Her hand gripped the spoon, her knuckles turning white. “What do you want to talk about?”
He’d thought his question a simple one, but it wasn’t. Not to her. Her reluctance made him curious about the secrets she kept. Were they truly so dangerous?
“I’ll let you choose the subject, or we can just sit in silence.” He took another bite, not really sure he wanted to keep up the pretense of eating cold stew, yet interested to see what she would choose to talk about.
Her grip loosened on the spoon and she slowly returned to her seat. “Alright.” She set the spoon back in the bowl, the little stew she had left forgotten. A long moment passed before she released her breath. “I didn’t have much of a choice but to be a mail-order bride.” She shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “I’m twenty-two, not exactly the kind of age a woman wants to be unless she wants to end up an old maid. There’s not much more to it than that.”
There was a hell of a lot more to it for her to act the way she did. “No suitors?”
She quickly shook her head. “No.” She glanced at him, her eyes quietly judging his reaction. “Now you know why I hesitated to say anything.” She glanced at him. She wanted him to believe her. “No woman wants to admit that, not to anyone,” she added.
He took his last bite, mulling over his unease. She was right, no woman wanted to be an old maid, but twenty-two was hardly old. And it was only part of her reason. In his heart, he knew there was more, but he wouldn’t push. It wasn’t like she trusted him or that she would be staying long enough for him to help her.
“Lucky for me that no man has claim to you, Uzizitka. I’d hate to have to beat them all back with a stick. ”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m able to handle the truth. I don’t fool myself into thinking I’m pretty.” Her gaze darted around the cabin, looking at everything except him, and saying more to him than she realized. In the next second, she said, “You said Noah needs some help with arithmetic and reading. How much schooling has he had? You might not know it to look at me, but I was an astute learner. I even assisted the teachers on occasion.”
His heart hurt for her. She didn’t think she was pretty or smart because someone had told her that, someone in her past she’d probably like to forget. He wanted to enfold her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right, that she was safe and welcome here. But words were just that: words. And they meant nothing if not put into action. “Lillian?”
She finally looked at him. “What?”
He stood and circled around the table to her, holding his hand out to her. “Cikala wiwayaka, who told you you weren’t pretty or smart?”
Her eyebrows furrowed and she turned away from him, focusing on picking up the bowl. “I’d rather not talk about it.” With an uneasy glance at his hand, she asked, “Why do you keep speaking words I don’t understand, let alone know how to pronounce? I don’t think it’s fair that you do that. For all I know you could be mocking me, and I wouldn’t even know it.”
He smiled and sat down beside her, far enough to be considered proper. “My father died before I was born and I was raised by my mother and Jim Elk Horn.” He tugged a lock of her hair. “He taught me the language of his people. It’s almost as natural for me to speak Lakota as it is English. Sometimes I even forget which one I’m speaking.”
She shifted away so that she was out of his reach. “And the words you’ve been saying, what do they mean?”
He rested his hand in his lap and crossed his feet at the ankles, leaning back against the table. “Cikala wiwayaka means something like little female captive and uzizitka is the name of a rose found around here.”
“You’re calling me a captive?” After a moment, she sighed. “I suppose that fits, given the circumstances. ”
He laughed. “I thought so.”
“And the rose? Does that refer to the flower I had in my hat and stitched on my shirtwaist?”
He shook his head. “The wild rose is a beautiful, delicate plant with tiny thorns to protect it. It has the ability to thrive where few plants can and bring nourishment to those who know what they are seeing.” He stood, suddenly uncomfortable by the turn of the conversation. Taking the bowl from her, his fingers brushed hers, and he tried to ignore the pleasant sensation. “I have something for you. Will you come with me?”
She hesitated but nodded. “Alright.”
He headed for the stairs, not waiting to see if she followed. Her boot heels clicked on the wood floor, a few steps behind him. He proceeded into the loft. This room would have housed his children if he and Jane had married as planned, but now it just housed his bed and everyone’s extra stuff.
Heading for the trunks in the corner of the room, he ignored hers, and reached out to open the first one. When she reached the top step, he waved her forward, but she hesitated so he turned his attention to the trunks.
“Mama never threw anything away.” He opened the first trunk, wincing as he saw Jane’s wedding dress and closed it. Opening the second one, he found a few of Abby’s old clothes. He glanced at Lillian, thought of her in a pair of pants and one of his old shirts, and knew he’d not be getting any sleep or work done with her around if she wore those. “No.”
“‘No’ what?” she asked, taking a cautious step forward, doing little to hide her curiosity about the trunk’s contents.
He laughed and closed the lid. “Abby’s old clothes. Though she wouldn’t mind you wearing them, I don’t think my thoughts could handle it.”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean by that?”
Deciding not to answer her question, he went to the third trunk which was filled with womanly things from his mother and lifted the lid then the fourth. Perfect. The fourth had the clothes he’d been looking for. He pulled both of them into the center of the room. The other four trunks could sit awhile longer. Maybe Lillian would be interested in their contents. Maybe not. Either way, he didn’t think it mattered at the moment.
