by Tammy Barley
A look of amusement came over his face. “What is it you do, Miss Jessica Hale?”
“I keep account books for my father. Why?”
“You keep books,” he echoed in disbelief. His brown eyes shone with gold flecks. “As a point of fact, I’ve considered crossbreeding myself, but good breeding Thoroughbreds are hard to come by out here. A man would have to go back east for them, and the only time a ranching man might have free would be winter. Then there’s too much snow to cross the Rockies.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s so,” she said.
***
As they entered Carson City, Jake and the others watched for the men who had attacked her, but no one was standing in the shadows, and no one on the streets paid them any notice. More at ease, and feeling more hopeful than when they had left, Jess dismounted beside Jake a few blocks from the Hale house. The white two-story was visible on a distant corner, but Jess was far enough away that, if her mother were to glance out a window, she wouldn’t see her daughter with a group of unknown horsemen. If she did, she would fear that some tragedy had struck, a trauma Jess meant to avoid.
“I didn’t see any of those men,” she said. “Did you?”
Jake looped the stallion’s reins around a hitching rail. “No. They seem to have moved on, but you should walk or ride with your pa or Edmund from now on when you have matters to attend to in Carson. A Southern woman alone on the streets is no longer safe.”
Jess decided that Jake was part mother hen. Before now, her Southern origin had sparked anger, but not violence—and she didn’t expect it to do so again. The men who’d attacked her had been drinking and discussing unpleasant war news. They were angry, but they’d only wanted to frighten her. There was nothing more to it than that, she was certain. Jess knelt down to check Meg’s hooves for stones.
“Ye know horses,” a voice with a brogue boomed above Jess, “near as well as a cat knows its whiskers, by the look of things.”
Jess pulled herself to her feet with a smile. “My family used to raise horses in Kentucky. Thoroughbreds and saddlebreds, mostly.”
Taggart’s merry eyes looked her over. “Ye appear as though the boss’s coat, those gloves, and yer own skirts have swallowed ye!” he said. “Are ye in there somewhere?”
She grinned. “I am, and I’m not coming out!” When Taggart’s gaze shifted, Jess’s trailed after it. Three women bustled past, each of them glaring at Jess as if at something loathsome.
“And that on account of yer accent?” Taggart asked softly.
“I suppose.” Jess watched them go, telling herself their rudeness didn’t matter. And yet her cheeks burned.
Jake approached. “Jess?”
She strove to shrug off the brief encounter. “It’s nothing.” Then to change the subject, she said, “I need to give you information about my brother.”
From the pocket of his vest, Jake pulled out a small notebook and a pencil. Jess gave him her brother’s full name, rank, and unit, along with the name of his commanding officer. Jake glanced up when he heard the name of the renowned colonel, John Hunt Morgan, and Ambrose’s last known location. While he tucked away the notebook and pencil, Jess walked over to the cattlemen. The four removed their hats.
“I appreciate all you’ve done for me,” Jess told them. “Taggart, your gloves.” She returned them, then smiled up at Reese. “My ears thank you for the loan of your scarf.” She pulled off the warm length of wool and gave it back to him.
“It’s been our pleasure,” Taggart said.
The Spaniard’s mustache curved in a grin as he shook her hand. “Señorita.”
Jess grinned herself, never having been addressed as such before today, and shook hands with each of them. When she turned to Doyle, the large man stared down at her for a moment before taking her hand reluctantly.
“Ma’am.”
His manner was icy, like the three women’s had been. Jess smiled and thanked him again, just as she had the others. Jake had already gathered Meg’s reins. She joined him, and together they began the walk home. “Bennett?”
“Hmm?”
“Few would have stepped into a fight the way you and your men did today, and even fewer would have bothered to look after a stranger once the immediate threat was past.” She met his eyes. He was listening to her with a directness that almost startled her. He nodded for her to go on. “That’s what I was to them—a stranger. Why did they watch out for me?”
Jake came to a stop. “Look at the ranchmen, Jess. Go ahead.”
The four had tied their horses and were talking among themselves. They were rugged and strong from hard work, and more than one passing townsperson carefully kept his distance, not knowing the good these intimidating men were capable of.
