Daughter of the Sword (14 page)

Deborah gave an exasperated sigh. The chaff itched maddeningly between her breasts and wherever it had lodged on her sweaty skin. Judith and Thos must be just as miserable. How she wished the buffalo wallow were full of clear, cool water and they could go there and swim, float lazily, and watch the roses, buttercups, and Johnny Jumpups along the banks!

Might as well wish for ice cream or a lake right here in the field. Thos stopped to get a drink from the water jug they'd brought along. Deborah wiped her face and held the neck of her dress open to the faint breeze.

“You don't have to help us all the time, Judith,” she told the older young woman. “You're company, you know.”

“Work to be done,” said Judith. “I eat and I can work.”

“But Judith,” Deborah floundered, “it—well, it doesn't seem right that you should run away from Jed and then work just as hard for us.”

Judith's chin lifted stubbornly on her slender throat. “I know you people in danger for me. No way I can pay that. But I can leastways earn my food.”

Thos finished drinking and was picking up the cradle when suddenly he shaded his eyes and pointed. A rider with a led horse. “'Borah! Is that Dane's gray?”

Peering at the figures silhouetted against the broad, bright sky, Deborah's heart pounded, mingling with the hoofbeats now dimly reaching them. “I think it is,” she said. “But why does he have the other horse?”

“We'll soon know. Judith, till we're sure it's someone we can trust, you'd better scoot into the lean-to.”

She was already gone, soundless. The fewer people who knew where she was, the safer. Johnny knew, and so did Sara and Maccabee, for the smithy was an alternate station, and Judith might possibly need help from them. The Hunters didn't know. The day Rolf had stopped by with the carriage, the young women had been doing the washing and Judith had hidden in the well-house.

Standing in the field, the twins watched the horseman. Even before Deborah could see his face, she knew by the set of his head and shoulders that it was Dane—coming when he didn't have to; when there was no invalid brother to visit; when he knew the senior Whitlaws were at the shop. Deborah's hands, tightly clenched, were perspiring. Her stomach curled into a tight little knot.

What should she say to him? How should she act? How could she bring back that moment when their gazes had met, recognized, united, on the night the Missourians came?

Don't be a fool. He hasn't come near you in a week. You may have imagined how he looked at you that night of the raid. You were frightened enough to mistake anything.

Anything. Except the way
she'd
felt.

He had been escorting Melissa Eden. Deborah couldn't believe it was strictly because of his interest in things literary. So she swallowed to bring her voice under control, and as he reined in the horse called Lightning, halted the saddled, bridled, honey-colored mare, Deborah greeted him with cool politeness, though Thos strode up to shake his hand and invite him to dinner.

“We're ready to quit and eat.” Thos mopped his dripping forehead. “Hot work, but we'll finish up tomorrow.” He added proudly, “We ought to make thirty bushels to the acre, so we'll have some to sell on top of all the flour and grain we need ourselves.”

“Do you have an extra scythe or sickle?” asked Dane, stroking the neck of the restive little mare.

She was about the prettiest creature Deborah had ever seen, groomed to shining, her mane as flaxen as a Dutch girl's, the golden muzzle silky and neat. Her saddle blanket was vivid blue and the saddle was trimmed with silver conchos.

A mount for a princess, Deborah thought wistfully. Even Sara's spotted pony wasn't this handsome. Dane must be taking her to Johnny's for shoeing. And then—oh, grief and horrors! Was the mare for Melissa Eden, chosen because it matched her hair, and with a blanket the color of her eyes?

If so, Dane was besotted, indeed, and she, Deborah, had been dreaming, hoping—more than she'd realized until now. Feeling acutely sick, Deborah muttered that she'd better start setting dinner out, and she made for the cabin, hearing Thos, in puzzlement, say there was a sickle, and Dane, dismounting, say, “Good. After dinner, I'll help.”

You help?
Deborah thought incredulously. He wouldn't know how to hold a scythe, would blister those painter's hands in minutes! She stopped at the well-house for buttermilk, butter, cottage cheese, and a few eggs to fry with left-over potatoes. Thos and Dane were unsaddling and rubbing down the horses, so Dane must intend to help with the harvest. A fine sight he'd be with his fine tailored broadcloth all covered with chaff and straw! Perhaps he could wear Thos's other trousers. Dane was much broader through the shoulders, but not, she judged, through waist and thighs, an immodest but undeniably interesting thought.

