A Place Called Harmony, page 13
“No, that land’s not for me,” Truman said. “I don’t plan on farming more than a garden, and what cows I have will be milk cows. The water’s good on the forty acres I picked and the ride into town won’t take long. I’ll plant my feet on the ground I picked. Who knows, I might plant a few more trees.”
Since Truman was ten years older than him and always wore a gun, Patrick decided not to argue with the man. The money would be in crops and cattle, not a garden and a few milk cows. The only good thing he could say about the land Truman had chosen was that it was only a short ride from what would be town.
When they finished at seven, Patrick guessed he hadn’t said ten sentences to Truman. The man in black didn’t seem to need anyone. He never talked of his family, or his home, or what he’d been doing for thirty years. If Truman had been a book, all the pages would have been blank.
Patrick, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to get home to his wife. Annie, he swore, grew prettier every day, and their favorite thing to do after they retired for the night was to cuddle up and talk about their day. She’d tell him all about what happened at the store and in the kitchen, and he’d tell her all about what he’d built. She’d laugh about things the Matheson boys did and they’d whisper about the somedays in their lives when they’d have children. All the time they talked, he’d be touching her rounded little body and thinking he was the luckiest man alive.
The days passed quickly. The smokehouse was completed. Truman left to hunt and the McAllen brothers started on the forge.
Two days after they started work, Patrick stopped to take a break and grab a dipper of water. When he raised his head, he saw Truman riding in. The pack mule behind him was loaded down with meat, and a spotted mare followed on a lead rope.
When Jessie saw the little mare the captain had given her, she broke into a dead run from the house. Patrick had never seen anyone get so excited about a horse. The girl laughed and cried and hugged everyone, including Truman.
Patrick slapped Truman on the back. “That was a nice thing you did, finding the kid’s pony.”
“Lucky I didn’t shoot it and bring it in for food,” Truman said without smiling. “Only, paints are never fit to eat.”
Patrick glared at him.
Shelly laughed, and Patrick realized Truman was teasing. If he could have remembered a few of those swear words, he’d have been tempted to use them. “That wasn’t funny, Truman. I ought to give you a piece of my mind.”
“Keep it,” Truman almost smiled. “You might need it.”
When Shelly laughed louder, Patrick gave up and smiled. To his surprise Truman smiled back.
The day was warm and everyone joined in to help get the meat ready for the smokehouse, except Daisy, who stayed inside with her husband and the little boys. There were two wild hogs, a deer, and several wild turkeys. Everyone agreed that one of the turkeys should be cooked for supper.
By the time they’d all cleaned up, the sun was setting and what looked like a feast graced the table. Everyone laughed and talked. Captain Matheson joined them, but he grew tired and excused himself before the meal was over.
Ely offered up a bottle of whiskey, but no one drank. While Annie and Karrisa cleared the dishes, Shelly got out his harmonica and began to play.
Everyone listened for a while, and then Patrick asked Annie to dance. Ely politely offered his hand to little Jessie, and she giggled as the old man danced around her. Daisy picked up one of her boys and circled around the little kitchen.
Patrick watched as Truman finally offered his hand to his wife. She shook her head, but when he kept just standing there, she finally stood. Most of the time the Trumans didn’t even look like they liked each other. Tonight dancing wasn’t much different. He barely touched her and she was so stiff and thin she looked more like the Maypole than one of the dancers.
They both appeared relieved when the music ended. Mrs. Truman picked up her baby and Truman simply sat down beside her.
Shelly played on, beautiful music proving that he could hear. Sometimes when Patrick listened to his brother play, he thought Shelly must be a very old soul to make music that haunted through your mind for hours after he stopped playing. Since they’d been little, he’d played when he was alone, but never in front of the family. Patrick was the only one who knew of his talent.
Ely moved over across from Truman, and Patrick caught some of the conversation about Truman’s upcoming trip to Dallas. It would be dangerous this time of year and Ely wanted him to make the trip as fast as possible.
While they talked, Jessie laughed and danced with the little boys.
Patrick watched them all, thinking about how in the few days they’d been together they’d formed a community. He’d never seen a group of people who all treated each other as equals. Each had their strengths. All helped the whole.
He leaned over to Annie and whispered, “You think this is what heaven must be like?”
She giggled. “A small trading post with a mismatched group of people who have no idea what they are doing? Yes. I think this must be heaven.”
As Daisy took each boy to bed and Ely started snoring at the table, the others decided it was time to call it a night.
As he often did, Patrick took Annie’s hand and they walked outside while the house settled down. In the moonlight they could be together without anyone noticing how he couldn’t keep his hands off her or that she giggled every time he kissed her neck.
“Will you always love me, Annie?” he whispered as they stepped into the blackness behind the barn.
“Forever and ever and ever,” she said. “And will you always love me when I grow old and fat and lose all my teeth?”
“Of course, because I’ll be blind by then and won’t notice.”
They kissed as they always did before the night turned to passion. He liked to pretend that this was their first kiss, soft and innocent before they moved on.