“Those men respect women, Jess. Other men claim to, but, all too often, their words and their actions don’t match up. Cattlemen live far from settled towns, seeing nothing but dust and cows for months on end.” His voice softened. “When they finally catch sight of a woman, it’s like finding a diamond in the desert. That beautiful thing is so precious to them, and they’re so awestruck by it, all they can do is stare. And rather than use it in some manner for their own gain, they’re likely to keep watch over it, as if the Almighty had entrusted its care to them. They’re likely to protect it, preventing anyone or anything from bringing it harm.” Jake searched her face. “Something rare is treasured, but there are those who have come to treasure the call of gold and silver above human worth.”
Jess slowly nodded, astounded at the depth of the man. Up till now, he’d revealed so little about himself that if she hadn’t gone riding with him, she never would have guessed the kinds of thoughts he entertained. Though he hadn’t used the exact words, Jake had defined what he found honorable, what he saw as his duty to his fellow man. In a way, he reminded her of Ambrose.
They continued walking.
“You’ll talk to this Captain Rawlins, then?”
“The boys and I will leave for Fort Churchill as soon as I’ve seen you home. Telegrams should be going east before dinnertime.”
“But that will alter your plans.”
“I’ll be back in Carson City in a day or two. I’ll see to the contracts then. Besides, other men from my ranch will be meeting me here with supply wagons at the end of the week. I need to be here to stock up on some things before we head back north.”
“I want to thank you again.”
“There’s no need,” he said, and she could tell he meant it.
***
They stopped across the road from the Hales’ house. Jake noticed that a white fence now enclosed the yard. It had been added since his visit the year before, and it helped the formal house look more like a home. “I’ll find you here or at Hale Imports, then?”
“Every day except Sunday.”
Jess shrugged out of his coat. She was slender yet sturdy, her eyes green and her lips dark red, as though God had formed her from the gray-green sage and red earth of the desert. Jake recalled how she’d stepped into her saddle, here in Carson City, then in the mountains, and the way she’d ridden—boldly, with heart, but also with the well-being of her horse in mind. Rare was the honorable man who took such care with his animals. Among women, the quality was rarer still. He admired that.
Jess took the reins. With no assistance, she gained her saddle in a swirl of underskirts and boots, then loped toward the carriage house, equally at ease in the saddle as he.
Jake watched her natural, effortless movements until she disappeared from sight. Taggart came up beside him. He, too, looked in the direction she had gone. Jake shared a single thought with the man before they rejoined the others. “That woman,” he said, “belongs on a horse.”
Chapter Two
As the days passed, Jess alternately hoped for and dreaded news from Jake. By the evening of the yearly ball given by Edmund Van Dorn’s wife, Miriam, Jess had gone three days without sleep. She worked long hours at the import store, hoping that another l
etter from Ambrose would arrive in the mail and that Edmund would slip it to her.
No letter came.
When she climbed the stairs to her bedroom late Saturday afternoon, she knew the strain had begun to show. The servants were discreetly helping her to shelter Mrs. Hale from events or news that might distress her, and, knowing that Jess was carrying a heavy burden, they were doing all they could to keep her spirits up.
At the top of the stairs, Jess saw the door to the nursery standing ajar. Warm air, giggles, and sounds of water splashing greeted her from within. Jess stood just outside the door and watched.
“Ooof!” A young woman’s laughter filled the room. “The bath was meant for you, little one.”
The nursemaid, Elsie Scheuer, knelt among a string of puddles, laughing as she pushed her dripping blonde hair from her face. The carpet had been rolled back to accommodate both the small, round, galvanized tub and the tidal waves of bathwater that plunged over its sides. Inside the tub, a very wet Emma Hale flailed happily in the bathwater, then paused in surprise to blink the unexpected deluge from her eyes.
“See, that’s what happens when you hit the water,” Elsie chided with a laugh. Emma smiled up at her nanny, her sweet blue eyes bright.
