Frontier Woman

by Joan Johnston

  “Why, yes. Thank you, Lieutenant. I appreciate your thoughtfulness.” She gave the young man a glance that promised everything and watched him catch his breath. Teasing was one of the things Angelique did best.

  The young man cleared his throat. “Shall we go?”

  Angelique smiled radiantly and placed her gloved hand on the gold-braided sleeve he held out to her. She looked forward to her first dinner on board the Austin. Jarrett would certainly be there with his wife. She doubted whether Cricket could manage to make as big a fool of herself this evening as she had in the parlor of the chargé’s home in New Orleans.

  But she could always hope.

  Cricket critically eyed herself in her handheld mirror. What she saw was not a beautiful woman. It was a freak. Despite her vow to give up on being a woman, her awakened femininity had taken root too firmly to be ripped completely out. She was like a hardy desert succulent whose stems had all been chopped off. To the naked eye, the desert flower appeared dead. But underneath the warm earth an elaborate system of roots remained, ready to grow when nurtured with the tiniest bit of rainwater.

  So it was with Cricket. To outward appearances she was once again Rip’s spoiled brat. On the inside, Creed’s wife waited unseen for the opportunity to blossom and grow. It was anyone’s guess which of the two personalities would finally hold sway. In any event, thanks to her jealousy of Angelique LeFevre, Cricket was forced to see everything now from both points of view.

  Rip’s brat had already forgotten the American chargé’s formal dinner party.

  Creed’s wife cringed at the memory.

  She’d been delighted at first when Creed leaned over during dessert to whisper in her ear. She’d quickly become incensed, however, when he’d compared her manners to those of the chargé’s daughter, even if he had done so favorably. She couldn’t explain the irrational jealousy that had possessed her at the mention of the blond-headed woman. But had she really shot a dangling bauble off the chargé’s lead crystal chandelier with one of his dueling pistols on a dare? And debated the respective tastes of Cuban and American tobacco while she smoked her favorite Havana cigar? And cussed out a congressman when he vilified the Texan heroes who’d fought at the battle of the Alamo?

  Rip’s brat had dressed in plain, brown buckskins for dinner this evening.

  Creed’s wife worried that Angelique in pretty pastels would be more attractive to Creed than she.

  Rip’s brat liked Creed and respected him.

  Creed’s wife wanted her husband’s love and feared that the only way she would ever have it was if she stopped being Rip’s brat.

  And that was the crux of the problem. Cricket was fairly certain she could never stop being Rip’s brat. Which was to say, she was fairly certain she would never have Creed’s love. He tolerated Rip’s brat by day—and he desired his wife by night. Cricket had never despaired more over something she felt she could do nothing about. And she hadn’t realized how much she’d come to care about Creed, until now that she had a very real fear of losing him to another woman.

  Creed came up behind Cricket but he didn’t touch her as he yearned to. Ever since Angelique had kissed him, Cricket had kept him at arm’s length. She looked so very sad. He wondered if she was remembering all they’d been through together so far. These past weeks had been some of the best, and worst, times of his life. Even though it had been the plan to return her to her father, now that the time to do so was nearly upon him, he found himself unwilling to let her go.

  It had finally dawned on him when he’d met Angelique again that he was never going to find another woman to compare with Cricket. She was gutsy and opinionated and willing to fight for what she believed. She was exactly the kind of woman the growing Republic of Texas needed—one who could thrive in a land still wild and free and untamed. She was the kind of woman he needed. He only hoped it wasn’t too late to make her understand how much he appreciated her.

  “It’s time to go, Brava.”

  Cricket dreaded the coming meal, and it showed on her face. “After what happened last night, are you sure I’ll be welcome again at the same table with the chargé and his daughter?”

  Creed grinned. “The commodore doesn’t have a single chandelier on board.”

  Cricket fought not to smile. “But I know the chargé brought him a whole box of Havana cigars.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll do fine.”