“They’ll probably be a little big on you, Mother was a bit…”
“You don’t need to say it. I got a belt.”
He couldn’t stop himself from glancing at her pleasant bust line and then hips. “I’m going to... You can go through... Anything you can use in these two trunks are yours.”
“Thank you.” She held out her hand to accept the clothes he was holding.
He glanced at her hand then her face. He handed her the clothes, his face heating as he realized they were bloomers and a chemise. “I’m going to go.”
She accepted the items and took another step toward the trunk, and knelt down. She seemed so lost and alone beside the trunk, reminding him of another woman, another time.
“I think she would have liked you,” he softly said.
Lillian looked up at him. “Who is ‘she’?”
“My mother, Margaret Nic-” He shook his head, torn between his honest nature and the dishonest monster that would kidnap an innocent woman and hold her against her will. What would it matter if she knew their last name? And yet Wade’s words kept coming back to him. What did he really know about Lillian? Could he trust her?
Her bright green eyes held his gaze, waiting for him to finish, and when he didn’t, she said, “Margaret’s a nice name.”
“She was too much like Noah. Too sensitive.” He shook himself from his dark thoughts. “There were those who took advantage of that.”
After a moment, she said, “My father was the same way. He was more sensitive than my mother.” With a chuckle, she added, “I think other people thought they were an odd match, but they were happy. And in the end, I suppose that’s what it’s all about. Finding someone you can be happy with, even if others think that person isn’t perfect.” She sorted through the clothes. “I don’t see any flowers on these clothes. Does that mean you won’t call me the rose word anymore if I wear them?”
He smiled. “It never had anything to do with your clothes. Good night, Uzizitka. ”
Chapter Seven
Mic and the others had left her alone, something she was grateful for. She didn’t think they would take advantage of her since they hadn’t already, but it was nice to know that of all the things that had happened to her, losing her virtue wasn’t going to be one of them.
But even so, her troubles were far from over. Charles hadn’t paid the ransom. She reasoned Mic could have been lying to her, but the more she thought about it, the less inclined she was to believe it. They only came after her because they wanted Charles’ money. What they were going to do with her now, she could only guess.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. If she’d been familiar with the wilderness, she’d take a chance and escape, but she couldn’t afford to leave her trunk behind. The contents of her trunk were the only reason she risked leaving Virginia. And it had been a big risk, even if it was her due. She wasn’t going to let her greedy brother, Albert, or his friend, Robert, get their hands on it.
Her throat constricted and she rolled over in the cot, ignoring the squeaks the springs it made. Her gaze rested on the trunk. That trunk was her whole world now, especially since she had no other means of support. If Charles didn’t want her, if he praised money so highly that he’d leave her in the hands of thieves who’d do anything they wanted with her, then it was better to find out now than marry him and realize the kind of man he was. She’d spend the rest of her life an old maid before tying herself to a corrupt... She stopped herself before she could continue the thought. Her parents brought her up better than that. Of all the things she’d done, swearing—even in her thoughts—would not be one of them.
Easing out of the cot, she quietly set her feet on the cold floor, hoping she didn’t wake anyone. She wasn’t ready to try to figure out what to say to the men so she wouldn’t upset them. It’d been hard to know what to tell Mic during their meal. Maybe it wouldn’t have been as awkward had she opted to eat outside with the others, but she didn’t trust herself around Wade. He brought up too many memories. He was just like her brother. Thinking of himself. Not caring who he hurt in the process as long as he got what he wanted.
She gripped the edge of the chemise Mic had given her last evening and forced herself to relax. Mic wasn’t like Albert, nor was he like Robert. She didn’t know who he was like, but she figured if she could say and do things to appease him, he might protect her from Wade. He’d stood up on her behalf already. That was a good sign. As long as she did her part to smile and be polite and did whatever he asked of her, then she just might make it out of here alive.
She tiptoed across the small space to her trunk and lifted the lid, breathing a sigh of relief when she noticed that all of her clothes were neatly folded and in their proper place. Good. No one had been up here to tamper with her things. She didn’t think anyone had been, but she couldn’t help but be paranoid. Anyone hiding as much money as she was would be paranoid.
She checked the loft. No one was in the shadows. She took a moment to listen for any activity downstairs. Nothing. Good. Everyone was still asleep. Careful to remain quiet, she removed her clothes so the wooden bottom of her trunk was all she could see. Her finger ran along the edge of the wood paneling until she felt the indentation carved into it. She pulled on it and the paneling came up with it. She released her breath, giving a prayer of thanks. It was still there.
She’d evenly distributed the gold and silver coins she’d placed in drawstring purses along the edge of the trunk. She removed a couple layers of petticoats and counted all of the bills in her possession, making sure they were all there.
Good. They were.
It hadn’t been easy to get her inheritance, but she had, and Robert would never see a single penny of the $10,000 she’d collected.
She wrapped the bills in the petticoats and settled them between the drawstring purses. Then she returned the wood paneling, setting it firmly in place so it didn’t budge. She carefully returned all the clothes to her trunk, mindful of the order she was using so she’d know if anyone tampered with it. After she closed it, she shut her eyes and braced herself for the day ahead of her. One day at a time. All she needed to do was take it one day at a time.