Elsie had been hired ten months earlier, when Emma was born. Coming from a large family herself, she had proven invaluable to Mrs. Hale. As soon as they’d met, Jess and Elsie had become close friends. Elsie was a cheerful young woman a few years older than she, with eyes so pale in color that one had to look very closely to see that they were blue. She wore her soft, blonde hair rolled in an easy knot atop her head, but a few loose strands now hung, dripping wet, around her face.
Jess opened the door a few inches and poked her head in. “Should I bring you a raincoat, Elsie?” she said softly, with a smile.
Her German friend looked up and grinned, her face and eyelashes glistening with tiny water droplets. The red calico dress she wore was soaked—clear through to her skin, from the looks of it.
“A bit too late for that, Jessie, but I think I’d like your help,” she laughed. “I’m afraid there are no dry places, though. Only puddles.” She turned adoring eyes to her charge. “Emma,” she exclaimed, “look who has come to see us!”
Emma’s eyes grew round as she looked up from the water and squealed as Jess made her way across the room, smiling warmly at her sister. “I missed you today!” She settled herself down on the floor beside Elsie, who freed the sponge in the tub for Emma to play with. Sitting back, Elsie raised her delicate brow at her friend in visible concern. “Jessie, you have a ball to go to tonight. You should rest. You won’t net a husband with circles under your eyes.”
“A husband?” Jess managed a laugh, though she wanted to growl in frustration. “Is that all you ever think about?” Unexpectedly, an image of Jake Bennett sharing the sunrise with her filled her mind. True, qualities about the rancher attracted her to him, but they hardly knew each other, and Jess had no intention of being distracted by thoughts of him. She had plenty to keep her busy, holding her family together as the war raged on. “You sound like my father,” she teased.
“Ja, but you’re twenty years old now. Surely, you want a husband.”
Instead of responding, Jess smoothly shifted the focus to her friend. “Do you want to marry?”
“Oh, Jessie, I do. I am happy here now with Mr. and Mrs. Hale and Emma and you, but one day, I want my own home to take care of, and a husband to share my life with.” She ducked a spray of water, her eyes shining. “Then you can visit me when I have my own children to bathe, ja?”
“Of course I will.”
“Truly, Jess? Even if I move away?”
Jess attempted an imitation of Elsie’s accent. “Ja,” she said, “even then. Dat’s vat goot friends do.”
With a soft laugh, Elsie unfolded a fluffy towel and held it open to Emma. “Are you finished bathing us all, liebling?” she asked gently.
Jess lifted her baby sister and held her over the tub for a moment to let the water run off her body. Then she handed her to Elsie, who enfolded her in the towel and pulled her into her lap. Glowing, Elsie patted Emma dry, then dusted the towel over her delicate golden hair until it stood crazily on end “like Mr. Hale’s.” Jess and Elsie shared a smile. “I want twelve children just like her,” Elsie confessed.
“How can I visit, then?” Jess teased. “There won’t be any place for me to sleep.”
“You’ll visit,” Elsie predicted, “and I will always have room for you, Jessie.” The nanny gathered up the child in her arms. “Go and rest now. You need your strength. You can spend the day with your Emma tomorrow.”
Gratefully, Jess kissed her sister’s forehead. With Elsie’s help, Emma waved good night, and Jess went to her own room.
Her mother’s maid, Maureen, was in a rush to press Mrs. Hale’s ball gown, so she had Jess out of her day dress in minutes.
“It’s all right, Maureen. I’ll finish on my own,” Jess assured her, leaving the maid to hurry out and close the door.
Alone at last. Jess pushed her petticoats and hoop cage to the floor and crawled into bed.
It seemed her head had scarcely touched the pillow when Maureen came back and gently shook her awake. “Jess? Your mother wants you to dress now.”
“Thank you.” Jess forced her eyes open. The dim light of sunset shone through the window, but Maureen pulled the drapes and lit a lamp. Resolved to make the best of the evening, Jess sat up and rubbed her eyes.
“You look better,” the maid commented. “Elsie said you were tired.”
“I was. How long did I sleep?”
“Forty-five minutes. Are you ready to dress?”
