A Place Called Harmony, page 22
“And you, Truman, are you going back to bed? Maybe try again to . . . sleep. At your age body parts are bound to have trouble working now and then.”
Clint swore he could see the kid smiling even in the dark. “I take that back. There might be a chance, if you keep talking, that you could die tonight.”
Patrick laughed, not the least frightened. “Don’t worry, I’ve heard when you get older it’s hard to keep up the pace. Once you’re over thirty, it’s all downhill.”
When Clint reached for Patrick, he was gone, vanished back into the night, leaving only his laugh behind.
Clint headed for the trading post not knowing who was the bigger fool, McAllen for worrying about dying all the time or him for standing in the rain thinking of wringing his neck.
Chapter 29
As rain tapped against their one window, Karrisa watched her husband come back into their tiny room upstairs. Soundlessly he removed his wet clothes. She’d studied him since the night they’d met and knew far more about Clint Truman than he probably knew about himself.
His body was strong, powerful, and well built, but that wasn’t what she admired most about him. He’d never raised his voice to her or said one unkind word. He might storm at Patrick or cuss when he thought none of the women were listening, but there was a gentleness about him few saw.
He never looked in a mirror except the tiny one when he shaved. She guessed that if he had, all he would see was the scar running along the side of one jaw. A scar everyone else barely noticed.
He always asked about the baby and took Danny often to hold. This hard man loved children. When he’d touched her below her waist, she’d wondered if he was thinking that his child might grow there one day.
She liked the way he touched her, always hesitant as if he needed assurance that his caress was welcome, never demanding. He might not know much about women, but he knew how to make her feel cherished.
The watery moonlight danced across his wide shoulders. Her husband wasn’t handsome like the captain, or fun-loving like Patrick, but he was exactly what she needed. The sight of his body made her long to touch him. Those strong shoulders seemed to hold the weight of the world on them. She needed not just to be protected from a world she’d found frightening, but she needed him to care for her. Somehow when her mother died and her father sent her away to live with cousins she didn’t know, Karrisa had fallen into a pit. No one cared about her and she had few skills to survive.
A year ago when she’d screamed in pain, no one had helped her. Later when she’d cried and told how she’d been beaten and raped, they’d laughed and told her to toughen up; things like that happen when a girl has to work.
Now she knew if she ever screamed, Clint would give his life to protect her, and when she cried, he held her close. He was the one person who cared about her, but one was enough.
He cared. He might never say the words, but he cared. He had been gentle and kind from that first night. Once she lost her fear of him, she knew she had to open her heart to him. With each touch she knew he alone could wash away all the pain she’d been through.
He might never say he loved her. It didn’t matter. He was showing her he cared and that was enough.
Chapter 30
Captain Gillian Matheson
The morning after Granny Gigi’s funeral dawned sunny, and everyone seemed to want to be outside in the light. Gillian organized the men, trying to remember that they had not enlisted and he was no longer a captain, but his suggestions came out in typical military manner. He guessed they were all used to him by now or maybe respected him enough to follow orders. Or there was always the chance they thought him mad and simply didn’t want to argue with the insane.
The Roma boys pitched in, heading out to Truman’s place with the first load of lumber, but Harry Woolsey complained of a headache from too much whiskey the night before and stayed behind on the porch of the trading post. He promised to check on the prisoner, but driving a supply wagon seemed to be his only occupation and at forty he didn’t want to start another.
With the McAllen brothers directing Truman, the Roma boys, and him, the frame of the first house was up by noon. When the women came out with all the boys loaded in the back of the wagon, lunch became a picnic.
Gillian, as he sat on a blanket with his wife, watched Truman through the wooden frame. The big man was showing his quiet wife around their house. A kitchen big enough for a table by the window, a bedroom facing east, a small parlor, and a room just for her sewing ran the length of the house. She kept dancing around Truman as if she thought the place was grand and he’d been the only one hammering all morning.
Since Truman kept nodding and writing something on a piece of paper, Matheson guessed she was ordering furniture. They were the only couple who’d arrived with nothing but clothes.
When the Trumans finally joined the group, Matheson relaxed. Maybe Patrick would stop talking about death now that the women were present. The young man might be a gifted carpenter, but he’d been preoccupied far too long about this fear of dying. The others were worried. Gillian had seen it before in young recruits in the army. Usually, after a few battles they stopped worrying about dying and just started being happy to be alive.
Truman walked up behind the group as Patrick said, “I can’t help it if I worry about things. Bad things happen and I figure it’s about my turn to roll the dice and take my chances.”
“About what?” Truman asked, as if he didn’t already know the answer. Everyone knew the answer. Even the Roma boys who knew little English probably knew.
Patrick took the bait. “About my death. I can feel it coming and there’s not a thing I can do about it.”
Truman moved directly behind Patrick. “I say we test the theory right now.”
Patrick straightened suddenly and lifted his hands. Worry blended with fear in his eyes as he looked at the others.
Everyone froze. Truman must have pulled his Colt on Patrick. Gillian opened his mouth to order the big man to stand down, but Truman spoke first.