Downstairs, she heard someone stirring from sleep and rose to her feet. She’d find a way out of here sooner or later, and when she did, she’d find somewhere else to go. This time she wouldn’t seek out a husband for shelter. The mail-order bride thing hadn’t worked. It’d only gotten her in deeper trouble. What she needed was to live somewhere else, be an old maid, maybe even be a teacher. No one would suspect a teacher out West as being wealthy. That might be her safest bet at this point. But she still had time to think about it. She had options. Money allowed for it. If she was smart, she’d leave the country. Maybe go to Canada. Robert would never find her there.
All of these thoughts went through her mind as she got dressed in Mic’s mother’s old clothes. It felt strange to put on someone else’s white shirtwaist with lace in the sleeves and a dark blue skirt. These had belonged to Mic’s mother, and there was no denying how much he’d loved her when he said her name. The tenderness in his voice had almost broken her heart, making her long for the caring arms of her own mother. She swallowed back her tears and slid her black belt around her waist to hold the skirt up.
She rummaged through his mother’s trunk and pulled out a pair of boots that were much more sturdy than the pair she had. She slid them on and walked the length of the loft. They were a little wide so she stuffed a couple handkerchiefs in them and walked again. Much better.
She heard someone shuffling around downstairs and called out, “Is it safe to come down?”
There was a quick flurry of action and then Mic called up, “It’s safe.”
She proceeded down the stairs, her eyes going immediately to Mic who was quickly tucking his shirt into his britches. She halted in mid-step and averted her gaze. “I didn’t realize you were getting dressed. You should have told me to wait. ”
He shrugged. “All the important parts were covered.”
Her face warmed and she dared a peek in his direction, relieved all of him was fully covered, minus his feet which were bare. She could handle bare feet. Perhaps living out in this area of the country, people didn’t think much of dressing in front of others, but it simply wasn’t done back East. She approached him and saw he was frying eggs. Unable to hold back the joke, she asked, “Are you going to wait until tonight to make the dove?”
He let out a full laugh that filled the room with warmth. “Only if you eat it this time.”
A smile tugged at her lips. He turned, his stormy blue eyes meeting hers, a hint of light-hearted tenderness in them. His dark brown hair was damp and the stubble from the day before was gone. She hadn’t taken the time to notice him before. Really notice him. He was a good-looking man. Tall, broad shoulders, strong. In fact, he would have made her grab her smelling salts from her finger purse so she wouldn’t swoon.
Forcing her mind back to the conversation, she shook her head. “I’m afraid I’ll never be able to eat a dove, though in comparison I realize I would have been better off eating the jerky.”
“Jerky works in a pinch, but I wouldn’t want to live off it. Now beaver is a surprisingly delicious meal that you might enjoy, although I’ve never been able to stomach the tail. Too much fat.”
Her jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious. No one eats beaver.”
He grinned. “Of course they do. Trappers aren’t about to waste all that time trapping them for just the hide. They have to eat too. ”
She studied him to see if he was teasing her. It was hard to tell by the sparkle in his eye a
nd the way a chuckle rose up in his throat. “Next you’re going to tell me that you like porcupines as long as you make sure all the quills are gone. Or maybe you like skunks? I suppose they’re tasty if you don’t mind the smell?”
He opened the oven door and pulled out a skillet of biscuits. “I wouldn’t spend the time on a skunk. No way to get the stink out, but porcupine is tender eatin’.”
Despite herself, she burst out laughing. “No. I just can’t believe it. Those things aren’t edible. They can’t be edible. They’re too disgusting.”
“You didn’t complain last night.” He grabbed the platter of eggs and biscuits, taking them to the table.
She gasped and grew serious. “You didn’t!”
“No, I didn’t. Noah did.”
She placed her hand over her mouth in horror. He probably was telling her the truth. He did eat a dove right in front of her, after all.
He went over to her and patted the small of her back. “You’d be surprised at what you can eat that tastes good. Don’t worry. I won’t tell you what’s in the food from here on out. No need to spoil your appetite.” He gestured to the table. “You’re safe. Those are exactly what they look like. Do you mind calling the others in while I get us something to drink?”
Lowering her hand as he went to retrieve the tin cups, she said, “I don’t even want to know what you drink so don’t tell me.”
He chuckled as she turned to open the door.
She checked the clearing and didn’t see anyone. Well, if she was going to do this, she better get to it. She took a deep breath and headed out to the yard, the breeze still cooling things off despite the warm sunlight. The ground was damp from the thunderstorms the night before, and she was glad she thought to wear the boots she found in the trunk instead of her own. These were much better suited for this type of environment.
She scanned the area and saw Noah in the barn feeding a lamb which had a limp. A horse neighed close by the barn, and she walked further into the yard until she saw Wade saddling his horse, his back to her. Her heart leapt in hope. She hoped this meant Wade would leave so she wouldn’t have to deal with him today.
The Stagecoach Bride Page 6