  She hoped so. Another night like the last one, and she’d be handing Creed to Angelique on a silver platter. Creed’s wife made up her mind that tonight she’d be a model of proper behavior—and keep Rip’s brat firmly under control. By God, she wasn’t giving Creed up without a fight. She smiled up at Creed and said confidently, “I’m ready.”

  The halls were too narrow for them to walk side by side, so he sent her out the door ahead of him. They strolled in companionable silence to the ward room, where a table large enough to accommodate twelve had been set up. Commodore Moore had invited several of his senior officers to join them, including his secretary and the ship’s surgeon.

  Cricket’s heart sank like a stone when she saw Angelique LeFevre. The chargé’s daughter was dressed in a pink layered gown. Every time she nodded, her perfect blond sausage curls bounced. Beside the tall young naval officers, she looked like a beautiful porcelain doll. Never in her life had Cricket felt as tall or as uncomfortable in buckskins as she did right now. How had she ever thought she could compete with this woman for Creed’s attention? Even now he was staring at the petite young woman.

  When the commodore arrived he urged, “Let’s be seated.” Commodore Moore sat at the head of the table with Angelique to his right and Cricket to his left. The chargé sat next to Cricket while Creed was seated next to Angelique.

  Cricket liked Beaufort LeFevre. He enjoyed arguing, and he made a worthy adversary. His eyes were black and serious—some might even have said wise if they’d listened to him for any length of time—but he had a chipped front tooth that gave him a foolish appearance when he grinned, so he rarely smiled, even at his own witticisms. His solemn mien made him seem a less tolerant man than Cricket knew him to be. Otherwise, she’d never have been allowed the freedom in his home to express her feelings in such an unorthodox manner.

  During the course of the long dinner, Cricket listened to several controversial topics of conversation without commenting, thinking that if she said nothing, she could say nothing wrong. Only on the most innocuous of subjects did she speak, and then she was careful to agree with Creed. She was patting herself on the back for her success when LeFevre asked, “So tell me, how do most Texans feel about annexation?”

  Creed and Cricket both answered at the same time.

  “They’re for it.”

  “They’re against it.”

  Right then, Cricket knew she should have kept her mouth shut. She’d wanted to be the docile, obedient wife for Creed, but this was an issue on which she couldn’t stay silent. She saw the frown that furrowed Creed’s brow. Creed’s wife was glad he didn’t suggest she hold her peace, because Rip’s brat wouldn’t have agreed even if he’d asked. However, the instant Cricket opened her mouth to speak, Creed cut her off.

  “What my wife and I meant to say,” Creed inserted smoothly, “is that some Texans are for annexation and some are against it. Almost all the Anglos in Texas were once citizens of the United States. Many of them want to belong again to the mother country. However, right now the Texas Congress and President Lamar are against annexation.”

  “That’s pretty apparent,” LeFevre said with a flourishing wave of his hand. “We Americans have been watching Mirabeau Lamar’s negotiations with various foreign powers for recognition of Texas as a sovereign nation. He hasn’t done half bad—France last year, and maybe England this year—if your president can convince Lord Palmerston that Texas won’t always be a Negro slave territory and that the United States won’t soon be gobbling Texas up.”

  “We’ll never allow Texas to be gobbled up by
the United States,” Cricket vowed fervently. “We’re going to be the greatest, the biggest, the grandest Republic on earth. Our borders will extend east to the United States, south to the Rio Grande, and west all the way to California.”

  Creed closed his eyes and prayed for patience. It was true that under international law Texas could claim any land not a U.S. territory that it could win and hold. But such ideas were far-reaching and unsettling to some citizens of a Republic that had barely secured itself from the threat of Mexican sovereignty, and who felt a strong allegiance to the United States.

  “How do you feel about annexation, Commodore?” LeFevre asked.

  “I’m not sure the Republic would be better off as a part of the United States, sir. Texas is well on the way to proving herself a strong sovereign nation. Now that we have a navy to blockade Mexican commerce and to defend our shores, Mexico will have no choice but to concede that the southern border of Texas extends all the way to the Rio Grande.”