“What’s the matter, McAllen, you still worried?” Truman said in deadly calm as if he’d already killed this morning and one more wouldn’t matter. “Death is knocking on your door right now, kid.”
“I’m worried because you’re sticking a gun in my back,” Patrick whispered. “It’s probably got a hair trigger and will fire if you breathe too deep.”
“What makes you think I’ve got a gun pointed at you?”
Patrick’s face paled, but his voice remained strong. “I know what the barrel of a Colt feels like.”
“Good,” Truman said. “If you believe life is predestined and you’re going to die soon, then if I pull the trigger, your vision comes true, but if I pull the trigger and you don’t die by some miracle, then you’ll admit all this is in your mind.”
“The feel of your Colt is not in my mind,” Patrick whispered.
“Right. Now we’re dealing with a fact, not a worry.” Truman shifted slightly and everyone in the group saw the handle of a hammer he had shoved between Patrick’s shoulder blades, but no one moved.
“So, settle your mind. Do you live or die?”
No one breathed as Patrick straightened, as if awaiting his fate.
Annie could not keep silent. “Patrick, he holds a hammer, not a gun.”
Patrick looked back and relaxed, then grew angry. “That was a dirty trick to play, Truman. I could have had a heart attack or something.”
Truman shook his head. “Even if it had been a gun, kid, you could have avoided death. Nothing’s for certain. If you use your head and keep calm, you can walk away sometimes no matter what danger you face. Right, Captain Matheson?”
Gillian nodded. While the women finished lunch, he watched as the once-soldier showed McAllen how to swing his hand and twist if a real barrel ever rested at his back. Chances were good, if he moved fast out of the line of fire and hit the gun as he twisted, that the shot would go wild. From the way Truman demonstrated, Gillian would bet that he’d used the trick a few times. Truman probably had his own war stories to tell, but Gillian didn’t know if they’d ever become good enough friends for Truman to open up.
“That’s a skill they teach every soldier, Patrick.” He stood and joined the others. “May you never have to use it.”
As fast as he’d turned angry, McAllen went back to his usual happy self. “Thanks, Truman, for the lesson and the fright. You scared the worry right out of me.” He shook Truman’s hand. “You know, if I could just teach you to hammer a straight nail as quickly, we’d have this house done by dark.”
Truman took a halfhearted swing at Patrick, and then they both laughed. As they helped the wives and kids into the wagon, everyone paused when Truman leaned down and kissed Karrisa on her cheek. She blushed and turned away, but Gillian caught her smile as Truman lifted her into the wagon.
Gillian watched, glad that the man had finally noticed he had a wife. The captain was learning his men. No, correction—he was learning his friends. Truman had been a fighter once; maybe he still was. McAllen was a thinker, a logical mind who’d age them all double time if he didn’t stop worrying. Shelly McAllen had a real gift for building. They all respected each other, and together they’d build old Ely’s town.
The wind was calm and spring warmed the air just enough to make the work seem easy. Late in the afternoon, Truman motioned Gillian over to the supply wagon.
When they were alone, he pointed with his head toward the south.
Gillian didn’t pretend not to know what he was worried about. “I know, I noticed the smoke a half hour ago. Too close to be travelers. They would have come on into the post for the night.”
“I agree. Someone is watching us.” Truman kept his voice low. “Maybe Apache? Maybe Dollar Holt wasn’t hurt as bad as I thought and he’s waiting for his chance to get even with me? Hell, for all I know it’s McAllen’s father come to kill his fallen son.”
“So what do we know?” Gillian had already been piecing the puzzle together, but he wanted to hear what Truman had to say.
“They are not strong enough to attack us out here, so I’m thinking it’s four men or less.”
“I agree it’s a small party, but they might not have any interest in attacking. They might just want to watch us.” Gillian thought he was probably being too optimistic.
Truman kept going. “If they wanted money or valuables, they’d go after the trading post, and now, with most of the men here, might be a good time. Of course our women wouldn’t stand by and let them take what they want. They’d get off at least a few shots. We’d know.”
“Right, but Harry’s probably still on the front porch and Ely meets guests with a rifle at his side. Daisy mentioned that a few army scouts riding north stopped by this morning and Ely invited them to lunch.” Gillian dug his fingers through his hair. “Maybe I’m worrying about nothing. Just to be on the safe side, how about you and the Roma boys hang around for another day or two before you leave to take the prisoner and the wagons back.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” Truman grinned. “Course, if the strangers stay much longer Ely will change the sign and add him to the population.”
Gillian laughed. Ely was so excited about having folks around he’d even count an outlaw.
A few hours later, when they loaded up and moved back to the trading post, everyone was tired but happy. Real progress was being made.
Gillian wasn’t surprised the women had spent the day quilting, but he was surprised that Momma Roma had made supper. A feast was set for them, putting everyone in a party mood. When Patrick told Harry and Ely his story of Truman almost shooting him with a hammer, everyone joined in the laughter.
After the meal, Gillian helped Daisy get the boys to bed. He thought it would be easy, but Abe tried to reason that it wasn’t time. Ben kept sneaking back into the kitchen, and the twins didn’t understand a word he said.