Entering the cabin, Deborah put down her burden, stirred up the fire, and put on potatoes mixed with eggs and chopped green onions before she went to the lean-to and conferred with Judith.

“Mr. Hunter's English and doesn't want any part of our quarrels. He means to help with the harvest, so unless you'd rather stay hidden all afternoon, it might be as well for you to come out now.”

“He a growed-up man you can trust?” demanded Judith, “Tongue won't get carried away?”

“He's a grown-up man.” Deborah realized, with grudging, that she had to admit that. “And I think he always thinks before he speaks, which makes for dull conversation—or none at all! But I'm sure, Judith, that he won't say anything about you.”

Judith nodded, rising from the pallet. “Comin' in, then. I want to help with the wheat. Ruther do anything than stay hid like a fox in its den!”

Dane, of course, had brought a gift: hickory-smoked ham. Deborah introduced him to Judith, adding that it was highly important that he not mention her to anyone.

He nodded and spoke pleasantly, as if he met runaways every day. Judith smiled. Tension went out of her, and she helped Deborah set out the meal, including generous slices of ham.

“That's a good man,” she told Deborah under her breath while Thos and Dane were discussing the gold rush that was bound to follow the return of some prospectors with considerable “dust.” “He's not the kind would ever bed a woman who didn't want him.” As Deborah gasped at this plain speaking, Judith laughed, a rich, throaty chuckling. “That don' mean he has to do without! He your beau?”

“No,” said Deborah shortly, dishing out the potatoes.

She set them down with something of a bang. Dane shot her a questioning, amused look, then rose quickly to seat her while Thos did the same for Judith. Such courtesies had embarrassed Judith at first, but Leticia had pointed out that Judith was entitled to the treatment due a woman and should grow accustomed to accepting such gestures gracefully.

It was taken for granted by now that Dane would never accept the visitor's honor, saying grace, so Thos did, sounding especially sincere when he said they'd be most grateful and glad when the bountiful harvest was over,
and
the threshing
and
the flailing and winnowing.

“Dane's through with Fall Leaf's portrait,” Thos said. “And Fall Leaf liked it so much that he wants one for himself.”

“And of his favorite horse,” Dane added. “He declined to pay in gold nuggets like those he brought back from the South Platte, so we did some horse-trading. Do you think I was cheated, Miss Deborah? Two large oils for that cream-gold mare?”

“I've never seen your work except for sketches,” Deborah said. “But if I had them, I'd trade two Rembrandts for that horse and still feel I had the best of the swap.”

Dane looked appalled before he chuckled. “I'm overwhelmed at your valuation of art! But I suppose a horse
is
more useful in this country.”

“Yes,” Deborah said rather shortly.

Dane looked at her quizzically. “I'd hoped you'd go riding with me this afternoon, Miss Deborah, to let me see if the mare's suitable for a lady, but it looks like today and tomorrow morning must go to harvesting. May I hope that tomorrow afternoon you'd favor me with your company?”

Deborah stared at him, swept by conflict. To ride that fairy-tale animal one whole afternoon with Dane, to have that time with him, no matter what followed—

Yes! She'd have that, at least. He didn't need to know how it was for her, how much and what.

“If we get in the harvest, sir, and if my parents consent, I'd be delighted to try the mare for you—though you must understand most of my riding's been a matter of hanging onto Thos while Nebuchadnezzar plods along.”

“You're exactly right for what I need to ascertain,” he assured her. “And your parents have already agreed to trust you to me.”

When?
Startled, Deborah glanced up at him and encountered a strange light deep in his eyes, like the blue nimbus bordering candle flame. It pierced into her like a white-hot blade. Fighting a slow inner trembling, she tore her eyes away while she still had some shreds of composure left.

What was the matter with her? How could she respond in this frightening, mind-dizzying way to a man who'd kept his cold, careful distance and was courting a sensuous, experienced woman who must know how to match and please him as no girl possibly could—at least not one brought up and trained by Leticia Whitlaw!

