Under Starry Skies

by Judy Ann Davis

  Maria gasped in sweet agony and felt an unfulfilled yearning spiral down to the core of her body as his hands and mouth worked magic on her body. A feeling began to overwhelm her, a feeling so intense she could hardly stand it. It was the age-old desire of woman needing man and man needing woman. She grabbed him by the sides of his face and pulled him to her, kissing him and clawing at his back, needing him to come to closer and satisfy her hunger.

  He broke away and looked down on her with a knowing smile. When, at last, he stretched above her and buried himself deep inside, he waited for her to become comfortable with the fullness. He kissed her gently on her the side of her throat and whispered, “I love you.”

  The moment of pain lasted only a few seconds before the unfulfilled longing consumed her again. Slowly they moved in perfect rhythm together, each trying to reach that unknown pinnacle. When she felt waves of euphoria wash over her and fling her up and up and up into a blinding brightness, she was certain a million more stars exploded around her as she felt herself falling over the cliff of contentment and sublime relief, carrying Tye along. He spilled his seed within her, calling out her name as his hard body went slack and satisfied against her.

  He rolled off her, gathered her close to him, and positioned her head on his shoulder. Gently, he kissed the top of her brow as he flipped part of the quilt to cover her body from the night air. “You have me bewitched, Maria,” he whispered in her ear.

  “And you have taught me how perfect love can be,” she said.

  Content to be together—if even for a few hours, they lay together in a warm embrace watching the heavens above and nature below put on a show that could only be meant for lovers.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The morning was a breezy one, perfect for hanging wash on the line. Abigail took another pillowcase from the laundry basket and snapped it viciously to dislodge the wrinkles before attaching it to the clothesline with equal vengeance. With two clothes pegs clamped between her lips, she hurried down between the filled lines with a dishtowel about to receive more of her anger.

  From atop his horse at the side of the yard, Brett watched with curious concern. She wore a simple blue cotton dress, and her hair, a mass of luscious thick curls, were tied upon the top of her head with a simple piece of white rag. He dismounted, and carefully removed the basket behind his saddle, and set it near an alder tree where he tied his horse. He walked between two long rows of sheets coming to stand a few feet from where she was stabbing pegs onto a bed sheet. He picked up the basket of wet laundry lying near his feet.

  “You trying to kill that sheet?”

  She jumped at his voice, eyes wide. “The last thing I need is your humor, Captain Trumble. You scared me.”

  “Brett. Remember? My name’s Brett. And dang, my timing must be off because you seem to be in a less than joyful mood every time I show up.” He held the laundry basket while she took out what looked like a curtain and proceeded to hang it beside the pillowcase.

  “You can talk about it,” he urged. “It sometimes helps to blow off some steam, darlin’.”

  “Darlin’? Don’t call me your darling! You want to talk about it?” she mumbled with a peg in her mouth. When she realized she was talking garble, she removed it. “You want to talk about it? The girl who was supposed to do the laundry for the inn’s bedrooms didn’t show. Aunt Emma has run up an enormous bill at the General Store on doodads, baubles, and useless nonsense. Maria and Tye were threatened with a gunnysack full of snakes last night on the way to the Ashmore ranch. Someone is stealing money from me. I paid off the loan at the bank only to find out Emma believes she’s entitled to even more of the Mule Shed’s proceeds.” She wagged a finger at him. “Less than joyful, I should think!”

  “Whoa, looks like you’re riding a runaway bronc here. Let’s finish killing these last two pillowcases and take a break.” He watched her grab four clothespins, jam two between her lips, throw one pillowcase over her shoulder, and expertly hang one and then the other.

  When she was finished, she glared at him.

  “Come, let’s sit on the back stoop in the sunshine and get a glass of water,” he suggested and removed his hat.

  While she fetched the water, he retrieved the basket from beside his mount and set it beside the first step. Abigail returned within minutes with a tray filled with two glasses and two sugar cookies on a plate.

  “This is all the food I have at the moment to offer.” She slumped down beside him with the tray between them. “Unless you have something wonderful hidden under the lid of your basket.”

