded blue eyes held a faint spark of mischief. “I think it’s a fine piece of writing.” He folded the papers with care. “But that’s just my opinion. Let’s see what a real expert has to say about it.” He tucked the papers between the arm and the cushion of his chair and settled himself more comfortably.
“Oh, no.” Charlene saw at once what he was up to. “I’ve gone through too much already, hiding out and writing behind closed doors. So far, we’ve gotten away with it, but I don’t want to push our luck. Give me the story, Grandpa.”
Jed patted the hand she held out to him. “Simmer down, honey. It’ll be fine.” Charlene was about to make a grab for the papers when the door swung inward and Matthew entered the room.
“Look who we’ve got for company tonight,” Jed announced. He smiled at Charlene, who glared back at him. Her irritation was somewhat allayed by the way Matthew’s face lit up with pleasure at Jed’s statement. After spending part of nearly every day together in the wagon, it was a welcome compliment to see his obvious delight at the prospect of spending even more time with her now.
Charlene bit off the tail end of her thread and picked up a new piece of mending. Matthew sank into an overstuffed chair as naturally as if he had lived there for years instead of only weeks.
“I’ve been a little curious about something.” Jed’s voice broke the comfortable silence. “How can you manage to take so much time away from the paper, especially when you just bought it? Aren’t you worried about everything falling apart while you’re gone?”
Charlene couldn’t decide whether the ruddy hue on Matthew’s face was due to a blush or the glow from the fireplace. He rose to add another piece of wood to the fire, prodding it with the poker until he had it arranged to his satisfaction.
“No, I’m not worried.” He kept his eyes on the fire at he spoke. “I left it in very capable hands.” He replaced the poker and resumed his seat.
“Speaking of the newspaper,” Jed went on, “I’ve got something here that might interest you.” He withdrew the story from his chair casually, as if he’d had it there all evening. “Nick Rogers’s latest adventure. Would you care to hear it?”
Charlene gave an involuntary jump and yelped when she jabbed her finger with the needle. She fumed while she pressed the injured finger to her lips. Her grandfather was treating this whole situation all too lightly. Didn’t he understand what the consequences could mean for them?
Matthew perked up at Jed’s offer and readily agreed to listen. Jed cleared his throat and began to read aloud, pronouncing each word carefully. Charlene feigned deep concentration on the seam she was repairing, not daring to look at Matthew.
Thank goodness her grandpa had at least read the story once. It would have been awful if he’d stumbled over the phrasing. She listened as Jed continued, impressed by the way he made the story come alive.
Listen to the old faker! Why, I’d swear he really was the author, if I hadn’t written it myself. No wonder he was able to bluff his way out of so many tight spots in his younger days.
The sound of Jed’s voice faded, and she realized he had finished reading. Her amused thoughts halted abruptly as she waited for Matthew’s reaction. Here, as Grandpa had said, was an expert. What would his honest response be?
She moved the needle in and out of the fabric determinedly, her eyes focused on the job at hand and the rest of her being on the words that would come from Matthew’s lips.
“I’m not sure what to say, Jed. Just when I think you can’t possibly top the previous effort, you get even better.” Matthew leaned forward in his chair and clapped Je
d on the shoulder. “That’s the best Nick Rogers piece yet!”
A sigh of infinite relief whooshed from Charlene’s lungs, and she looked up to see her own broad smile reflected on her grandfather’s face. “Charlene can mail it off tomorrow,” he said.
“May I see it first?” Matthew held out his hand. In response to Jed’s puzzled frown he smiled. “I want to add a note of my own—telling the bookkeeper to increase the payment.” Charlene looked down again at her mending to hide the happy tears that sprang to her eyes.
The evening went on peacefully, the men visiting companionably and Charlene adding her own comments from time to time. It struck her that the three of them together felt like a family.
Look at Grandpa, she thought with a guilty pang, seeing the way his face brightened at the opportunity to talk and share. He hasn’t had companionship like that since I started spending so much time writing. It was just one more reason to be grateful to Matthew.
“Are you sure you won’t go to church with us, Grandpa? It’s a beautiful morning, and you haven’t been out for so long.” Charlene tried to keep the pleading note out of her voice, knowing how much Jed disliked being pressured.
“Not today, honey,” he told her gently. “It’s a mighty pretty morning, all right, but last night got cold enough that my old knee is acting up something fierce. You two go on ahead, though. I’ll be fine.”
Having Matthew accompany her to church was still something of a novelty to Charlene. True to his enthusiasm when he first met Brother Jenkins, he seemed to look forward to their simple services with relish.
Charlene always enjoyed the congregational singing, but hearing Matthew join in beside her enhanced her enjoyment immeasurably. Considering his rich baritone, she had expected him to have a good singing voice, and she wasn’t disappointed. And far from looking down on Brother Jenkins’s plainspoken preaching after being exposed to the learned ministers from the city, he listened intently during the sermons, as if unwilling to miss a single word.
Where the Heart Is Romance Collection Page 61