Eagerly turning the subject to the gold at Pike's Peak, Thos said that Father was printing a book by one of the returned prospectors, and that a number of other guides were being published by various printers. Merchants were ordering in wagonloads and cargoes of supplies to outfit the swarms of gold-seekers who were already leaving, hoping to get a head start on the flood of easterners certain to come west with the spring weather.

“They've already platted a town named Denver right at the foot of the mountains,” Thos said.

“And that's still in Kansas Territory?” marveled Dane.

“Sure,” said Thos airily. “This is a big country.” His russet eyes sparkled. “I'd sure like to try my luck. Just imagine, finding gold!”

“Why don't you?” asked Dane with an indulgent grin. “Rolf would probably go with you; he's on fire to do anything, so long as it's not boring and ordinary.

Boyish enthusiasm changed abruptly into a man's set purpose. “John Brown's back in Kansas.”

“So I'd heard.” Dane shrugged. “I don't know why he and Montgomery and the rest of those men in southeast Kansas don't just let the inevitable happen.”

Thos scowled at this criticism of the men he longed to follow. “What do you mean?”

“Days are past when Missourians could cross by the hundreds and vote. The pro-slave Lecompton constitution's bound to be voted down this summer. The Free Staters have won. It'll simply need time to make it all legal.”

“You say that when it's less than a month ago that those men were murdered on the Marais des Cygnes!” cried Thos. “How can you remember that and wonder at their friends wanting vengeance?”

“As one who got more war than he wanted, I confess to bafflement over why each side seems intent on having the last massacre.”

Much on his dignity, Thos said, “Maybe you don't understand, sir, being a foreigner, but Brown won't rest while there's a slave in the country. And I think he's right!”

“I believe he even advocates kidnapping them out of slave states,” remarked Dane.

“He does. And I'm going to help him.”

“Thos!” Deborah turned on her twin, made savage by fear. “Don't go with that horrible old man!”

“Why, 'Borah!” Thos stared at her, eyes growing larger and larger. “I don't like what happened at Pottawatomie, either, but this is the same as war! Brown—well, you know Father says he's a torch to burn down the whole house of slavery.”

“He may be that.” There was a bitter taste in Deborah's mouth. “He may be God's sword. But he's terrible.” She caught her twin's gaze and held it. “I mean this, Thos.” She spoke slowly, measuring her words. “I'd rather see you dead than dragging unarmed men out to slaughter. I'd rather see you dead.”

White to the lips, Thos seemed dazed. With a dull shake of his head, he pushed back the bench and reached for his hat.

“I'll get out the sickle for you,” he said to Dane.

Judith grabbed Deborah's arm and gave her a hard shake. “What you mean, sayin' such a crazy thing? That's your brother—your twin! Almost you! You go after him right now, an' say you don' mean it!”

“But I do!” Deborah sprang up and began clearing the table, fighting tears that stung her eyelids.

“That's a funny thing to say when you've got a Bowie under your mattress!” Judith scorned.

“Fighting's one thing,” Deborah flashed, scrubbing at the tears that
would
fall. Had she bungled, only managed to set. Thos more stubbornly in his wish? “If there's a war, I'd go if I could, and I'm sure Thos will. It's this cold-blooded slaughtering I can't bear!”

Dane had risen. She didn't know how it happened, but he was holding her. “Your brother won't kill like that,” he soothed, stroking her hair as she wept against his shoulder. “I've been a soldier, Deborah. I know the ice-cold natural assassins. Thos isn't one. But cry. Get all the fear and worry out.”

His voice was gentle. He comforted her with it and his hands till the wrenching sobs eased. What a baby he must think her! Or a hysterical woman, which was worse. Freeing herself, Deborah choked out an apology and hurried to help Judith with the dishes.

Dane watched her, hesitating a moment. Then he took off his coat and tie, rolled up the sleeves of his snowy linen shirt, and went out. Apparently he was serious about helping.

Judith ignored Deborah as they did the dishes, though several times Deborah caught hazel eyes regarding her with puzzlement that verged on hostility, and several times Judith gave a vexed shake of her lioness's head. It was clear there was much she wanted to say about John Brown, which was natural since he'd helped her, but Deborah didn't want to hear his tactics defended.