  “Actually, I have a gift for you and Maria from Tye. He planned to deliver this to Maria tonight, but was called out by the army to interpret for a group of Indians passing through south of here, and didn’t know how long he’d be gone.” Brett opened the basket’s lid and took out a squirming little puppy with a black and white brindled body and with ears, eyes, and upper face so coal black he looked like he was wearing a mask. “This little boy is one of Swamp’s. Seems Swamp was kicking up his heels and doing a little more than just herding for Tydall. He made friends with Frank Norwell’s kelpie who had five of these lively little creatures three months ago.”

  “Made friends or mated?”

  Brett shrugged. “Oh, a little of both, I guess. I should add the kelpie was a purebred and Swamp is…well, let’s just say we’re using some creative guesswork with Swamp’s bloodlines.”

  “Why, he’s adorable!” Abby set the tray aside and took the squirming puppy he handed her and laid him in her lap. “What’s his name?”

  Brett shrugged and scratched his head. “Whatever Maria and you decide to name him.”

  “Is he old enough to be weaned?’

  Brett nodded. “Over twelve weeks or more.” He could see Abby had already begun the bonding process. The pup snuggled belly up in her lap, and she was alternately petting him behind his ears and rubbing his stomach while he gazed up at her with his big contented brown eyes. Oh, how Brett wished he were that puppy! He and Tye had spoken about getting the women a watchdog. Both of them were not pleased the sisters were living in a cottage at the edge of the forest where there might be more than simple wildlife underfoot. Neither were they happy with Lang Redford and his shoddy hired men.

  “We’ll need things to make this little one a bed.” She laughed joyfully, still playing with the puppy.

  Brett rose and reset his hat on his head. “Well, I’d better get back to the lumber yard. Betsy is sending over a wooden crate, some table scraps, milk, and water dishes. All you’ll need is an old quilt to throw into the crate for a bed.” He looked at her with concern. He hated to bring up her earlier worries especially since she was now in a joyful mood. “Is there anything I can do to help you with all your other problems?”

  She shook her head and sighed. “Wait!” she said as he started to walk away. “Just wait here a moment.” She handed him the pup, hurried into the house, and returned with the letter Maria stole. “I implore you to not divulge the information in this letter, but I’d like your opinion. It’s a letter Maria found in a trunk under the eaves in Aunt Emma’s attic. Along with a packet of letters, it was packed on top of a Confederate uniform with more clothes beneath. You know it was believed Uncle Henry died by the hands of a rogue Confederate sympathizer?”

  He placed the puppy on the ground near his feet, opened the letter, read it, then folded it, and handed it back. “The War’s over Maria. A lot of people on both sides detested it and weren’t fussy about helping a wounded soldier when he ended up in enemy-held territory. They cared little about whether he fought for the North or South.”

  “Yes, but Uncle Henry was killed with a Confederate button left beside him. All I want to know is whether the uniform in the trunk has all its buttons.”

  He raised an eyebrow while he weighed her comment. “Well,” he finally said, “let’s find out. Let’s pay a visit to your dear aunt Emma.”

  “And tell her we want to see the uniform?
”

  “No, let’s use the ruse of showing her your new pup.”

  “My good man have you been drinking?”

  Brett snickered. “Who knows? Maybe even old hard-nosed Emma will melt under this little one’s charm, and he’d be enough diversion so one of us can look in the trunk.” He winked.

  Abby grinned, then grew serious. “I’ll say we’re there to ask Millie to give Maria and me some additional milk each day, or maybe borrow an old useless quilt for the dog’s bed.”

  “Sounds desperate, maybe a little too deceptive, but we can play it out and make up the rest as we go along.” He glanced down, too late to stop the pup who had relieved himself over the toe of his boot. “Good grief! These boots are almost brand new.” His face crumpled in disgust over the ripple of laughter from Abigail. He swiped his boot on the grass. “You’re going to have to teach this little mongrel some manners.”

  Together they walked up the hill, past the stables, to the old manse with the puppy riding safely in the basket. Millie met them at the door.

