Deborah Camp (10 page)

The lecture reminded Blade that the judge had been known as Malicious Mott on the bench, but he’d served only two years before being pressured to retire. Airy claimed he had been asked to step down because someone discovered that he had no legal background but had earned the honorary title during the Civil War, when a Confederate general had bestowed it upon him. The judge was a Rebel through and through, and hadn’t conceded along with his compatriots. Blade could see, in his treatment of others, that the judge believed some people were meant to rule over others.

“Here, you take these jars and tell your new wife I’ll come around and meet her another time.”

Blade took the jars of pigs’ feet. “Much obliged. I’ll tell her.” He set them in the soft soil, away from the road. He knew Elise would want him to ask about her brother.

“I know you want to get back to work, so I’ll be going.” Judge Mott took the reins.

“How’s the boy?” Blade asked.

“The boy? You mean my orphan?”

“Yes. His sisters have been asking.”

“You tell them not to worry any about Rusty. That’s what I call him. He gets three square meals a day and a bed of his own.”

The judge turned the red buggy around, stirring up a cloud of dust that coated Blade’s mouth and stung his eyes. Blade grabbed the gelding’s halter and jerked him to a prancing stop.

“What’s on your mind, Lonewolf?” Mott asked, regarding Blade with a superior air.

Blade released the halter. “They want to visit him.”

“Maybe later. We’ll see.”

“They miss him, and I bet he misses them. I thought I’d bring them around some evening. We won’t stay long.”

Judge Mott leaned closer, an unfriendly smile stretching his lips beneath a narrow black mustache. His jet eyes and matching brows were in sharp contrast to his pasty skin and snow-white hair. “Maybe you didn’t hear me, Lonewolf,” he said, slowing his words so that his Southern accent was more pronounced. “I said I didn’t think visiting would be wise. The boy belongs to me now, and I don’t want him whining for his sissies.”

Blade checked his rising anger and moved back
from the buggy. He said nothing, not trusting himself to speak, but he held the judge’s gaze for long, speaking moments. Finally, the judge snapped the whip and the gelding bolted into a trot. The garish red buggy rolled away as Blade gathered in one calming breath after another.

He shook inside with impotent anger. Clenching his fists, he let off steam with visions of pounding the older man’s smirking face. He hated having his feet held to the fire, and Mott was doing that every chance he got.

What was the old devil hiding? Why not let the boy see his sisters?

Blade stared at the misshapen pigs’ feet in the pickling jars and wondered what was going on at his neighbor’s place. He didn’t think Judge Mott would harm the boy. He figured Mott would put Adam to work. Another slave, and damn the Yankees.

He’d meant to put off any visit to the judge’s to give the boy a few weeks to get used to a new life, but the judge’s peculiar manner changed Blade’s mind. He’d take Elise and Penny there tomorrow. Mott wouldn’t like it, but Blade decided it was more important to check on Adam than to please his neighbor.

Besides, sooner or later, Mott would have to meet Elise, and Blade wanted to be there to make the introductions. Julia had liked Judge Mott and had insisted they go to him when they needed money, but Blade had never trusted him. Even though the man had loaned him the money, his feeling about Mott hadn’t changed. He’d leave the judge alone with Elise about as quick as he’d leave a coyote alone with his best laying hen.

* * *

Elise sat motionless, waiting for the first spoonful of stew to disappear into Blade’s mouth. He savored the tender meat and vegetables. She’d probably been laboring over the stove all afternoon.

“Well?” she said when she could stand the silence no longer. “What do you think?”

“I think Airy prepared this.”

“No, I swear to you. I did it all by myself—well, Airy told me to add more freshly ground pepper and green onions. But other than that, I did it. You can be honest. I won’t break into tears if you think it can be improved upon.”

“Only one thing would make this better.”

“What?” Elise strained forward, aiming her attention at his stew bowl. “Salt?”

“No. A bigger spoon.”

She blinked in confusion. “A bigger … ?”

He waved the soup spoon. “If I had a bigger one, I could scoop more of it into my mouth.”

A smile broke over her face and she released a spate of pleased laughter. “You like it? Really?” At his nod, she laughed again. “Well, bless my britches! I finally did something that meets with your approval!”