  “You don’t even have a bank in Texas,” LeFevre argued. “Or an army to defend yourselves or—”

  “It’s only a matter of time,” Cricket interrupted. “Texas has stores and schools and churches—”

  “But no preachers,” Angelique interjected.

  “What?”

  “There are no preachers for your churches, or at least that’s the reason Jarrett gave me for the fact your wedding vows have never been spoken in a church. I believe he said you have a common-law marriage.”

  Cricket’s glance shot to Creed, whose eyes betrayed he had indeed told Angelique that much about the facts surrounding their marriage. How could he!

  Creed now knew why Angelique had pried so deeply the past evening into the details of his marriage to Cricket. He’d only wanted to be sure Angelique understood that the marriage was legal under Texas law, so she wouldn’t think there was any chance he was free to come to her. Looking at the stunned faces around the table, he realized her revelation was going to have some unwanted repercussions.

  Creed took a deep breath and said in an amazingly calm voice, “In Texas a man and woman often begin living together as husband and wife and then have their marriage vows solemnized when the preacher comes to call.”

  “I could have married you at sea on the trip to New Orleans, if you’d only said something,” the commodore admonished.

  LeFevre’s concerned voice asked, “So you’ve never had your wedding vows to each other confirmed before a man of God?”

  Creed swallowed hard. “No. We haven’t.” He could see what was coming. Anger rose in him. His lips thinned, and the muscles along his cheek jumped as his jaw tightened. He’d wanted to make Cricket his wife, but not this way. Now she’d never believe he wanted her for herself. She would think he’d married her because he’d been cornered by circumstance. Damn it, he loved her! Couldn’t she see that?

  Cricket closed her eyes to escape Creed’s intense gaze and clenched her fists in her lap. Rip’s brat had done it again. Creed would never forgive her for this.

  “I’d be pleased to officiate at your wedding,” LeFevre volunteered.

  The commodore steepled his hands before him on the table. “And I’d be proud to assist.”

  LeFevre stared pointedly at Creed. “When shall it be?”

  “What better time than the present?” Creed replied with no trace of the cynicism he felt.

  Cricket glanced up at Creed, aghast. Did he expect her to attend her own wedding dressed in buckskins? From the disparaging look on his face, he did. It was clear he believed the coming ceremony to be a mockery. He’d already said once he’d divorce her when it was convenient to do so. The vows he was forced to speak tonight weren’t going to change that. But, oh, how she wished things were different.

  By the time a midshipman arrived with a Bible, the table had been completely dismantled and removed from the ward room. A sailor had appeared with a harmonica to provide music, and the chargé and the commodore had taken their places at the center of the room with Creed and Cricket standing side by side before them.

  Angelique could have chewed through nails, she was so enraged. She’d only intended to embarrass Cricket, and to show how low she stood in Creed’s estimation if he’d never bothered to really marry her. She’d had no idea Creed would allow himself to be coerced into matrimony like this. If she had anything to say about it, this was going to be one of the shortest marriages in the history of marriage. And the next time Creed got backed into a corner, she intended to be the blushing bride.

  The brief ceremony seemed endless to Cricket, whose eyes never left her feet until Creed took her hand in his to place a ring upon her finger. Then she glanced from the ring to Creed’s face. He didn’t look any happier than she felt. Somewhere over the passage of time she’d come to love this man. She wanted to be a good wife to him. She just didn’t know how.

  Creed was determined to make Cricket happy. Right now she looked about as miserable as he felt. Somehow he’d make her understand he loved her as she was. He’d act the way he supposed a good husband should act. He wanted to do the right thing. He just wasn’t sure what that was.

  Cricket knew her fate was sealed when Beaufort LeFevre announced, “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  Creed put his hands on Cricket’s shoulders and turned her to face him. His fingertips brushed her chin, tipping it up slightly, and his mouth came down to meet hers in the lightest of kisses. It was over before Cricket realized it had happened.

  “This calls for a celebration,” the commodore said with a grin on his face. “Grog for all hands,” he ordered, “in recognition of my first wedding as commodore of the Texas fleet.”