As they walked back to the porch, he whispered, “Annie, if anything ever happens to me, will you go to Shelly? I don’t want him or you to be alone.”
Annie didn’t answer, and Patrick didn’t know if he shouldn’t have asked such a thing or if she simply didn’t want to answer. No woman had ever looked at Shelly. Maybe no woman, including Annie, ever would.
Neither of them mentioned his request again as they cuddled in bed and talked, but Patrick couldn’t help but feel that his question lingered in both their thoughts.
After Annie went to sleep, he realized for the first time that he’d found something he couldn’t talk about with his wife.
And he didn’t know why.
Chapter 17
“You’ve plenty of meat to last until I get back,” Truman said as he watched Karrisa change into her nightgown. She’d avoided him all evening after they’d danced the one dance. Even now he wasn’t sure she was listening to him. She was a woman who made no show of changing her clothes, but ever since he’d mentioned that wives did such things in the presence of their husbands, she’d stayed in their one room instead of going down the hallway to change.
All he could figure out that might have upset her was the fact he was leaving at dawn to meet the train and bring the supplies Patrick had ordered for the building of their three homes and the start of the town. She knew it was part of his job, so she probably wouldn’t say anything even if she didn’t like the idea of being alone.
If all worked exactly as planned, he’d be back in two weeks. But what if rain slowed his ride to the station? Or the supplies weren’t waiting when he got there? Or he had trouble finding good men? Or they ran into outlaws on the way back?
Clint clenched his jaw. He could think of a dozen other things that might slow him down. Not just the rain or outlaws, or time schedules, but a broken wheel might cost them a day, or swollen streams might make them have to go miles around where they’d planned to cross.
Hell, he swore to himself. Even thinking about all that could happen didn’t bother him as much as leaving her. There, for one moment, when she’d been in his arms at the dance she’d almost felt right. Like she belonged there. Like he wanted her so close.
Even thinking of her as his for one moment wasn’t right. All he needed to worry about was her safety, nothing more. That was all he’d agreed to do and all she agreed to accept.
“You’ll be safe enough here with the McAllens and the Mathesons. Nothing will happen to you or the baby. The captain’s well enough to walk around now. If anything even hints of being wrong, Ely will put him on the porch with a rifle. No one’s likely to get past him. If he fires one shot, Patrick and Shelly will come running.”
She didn’t look at him. Clint had no idea what to say or what she wanted to hear from him. Part of his job was guarding shipments, and it was what he did best. “When I get back we can all start on the homes. With four of us working, it won’t be long until you have your own house. I’ve been talking to Shelly about adding on a sewing area from the start.” He glanced around at her box of knitting and the desk covered with a dress she was cutting out for the girl Jessie. “I’m thinking you’ll be needing it sooner rather than later.”
He wished she’d complain a little so he would know what she was so worried about. Or maybe she wasn’t worried. Maybe she just didn’t want to talk to him tonight. Maybe she had nothing to say.
He liked watching her undress even if she didn’t talk to him. There was a grace about her thin body. She’d gained a few pounds over the three weeks he’d known her. Her cheeks were not so hollow and her ribs no longer stuck out.
Her hair looked better too. It always hung over her face when he left for work, but when he got home one of the other women had usually braided the sides and pulled it back. The dull charcoal-dust black was gone and, thanks to good food, her midnight hair was beginning to shine.
When she didn’t say anything as she climbed into bed, he made himself turn and walk out of the room. He would have stayed if she’d said one word, but sometimes the loneliness of being with her was too much. He would have made up some excuse about where he was going, but he didn’t think she cared.
When Clint reached the bottom of the stairs, he could hear Patrick and Gillian still talking in the kitchen. The captain had managed to make it to the table for supper. Another week and he’d be able to do light work, maybe help out in the store so Ely could go work on his dream in the afternoon. Ely might be twenty years older than any of them, but he seemed strong as a bull despite his limp. He’d built this business after the war, and not even being shot during a robbery had slowed him down. For Ely every building that went up was like Christmas morning. He laughed with joy when they finished the smokehouse out back and was so excited about the forge that he ran out to check the progress every hour.
Clint bypassed the kitchen and walked out the front door.
“Evening, Shelly,” Clint said as he passed Patrick’s brother sitting in one of the rocking chairs on the wide front porch.
Shelly nodded once and went back to his whittling.
Clint leaned against the new railing that made the trading post look more like a mercantile in town. “I’m heading out at dawn tomorrow.”
Shelly nodded again.
“Thought I’d ask you to keep an eye on things. If you hear or see anything that doesn’t seem right, let the captain know right away. He may be weak, but he can handle a gun. I was thinking of asking him to wear one while I’m gone. You and your brother will be busy building the forge.”
Like Karrisa, Shelly didn’t seem interested in what Clint had to say, so Clint said good night and walked back inside. When he made it up to their little room, the baby and his wife were asleep. Clint stood, his hands on either side of the window, and stared out into the dark night. Clouds hid the moon and stars, and not even shadows moved in the wind tonight. The entire world seemed asleep but him.