He hesitated before shoving another spoonful into his mouth. Had he been so critical of her? He felt the nip of shame, and knew that she told the truth. But why couldn’t she see that this arrangement could never work? A man and a woman living together under the same roof with no touching, no mating—it wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair to either of them.

“And the corn bread.” She shoved a plate of it closer to his elbow. “Eat some of it … please.”

“What about me?” Penny asked. “Don’t I get some?”

“Of course. Help yourself.” Elise propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her palms to watch him, as if obtaining his kind words had become her mission in life.

Blade enjoyed her attention and relished her desire to earn compliments from him. He nodded and gave her a wink of encouragement, and she beamed. Lord God, she was pretty! She wore an emerald dress of some kind of shiny material he’d never seen before. Ivory lace decorated the cuffs, neckline and bodice. The ruby brooch winked back at him from its place at the base of her throat. She dressed better than any woman in the county, he figured. And these were what she called her “day dresses.” He couldn’t imagine what Baltimore women wore at night. Must be swaddled in laces and ruffles from head to toe, he thought, then took a huge bite of the corn bread. It was delicious. She learned fast.

“I believe you have a penchant for cooking,” he said around the mouthful of butter-flavored bread.

“So do I,” she agreed, tipping her chin at a preening angle. “I still have much to learn, but look what I’ve done already! Why, less than a week ago I hadn’t the faintest idea what ingredients were required to make a pan of corn bread. I didn’t even know if it was baked or fried.”

“I don’t think we ate it back home, did we?” Penny asked.

“We had it a few times. Cook preferred flour instead of meal breads.” Elise eyed the stove. “I’m going to try my hand at baking loaves of bread tomorrow.”

“There is an art to it,” Blade cautioned. “It’s in the kneading and the resting.”

“Ah, yes. I remember how Cook labored over a
ball of dough for hours. Perhaps I’ll wait for Airy to instruct me on bread baking.”

“That might be wise. Takes a lot of flour, and it would be wasteful if the bread didn’t turn out, seeing as how a sack of flour is so costly.” He held up the wedge of corn bread. “But there will be no waste to this. I intend to eat every crumb. What I don’t finish tonight I’ll have for breakfast.”

“For breakfast? I can make a better breakfast than that for you. I did all right this morning, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did fine, but I like crumbled corn bread in a bowl of milk. Makes a good breakfast.” He enjoyed the food for a few minutes while she watched him down every bite. “How did you manage to haul yourself out of bed this morning?”

“It wasn’t too difficult.” She glanced at Penny, then smiled. “I only had to drag my bed to the window so that the morning sun would hit me squarely in the face. I opened the window to hear Red’s crowing better.” She faced him again. “I was surprised to find that you were already up and out of the tepee.”

He shook his head at her elaborate wake-up plan. “I do chores before breakfast. I’m usually milking by the time Red starts greeting the dawn.”

“I could help you with your morning chores,” she offered. “What else do you do, other than milking?”

“I feed the livestock and chickens. I gather eggs—”

“Gather eggs,” she interrupted with enthusiasm. “I could do that! Do they bite?”

“What, the eggs? Nah, they’re harmless.” Blade grinned at the way she wrinkled her nose and
pursed her heart-shaped mouth. “Chickens don’t bite. They peck.”

“They wouldn’t peck us, would they?” Penny asked.

“If they try, you just shove them to one side. A setting hen might try to flog you.”

“Oh, my!” Elise’s blue eyes grew round with alarm. “What’s that?”

Blade chuckled low in his throat at her reaction, then saw that Penny wore the same expression of distress. “It’s not so bad. The old hen runs at you and tries to slap you with her wings. Sometimes she tries to spur you, but all you have to do is wave a broom at her or throw a stone and she’ll back off.”

“You don’t want them to have babies?” Penny asked.

“Some of them, yes, but I can’t let every hen sit on every egg she takes a mind to, or I’d be overrun with chickens.”

“So do you think Penny and I could gather the eggs?”

He thought about it for a few moments before he conceded. “I suppose. You’d need to collect them early, before the sun heats the air.”

“We can do that,” Penny said.

“What about milking?” Elise said with less enthusiasm. “I don’t suppose I could do that. The cows are used to you.”

Blade started to agree with her, although her reasoning was askew, but then he thought of how hilarious it would be to watch her try to milk his Jersey cows.

“I suppose I could teach you to milk.”