She told her she was. What was more, Jess found that, though her fatigue remained, she was at least ready to face a night of dancing and visiting with friends. For the duration of the evening, her Southern accent wouldn’t matter. Just for one night, there would be no war.
***
When Jess stepped out into the upper hall, her ball gown swished around her like a silken cloud—the only benefit of being bundled in the heavy thing. She had chosen a dress of midnight blue, a hue that set off the brightness of her face and eyes. Wearing her widest hoops, she felt like she was pulling an ocean of fabric from her waist, but she wore it anyway to please her mother and to appease Miriam Van Dorn’s sense of decorum. Getting out of it later, she mused, would be like trying to find the center of an onion.
Jess stopped at her mother’s door and knocked. After a brief moment, her mother opened it.
Georgeanne McKinney Hale’s green eyes and chestnut hair may have once resembled her own, but the luster of both had faded. She still possessed a motherly gentleness, but she also bore the uncertainty of a troubled soul who little dared to hope that better times would come. With the loss of Broderick, followed by two miscarriages, she had good reason to be sad, but Jess rued how the past three years of worry over Ambrose had made her frail. The vibrant, copper-hued gown she wore, which once had won her lavish praise, now emphasized how pale and thin she had become.
Refusing to allow her own concern for Ambrose to show, Jess walked in with the air of a young woman about to enjoy a ball, and, for her mother’s benefit, she held a brilliant smile.
“You look beautiful, Jessie.”
“So do you,” she said in earnest. Fragile, but beautiful still. “Maureen said you wanted to see me.”
“Yes, I do.” She beckoned Jess further into the room, then appraised her daughter with tearful eyes. She looked upward from Jess’s smoothly pressed overskirt to the long, fitted sleeves and scooped bodice, ending at the mass of curls secured over her shoulder with an inlaid rose-and-vine-patterned comb. Her mother gazed at the emerald pendant Jess wore, the one Ambrose had given her, now suspended from a gold chain instead of the satin ribbon that Ambrose carried. Her eyes rested on her own emerald teardrops surrounded by blazing diamonds, which danced below Jess’s earlobes. Finally, her mother sighed through her te
ars.
“Was there something you wanted, Mother?” Jess asked gently.
“No, I just wanted to see you before we go. Once we arrive, I won’t get another chance to see you until we leave. You and your friends are always anxious to go off somewhere and visit.” She laughed a little as she said it, but Jess glimpsed an uneasiness in her that pulled at her heart.
“Am I as awful as that?” she asked. Jess took her mother’s hand. “I promise I’ll make sure to find you often and let you know how I’m faring.”
Her mother nodded. “Yes, I would like that.”
“Are you ready to go?”
“Yes, dear, but we still have nearly an hour before we need to leave. Why don’t you ask Ho Chen to fix you something to eat? You know how late Miriam serves dinner.”
Jess wasn’t hungry, but she said, “I will. Shall I bring you something?”
“No, thank you, dear. I’ll go visit Emma for a while. Elsie should be getting her ready for bed.”
After a brief embrace, Jess returned to her room, desperately needing a few minutes to herself.
What was taking Captain Rawlins so long? She pressed her fists to her brow, exhausted and frustrated. She’d already waited four days. More than that—she had waited four months! Four months of not knowing what had happened to Ambrose, four months of empty assurances for her mother!
Why are things getting worse? Jess asked the Lord. You said You wouldn’t give us more difficulties than we can bear, but I’m at my wit’s end! Please, I need to know that Ambrose is well. I need to hear from him. And I need to know that You are with me, Lord. I can’t get through this by myself. Sometimes…sometimes You just seem so far away.
She’d been raised to pray that the Lord’s will be done, but she couldn’t anymore. She was too afraid of what His will might be.
Maureen came to retrieve Jess’s cloak and then carried it downstairs for her. Jess composed herself and followed behind. In the front hall, she passed several minutes chatting pleasantly with the butler, Malcolm, while waiting for her parents. Finally, she heard sharp footsteps clatter on the stairs above. Her father, Isaac, hurried down in handsome black trousers and sweeping tails, consulting his golden pocket watch on its intricate, gleaming chain.