  “Is Aunt Emma here?” Abigail asked.

  “Yes,” Millie nodded, then whispered, “but she’s on a rant about the seamstress. It seems the dress she had ordered is too tight. She can’t get it buttoned. This may not be a good time.”

  From behind Millie, Brett and Abigail heard, “Who is it, Mildred? Some pitiful soul wanting another hand-out? Bid him farewell and shut the door on the sniveling creature.”

  “No, it’s Abigail,” Abby called over Millie’s shoulder. She bit her lip and grimaced at the housekeeper.

  Emma replied, “Might as well be a waif! Well, show her in, Mildred. Don’t stand there like a dolt with the door open.”

  In the foyer, Emma stood like a proud statue, her back to them. Her blonde hair shot with gray was done up in a mass of curls on her top head and spiraled down the back of her head. She wore a sapphire blue silk dress. “I was just about to go to town to return a dress the seamstress incorrectly altered for me. Altered miserably with little skill, I might add.” She turned, looked up, saw Brett, and brightened. “Oh, and what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Captain Trumble?”

  “I’m just accompanying Abigail. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. McNeil.”

  Inside the basket, the puppy whined, and Emma’s gaze locked onto it.

  “Oh, Aunt Emma, Maria and I have a new puppy. We wanted you to see it.” Abigail lifted the lid and took out the squirming puppy and held it in her arms.

  “A dog?” Emma snapped and backed away. “You wanted me to see a dog?”

  “Yes,” Abby forged on, turning to Millie. “I was wondering if we could have a little extra milk each day?”

  “For the dog?” Emma frowned. “My dear, I’m not about to start feeding all the stray animals wandering around your doorstep.”

  “Mrs. McNeil,” Millie said, “the old jersey cow gives us close to seven gallons a day. Even when we send milk to the inn, we still have too much. We can only make so much butter, whipped cream, and cheese.”

  “I’ll remind you, Mildred, you are hired and paid to do as I instruct you to do.”

  Millie Hanson lowered her head and nodded.

  Irritated by her aunt’s haughtiness, Abigail interrupted, “I know Millie is always busy, often milking the cow twice a day when the men aren’t available. What if Maria or I agree to milk Blossom in the evening in return for an extra quart of milk? It would give Millie more time here at the manse?” She watched her aunt consider her offer.

  “I already give milk away to you and for the inn’s meals, and I imagine the staff there drinks it as well,” Emma said.

  Abigail fought the urge to explain to her that half the Mule Shed Inn’s profits were going to her without any of her help. And what type of person would ever deny the hired help or a stranger a glass of cold milk, especially when there was too much?

  Brett spoke, his voice smooth like velvet. “Now, Mrs. McNeil, there must be some sort of solution. What if Maria and Abigail could send up a few fresh eggs a few times a week?”

  Emma looked at Abigail in surprise. “You have chickens? Nobody told me you had chickens.”

  Abby nodded. “Oh, yes. Or rather, Maria does.”

  Outside they heard a buggy pull up in front of the house. “Well, I suppose it would work. Thank you, Captain Trumble, for your brilliant suggestion.”

  “My pleasure, Mrs. McNeil. Please call me Brett.”

  Emma smiled radiantly, then motioned to Millie to get her cape from the peg beside the door. “As you can see I must be on my way to that wretched, wretched seamstress. Why don’t you work out the details with Mildred?” With that, Emma O’Neil dashed out the door.

  At the sound of the front door slamming, the puppy in Abby’s arms whined. “I think he’s hungry,” Abigail said to Millie. “I have no idea how long it’s been since he was taken from his mother. I also came to see if we could get another old quilt from the attic so I can make him a bed.”

  “Come into the kitchen,” Millie said. “Let’s get him a saucer of milk immediately.”

  “If you don’t mind, I can send Brett up into the attic to get the quilt while we take care of the pup.” Abigail trailed behind Millie. She turned and raised her eyebrows at Brett.