The good news was that with so many hands in the kitchen, the dishes were done in minutes and everyone had wandered off to their beds by the time Gillian finished bullying the twins to bed. Jessie, as she always did, ran out the back door to go check on her horse. He decided if she loved that mare any more they’d have to move her cot from the kitchen to the stall next to the horse.
He poured the last of the coffee into two cups and sat down at the table as Daisy came out of the bedroom already in her gown.
“You want a cup?” he asked, guessing she did. “You look so pretty in the white gown, just like you did on our wedding day.”
“I’m older now.”
“And smarter. If you’d been much more out of your teens, Daisy, you probably would have been too smart to marry a soldier, even if he was crazy in love.”
She shook her head. “I’d fall for you all over again today, Gillian.”
He leaned over to kiss her cheek, but she pulled away and picked up her coffee.
He knew they had things to discuss and time alone was rare. Maybe he’d start with something easy and move into what was really bothering her. “We need to talk about our house. Patrick says he’s going to stay behind tomorrow at Truman’s place and do some of the inside work while we all move over to our land. I wouldn’t be surprised if we don’t have the first floor framed up by suppertime tomorrow.”
Daisy downed a long drink and asked, “Did you tell them I want a big kitchen and a pantry?”
“I did. We’ll have two stories, so it’ll take longer than Truman’s frame. Patrick thinks he’ll have the outside up in a week, but the real work is inside. We may have to live with it roughed out for a while. He wants to get all three frames up before planting time.”
“Makes sense.” Daisy smiled. “I won’t know what to do just cooking for you and the boys. Ely says he’ll trade me all the apples and flour I want for a few pies a week.”
“Do you want to do that? We’ll move in as soon as the pump and stove are working. I told him to just floor the second story and we’ll put in rooms later. I guess we should think about how many bedrooms upstairs.”
“Four,” she answered simply. “One for Jessie, one each for Abe and Ben, and then the twins can share.”
“But what if we have more children, Daisy? Where do you plan on putting them? You seem to get with child every time you stand downwind from me.”
She still didn’t look at him when she added, “We’ll only have four, Gillian.”
For a moment he wanted to argue. Was this the way she planned to tell him that there would be no more children between them because they would no longer sleep as husband and wife? He could understand if she didn’t want to get in a family way again. The birth of the twins must have been hard on her. He wasn’t there. They’d been sick. She’d said she’d almost died. Only this wasn’t fair. They’d had so few nights together when he thought they would have a lifetime.
Gillian stared into his coffee. He’d fought as a soldier for years, but he didn’t know how to fight this. “Are you saying that you no longer want to sleep with me as man and wife?”
He held his breath. She’d been his only lover and he’d been hers. It couldn’t be fair that they’d had so few nights to hold each other.
“No,” she finally whispered as tears rolled down her cheeks. “I’m saying that I can’t have any more children. I couldn’t write and tell you. I’m so sorry.”
His chair toppled backward as he stood and rushed toward her. “Oh, Daisy. My dear sweet Daisy.” He pulled her up, holding her to him as if he could take away all the pain of what she’d said.
Understanding and heartache avalanched over him.
Chapter 31
Clint noticed Patrick’s restlessness at dinner. The kid talked even more than usual and mentioned twice that he’d left something back at one of the houses and planned to ride out after supper to pick it up.
When Annie offered to tag along, Patrick shook his head and argued that he’d just as soon go alone and allow her time to rest. His little bride had been feeling poorly since the funeral.
“I’m sure you’d like a little private time,” he said as he kissed her boldly on the lips.
Everyone at the table laughed, knowing that with so many people around, there was no private time.
An hour later, when Truman walked upstairs with Karrisa, he whispered, “I think I’ll go with the kid tonight. Something doesn’t feel right.”
She looked up at him, her blue eyes showing nothing of what she might feel. “Patrick doesn’t like you to call him kid.”
“I know, so I don’t to his face, but hell if I can’t stop thinking about how young he is. To tell the truth I don’t even remember ever being so young even when I was the same age.”
“Be careful, old man.” She giggled suddenly. “You’re starting to make no sense.”
He smiled down at her, liking the sound of her happy. “I will, dear. You and little Danny go on to bed. I won’t be late.” He couldn’t help but be pleased that she cared enough to be worried about him.
Once she was settled in their room, Clint checked both his weapons and silently slipped down the stairs. The trading post was dark, but he could hear Harry and Ely playing cards in the corner office. The freight driver and the owner of the trading post were an unlikely pair, but they had age and loneliness in common. Sometimes in this part of the country that was enough to keep a winter’s worth of conversation going.
Clint moved out the front door and headed to the barn, thinking he and Patrick were also a mismatched pair to be friends. Even forgetting the ten-year difference in their ages, Clint could not think of one thing they had in common. By the time he’d been Patrick’s age he’d fought three years and had grown too hardened to even think of home.
None of that mattered. All Clint knew tonight was that Patrick was worried about something. If there happened to be one chance in a hundred that the kid had a reason for concern, Clint planned to be close enough to keep him out of danger.