The loneliness Clint wore like his great black coat over his shoulders seemed heavy tonight. Sometimes he feared he’d be the last man left alive on earth. It would somehow be his punishment to forever live and walk alone. His memory of his Mary was fading, moving into the shadows of his mind, leaving him somehow more alone every night.
Sheriff Lightstone would probably be surprised that he hadn’t had a drink since they’d talked in Maggie’s café less than a month ago.
Clint didn’t hear Karrisa until she was standing beside him. When he turned he could barely make out her slender outline.
The room, the world, was so still tonight, he decided not to make a sound. The slow, steady breathing of his wife whispered like an echo in the air.
She moved between him and the window, her white gown brushing against his black shirt.
He tried not to breathe. She’d never been so close.
Slowly she raised her arms and circled his neck, and then she leaned in, pressing her body against his. Her cheek rested against his shoulder. He felt the tears he couldn’t see.
She was crying.
Carefully, as if she were glass, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him, needing the feel of her as much as she must need him.
They stood, her nestled against him for a long time. He felt her breathing slow as she relaxed. Part of him wanted to see her face, to be able to see what she was feeling. Part of him was glad he couldn’t. If he’d seen fear again, this time it would have shaken him.
Her silent tears stopped, but she didn’t pull away. She hadn’t said a word, but he no longer felt the loneliness. This one contact was enough, maybe all that either of them could handle.
When noise came from the hallway as Patrick climbed the stairs and retired, the spell was broken. Before she could pull away from him, Clint moved his arm below her hips and picked her up. As before, he was shocked at how little she must weigh.
He carried her to the bed and gently laid her down. After he covered her, he kissed her on the forehead, then walked to his bed on the floor. For a long time he knew she was awake, just as he was, thinking about what had happened. He didn’t know why and he guessed she probably didn’t either, but something had shifted in their relationship.
Trust was born tonight, he decided just before he fell asleep.
When he awoke at dawn, she was gone.
For a moment, he panicked. Then he realized there was nowhere for her to go except the washroom or the kitchen downstairs. Her clothes were still in the room. Her knitting. The basket for the baby.
Still, he hurried, wanting to know she was all right.
When he walked into the kitchen and saw her helping feed the two toddlers, he felt his heart slow a few beats. People in his life tended to disappear, and he didn’t want to turn around and lose another one.
Daisy saw him before Karrisa did. “Morning, Truman. You have time to eat before you leave. I made cinnamon pancakes this morning.”
He’d planned to leave at first light, but he sat down next to his wife and said, “If you got it ready.”
Daisy passed him a plate. “I was just packing your supplies. You’ll have bread, cheese, and the last of the apples for the first few days. After that you’ll have to survive on jerky and hardtack till you get to the railroad, unless you want to take time to stop and build a fire every night. If you plan to do that, I’ll put in beans and coffee.”
“I’ll be riding as fast as I can. Ely says I may have to go in search of the supplies once I get to town.” When he reached for his coffee cup, he brushed Karrisa’s arm.
She didn’t move away, so he relaxed back in his chair with his shoulder pressed lightly against hers. He almost felt like they were together, maybe not like the other couples, but still together. The memory of the way he’d held her for a few minutes last night drifted through his mind.
The pancakes could have been sawdust. He wouldn’t have noticed. The feeling of being near another human was so foreign to him he decided not to even try to carry on conversation.
Thanks to Patrick and the captain joining them, no one noticed Clint’s silence. Patrick was busy asking questions about Gillian’s days on the frontier, and the captain was enough of a storyteller to enjoy making the life sound interesting.
The conversation shifted to the work that Patrick and his brother planned to do while waiting for Clint to get back. “We’ll level off the land for the house and decide where you want your front door, and then we’ll use the wagons to haul rocks from the streams for the fireplace. You got any preference as to where you want the fireplace, or the house for that matter? Forty acres doesn’t narrow it down much.”
“Wherever my wife says will be fine with me,” Truman said between bites.
She didn’t say anything or have time to think before Patrick added, “I wish I could be that way, but Annie and me have been arguing about which direction the front door will face. I want to sit out front and watch the sun rise, and she wants to sit in the same place and watch it set. That’s going to be mighty hard to build.”
Annie turned from the stove. “I’ll get my way on this, Patrick, or we’ll be building two bedrooms.”
Patrick’s grin was so wide it almost reached both ears. “That settles it. We’ll watch the sunset from our front porch.”
Everyone laughed.
The captain slapped the back of Patrick’s head. “Way to stand up to the little woman, McAllen.”
Patrick kept grinning. “It’s the lying down with myself that didn’t look so appealing, Captain.”
“Good point.” Captain Matheson winked at his wife while everyone else acted like they didn’t notice.
Clint finished his meal and said good-bye to all but Karrisa. When he turned to grab his hat, he looked at her. “See me off?” he said in what he hoped didn’t sound like an order.
She nodded once without looking up as she lifted the bag of food Daisy had packed for him. After checking on her sleeping baby, she stood, ready to go.
He waited for her to walk out first, but when she didn’t, he went through the door and hoped she would follow. Every time, she waited for him to make the first move, almost as if she feared making a mistake.