She said nothing, but peeked at him from beneath her lashes, her silence more potent than any
argument she could have made. She wanted him to let her off the hook.

“First you need to try your hand at churning butter. Penny can help you with that, too.” He sat back, enjoying the interplay. “Then there is laundry to do. That’ll take a couple of days. In a few weeks you and Penny can help me put in the garden. How are you at canning? Ever done it? Well, there’s always a first time.” He snapped his fingers. “That reminds me. I have a gift for you.”

“Oh? What kind of gift?”

He went to fetch the jars where he’d left them on the front porch. Returning, he stuck them close to her face so that she could get a good look at the gelatinous goop. “Pickled pigs’ feet. One of the neighbors brought them by.”

“Ooo!
I’m
not eating them!” Penny said, hiding her eyes.

Elise drew back in revulsion. “Good gracious, why in the world would anyone want to pickle
those
?”

“Ever eaten one?” Blade teased. “They’re salty, but as tender as a baby’s backside.”

Elise turned her face aside. “I can’t bear to even look at them. Take them away, please.” She shivered and swallowed hard. “I can assure you I won’t be eating them or canning them. If you want such a disgusting thing, you can fix them for yourself.”

“Have Airy show you how to boil up some cow’s tongue,” Blade continued relentlessly, setting the jars on the washstand. “You’ve got to steam it good or it’s as tough as leather. Got to get the blood out of it. You know, the Apache women eat buffalo tongue raw. The heart and liver, too.”

“Elise, tell him we won’t eat such things,” Penny
pleaded, yanking on her sister’s sleeve.

Elise narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “He’s poking fun at us, Penny. Blade has no intention of eating tongue, just as I have no intention of cooking one!” She shook a finger at him as he sat across the table from her again. “Shame on you, Blade Lonewolf.”

He grinned, sharing the moment of congeniality with her. “Pigs’ feet aren’t so bad. You ought to try one just so you can say you did.”

“I might, if I get drunk enough.”

He laughed—really laughed, deep and bursting from his throat.

Elise stared at him, amazed; then she laughed with him until her eyes brimmed with mirth. His breath caught in his throat at her loveliness, and warmth coiled in his loins. God, he wanted her!

“It’s good to laugh together, isn’t it?” she asked, wiping the glistening tears from her eyes. “Feels wonderful.”

He regarded her for a long, breathless moment. “I haven’t had much to laugh about lately.”

She averted her gaze, her smile fading like a sunset. “Neither have I.” Then she drew a short breath and expelled it. “But life goes on, and we grasp at what’s important, at what’s left.”

“There isn’t much out here for a woman like you.”

“What does that mean, a woman like me?”

“A woman used to the finer things in life,” he explained, although he thought it unnecessary. “Not much around here to laugh about. No dances, no socials, no—”

“Those things can be easily changed,” she interrupted. “In fact, I bet there are dances and socials, but you never paid any attention to them.” Her
gaze fell on the jars of pigs’ feet and she looked away quickly. “Which neighbor sent those things?”

“Harriet Mott.”

“Harriet Mott …” She shook her head. “Have I met her?”

“The judge’s wife.”

“Oh!” Her eyes lit up like fireworks.

“May I be excused?” Penny asked, pushing aside her empty stew bowl. “I want to play with my dolly.”

“Yes, go on, Pen.” Elise waited for Penny to scamper into the other room before she faced Blade again across the table. “Did you ask her about Adam?”

“I didn’t see her. I spoke to the judge. He rode out to where I was plowing.”

“Well, did you ask him about Adam?”

Her eager expression tugged at his heart. He knew she’d been worrying about her brother and had exercised extreme patience in not demanding that she be taken to him.

“Nothing’s wrong with him, is there?”

“No, nothing.” He waved aside her concern. “I’ll take you and Penny to see him tomorrow morning after breakfast.”

“Thank heavens!” She stacked her hands on top of the brooch and her face glowed with gratitude. “I so want to see him. Why, he must think we’ve deserted him. Adam tries hard to be brave, but he’s just a scared little boy. Oh, he’d never admit that, but I know him. I’m so afraid he’ll …” Her voice trailed off and she captured her full lower lip between her teeth. Rising, she grabbed the coffeepot from off the stove and refilled Blade’s chipped white cup.