  “Of course, what a good idea,” Millie called over her shoulder scurrying down the hallway. “You can use the back stairs in the kitchen, Captain Trumble, while I make some tea and warm the coffee. It’s so nice to have company. Come, come sit. I have custard pie, too, if you’d like. The little one is hungry. What have you named him?”

  “I’m waiting for Maria to name him.” Abigail followed Millie to the kitchen. As she passed the parlor, she looked at the sheet-draped furniture, eerie-looking in the fading light. She took a seat by the table. “The War is over. Isn’t it time for Emma to take those hideous sheets off the furniture in the parlor and stop worrying about the wear?”

  Millie put a kettle on the back of the stove. “Oh, she only covered the furniture right after Henry’s death, not before the War started. I was down in Colorado Springs for my sister’s funeral when Henry was killed. She draped the entire room herself—like she was in mourning and was paying tribute to his memory. She hung that enormous picture of Henry above the fireplace, and only left the spinet and loveseat uncovered. She still refuses to even let me go in there to clean. It’s some sort of personal shrine of hers.”

  “Shrine?”

  “Yes.” Millie shook her head disapprovingly. “And poor Henry’s marriage to her was little more than a long series of rants and spats. It near drove us all crazy.”

  “What did they fight about?” Abigail set the puppy next to the saucer of milk Millie placed near her feet and watched him shove his little nose into the milk and begin to lap it up.

  “It was always money.” Millie sighed. “My, oh my, Emma knows how to shop. Pity the seamstress today. The dress she’s returning was ordered six months ago, when Emma was ten pounds lighter.”

  Later, as Brett and Abigail walked back to the cottage, Brett told her he found all the buttons still attached to the Confederate uniform.

  She shook her head sadly, holding an old quilt to her chest as he carried the basket with the puppy. “I thought maybe we had a clue to help us discover who killed my uncle.” There was disappointment in her voice. “All that sneaking around for nothing.”

  Brett reached out and encircled her shoulders with his free arm. “We’re not giving up yet, Abby. Do you want to hear the good news?”

  “What?” she asked.

  “I stole the rest of the letters in the trunk.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was always an exciting day, a day of celebration, whenever it was the birthday of one of the student’s in Maria’s class. It was especially so, when Maria discovered Lenny Sanderson’s birthday was coming up, and he would be attending school that day.

  Earlier in the week, she had arranged with the cook at the inn to bake a cake and hav
e it delivered to the schoolhouse. She had helped Millie, an expert knitter, to select yarn to make a hat and scarf for the boy. They had finally settled on black for the hat, but more colorful yarns for the scarf. It was a task Millie had been unselfishly doing for the last three years for all the schoolchildren when their birthdays arrived.

  Maria also knew Lenny Sanderson needed something warmer to wear than the few flannel shirts he wore each day, and when she mentioned her concern to Betsy, a hefty package was delivered along with the cake.

  For the last two weeks, with autumn sending its chilly fingers over the countryside and leaving the morning frosty and cold, Maria had arrived at the school house only to discover the stove was lit and warming the classroom. Although she had never enlisted the help of anyone, she knew it was Lenny Sanderson and the blacksmith’s grandson, Isaac, who were sharing the task. She suspected Tye gave them a few coins each week for their work.

  Careful not to embarrass the boy, Maria waited until the party was over and the last of the children were leaving when she presented Lenny with the gifts. His father was planning to deliver another load of wood after school, and Maria knew he was also taking the boy home with him afterwards.

  “I don’t know how to thank you.” Lenny looked in awe at the store-bought woolen coat and the hat and scarf. “I don’t know whether my pa will let me keep these.”

  “He won’t.” River Roy stopped inside the doorway, removed his scruffy lumberman’s cap, and stomped his feet to get them warm.

  Maria rose from her seat behind her desk and smiled. “Ah, Mr. Sanderson, welcome to my classroom. And thank you for the wood.” She waved him inside. Despite the man’s gruff appearance, Maria suspected deep down inside there was a man of character. “Come, sit by the warmth of the stove, and let me get you a piece of Lenny’s birthday cake and show you some of his schoolwork.”