  A sailor with a fiddle joined the one with the harmonica, and gay music filled the ward room. A cheer was heard from the berth deck when the announcement came that a ration of grog would be served. Creed shook hands with LeFevre and Commodore Moore. Several young lieutenants took advantage of the opportunity to kiss the bride. When Angelique LeFevre offered snide congratulations, Cricket couldn’t stand the farce any longer and fled the room.

  Creed saw Cricket’s desperate escape. He had to find her and talk with her alone. He turned quickly to the gentlemen who’d performed the ceremony. “If you’ll excuse me . . .” he said with a confidential wink. Creed left the ward room with the sound of friendly laughter following him out the door.

  He searched first on the spar deck. Despite the danger, he half expected to find her in the rigging. Then he checked the berth deck and the steerage. He went lower into the bowels of the ship to the magazine, the spirit room, and the purser’s stores. No Cricket. Then he came back up to investigate the bread locker on the starboard side of the steerage. All he found there was thousands of pounds of sea biscuit. She could be hidden anywhere. She could even have jumped overboard.

  Creed raced to the spar deck and peered out over the dark gulf waters. He couldn’t believe Cricket was desperate enough to end her life, but it was plain he wasn’t going to find her until she wanted to be found. Discouraged, anxious, he returned to the captain’s cabin to wait.

  And there he discovered his wife.

  Cricket’s first inclination when she’d reached the captain’s cabin was to bar the door against Creed. She’d quickly realized that to keep Creed out was to send him right back to Angelique’s arms. He hadn’t wanted to marry her, but he was her husband now in the eyes of God and man. She had the opportunity to show him how much she loved him, and she intended to make good use of it.

  She had taken off her buckskins and put on the only feminine night dress she had, a plain chambray gown. She’d quickly released her braid and let her hair, still wavy from the heavy plait, spill over her shoulders and down her back. She’d turned down the covers and perched on the edge of the cot, one bare foot atop the other on the wooden floor. Creed was welcome in her bed, and she wanted him to know it.

  When Creed came through the door, Cricket raised her eyes to greet him. His loins ti
ghtened at the promise of passion in the smoky gray orbs.

  “I looked everywhere for you.”

  “I’ve been here, waiting for you to come to me.”

  It was an invitation no husband could deny. Her willing gaze reassured him that tonight there would be none of the initial restraint that had marred their loving in the past. Creed took the few steps that brought him to his wife. He seized her hands and bid her stand up before him. Under his steady perusal her nipples peaked beneath the chambray wrapper. He brought his hands to either side of her face and tenderly stroked the soft skin with his callused thumbs. He splayed the fingers of one hand through her hair, grasping a handful of the silky stuff while his other hand encircled her throat.

  Then his lips took the kiss he’d forgone at the end of the wedding ceremony. His tongue boldly searched her mouth, claiming the territory as his own. He gently sucked her lower lip into his mouth and nipped at it, then allowed her the freedom to possess him as he’d possessed her. Cricket gave herself wholeheartedly to her husband and took from him what she wanted and needed.

  She put her hands on Creed’s chest and felt the strength beneath his linen shirt. She broke the kiss between them, undressing him slowly, carefully, tantalizingly, unable to endure the cloth barriers between them but prolonging the moment when he would be unclothed to her gaze. She slipped off his frock coat and shirt, then his trousers and drawers, until he stood before her resplendently naked, his manhood full and ready. Cricket stepped back to look at what she had—a magnificent man, a tender man, a stubborn man—a man with a very pleased grin on his face.

  She grinned back at him.

  “You look very satisfied with yourself,” Creed said.

  “That’s because I am.” Cricket put her lips to one of Creed’s nipples and smiled against his salty skin when his whole body tensed in response.

  Creed had opened his mouth to tell her of his love when her lips drifted downward. When her tongue came out to lave the sensitive skin of his belly he had to hold his breath to keep from groaning aloud. His hands grabbed her at the waist, intending to stop the delicious assault, but before he could move her away, her mouth tasted its way even farther down his body.