Harris Channing (10 page)

Setting the gown back atop the
chest, she walked toward the door while she buttoned her coat and adjusted her
cap. Just as she reached for the handle, the door swung open and snow laced
wind had her retreating back into the cabin.

Alfred trotted in, his saggy jowls
very near a manic smile. His black jagged lips pulled back over his teeth, his
tongue curled as if he had just come in from the heat. "Where have you
been?" she asked, leaning in and taking the sides of his face in her
hands. "You had me worried to death."

David followed, snow clinging to
his boots and trousers. "I thought he was dead," he said slamming the
door and bolting it. "Bloody mess in the woods, didn't know the fat fellow
had it in him catch a hare."

"Probably raided someone's
trap," she said and unwilling to share her tears, she turned away.

He brushed past and moved toward
the fireplace. Bending over he fed it the last of the wood. "I'll need to
go back out for more logs and damnation I wish I had gone to the trading post
before today."

She glanced out the window and
inwardly shivered, the desolation hitting her hard as Alfred nuzzled her
skirts. Thank goodness he was all right. She couldn't handle anymore loss.
"We've enough supplies. Come spring I'll plant some vegetables for
you."

He snorted. "You won't be here
long enough to see a garden planted."

She bit back her retort. It did no
good and he was right. She didn't know where to go but she'd surely not stay
where she wasn't wanted. And he'd made it abundantly clear that he didn't want
her.

"Besides what you see in the
pantry, the root cellar out back has some potatoes, carrots, onions and maybe
even an apple or two."

She unbuttoned her coat, but left
it on. "With all these supplies why do you want to go to the trading
post?" But even as she said the words, the realization dawned on her with
sickening clarity. "You're running low on the drink, aren't you?"

The smile he offered did little to
ease the queasiness that nestled deep in her stomach. "Yep."

"Oh, David." She sighed
and took a seat on the edge of the bed. Staring at the fire, she watched the
flames lick and slowly devour the bits of bark that tried in vain to protect
the wood beneath. Soon the logs would glow orange and black and disintegrate
leaving only ashes and soot behind.

The wood popped and sparks flew
like orange snowflakes. It was mesmerizing and her weary eyelids grew heavier
and heavier. Swollen from crying, her eyes burned and despite the momentary
quiet her mind flared to life with recollection. She could almost see her ma
washing clothes at the creek, her hands fiery red from the friction of the
fabric against the washboard.

"Bobbie,
bring me that soap and go tell your pa that the dinner will be a little late
tonight."

"Oh,
do I have to?"

She
lazily looked down at her bare feet immersed in the ankle deep water. A
comforting summer breeze blew through the trees sending a handful of leaves
drifting toward the fast moving creek. Like little schooners they raced away,
spinning out of control as the water took them toward the Mississippi.

"
Yes ma'am you have to.

"But
you know he'll be mean about it and start grumbling."

"Can't
be helped." Her mother's sigh had her looking at her, her heart aching for
missing her. "Mrs. Larsen came by to gossip and she brought your brother a
bar of soap. Told him to wash behind his ears." Ma's mouth dipped into a
frown. "Never liked that woman much. As if I don't tell the boy to
wash."

"I
image Robert didn't think much of the comment."

The
sweet sound of Ma's laughter tickled her memory and had her smiling despite her
pain. "Oh, he didn't like it at all. Told her if she wanted to exercise
her jaw she might ought to chew gum."

"Bobbie?"

At the sound of David's voice she
disappointedly left the memory behind. Oh, if she could only go back in time.
If she could have just one more moment to hug her mother, kiss her father and
pinch her brother. Her lower lip quaked as she met his gaze.

"Yes?"

"You were smiling."

Tears refilled her eyes. "I
was thinking of my ma, that's all. Do you still have your parents?"

"Last I heard," he said.
"Suppose I'll know when I take you home."

She shook her head. "No,
David, I won't be going to Tennessee."

His brows shot up in surprise and
he set his hands on his narrow hips. "Really? Just where will you be
going?"

Shrugging her shoulders she stood
and sidled past him. "I don't know, but I do know that you're right."

He chuckled. "Well, God
Almighty, when was that?"

She ignored his sarcasm and
grabbing up the poker, poked the logs into a fiery frenzy. "I think it'll
be best for me to go to the trading post. Does Henry have a wife?"

When he didn't answer, she slowly
turned to face him. He stood by the bed, staring down at the glass of spilled
whiskey that dampened the floor.

How she loathed his love of drink.
"I said, does Henry have a wife?" she asked, hoping for female
companionship and knowing she needed a place nearby. She couldn't leave her
parents. Wouldn't until she knew they rested in peace.

He raised his gaze toward her and
shook his head. "No. He did but she left him for a fellow on his way to
Oregon. Said she'd had enough of him and his lousy trading post."

Finally, she shrugged out of her
coat and hat and hung them on a nail by the pantry. "Seems to me we're
quite the damaged lot. What is the story with Reg Crocker?" she asked,
smoothing her hair.

"That man? He's a deserter.
Not sure which side he deserted from either. Talks like a Yank but I can't be
sure."

The light was dim as she felt
around for the broom and dustpan. She'd sweep up the floor. That would help get
her mind off things. When her grandma passed away, Ma cleaned the house from
top to bottom. When Uncle Tobias died, Pa managed to have half a field plowed
before sunset. Keeping busy, Ma always told her, was healthier than stewing in
your own misery. Of course, this particular kettle bubbled with not only her
sorrow but everyone who seemed to enter the place.

"You don't like him much,
that's obvious."

With short, purposeful strokes she
began to sweep. Dust particles rose into the air as months, if not years, of
debris came together into small piles.

"What's to like? He used to
stop by here when I wasn't home. He brought Sarah candy and flowers as if she
were available for courting."

"I'm sure your wife set him
straight. No point in leading a man down a dead end path." She bent over,
filled the dustpan and standing looked around. Where the devil would she empty
it?

David shrugged. "I reckon she
did. We had a row or two about it and then he didn't come anymore. I told her
if I caught him sniffing around one more time I'd bloody his nose for
him." He ducked into the pantry and came out with a wooden bucket.
"Here, use this."

Reaching for the pail's handle, her
fingertips grazed his hand and a wanton tingle shot through her limbs. She
looked to his face for some indication that they shared the connection. How
could he not feel the power of their attraction? His expression offered
nothing. Disappointed, she realized her reaction had simply been her need for
human contact. Just as he boasted, he felt nothing.

"I-I imagine the threat was
enough incentive to keep him away," she said pulling the bucket free and
setting it down in the corner. "You are quite imposing, especially in
comparison to him."

David chuckled and turned his back
toward her. "I'm going to fetch that wood before you sweep by the
door."

His thoughtfulness surprised her.
"Thank you."

"No problem. Don't know when
the place will see a broom again since I'll be taking you to the trading post
tomorrow after we stop by Reg's place."

Her instincts had her wanting to
argue. Disappointment pinched her gut. He failed a test she hadn't meant to
give. And now she longed to tell him that she was wrong, that it was too soon
for her to be cast aside. That even though she agreed that the trading post was
the right place for her, she wasn't quite ready to take that step.

Stifling a sneeze, she nodded her
acceptance, but her heart ached at the very notion.

***

Darkness enveloped him in her
lonely embrace. David gulped the last remnants of his whiskey, determined to
find the sleep he so needed. Booze always helped him rest and despite knowing
how Bobbie hated the sight of him with a bottle in his hand, he drank. He had
to. It was the only way to find peace from the guilt that dogged his every
step.

Lying on his side, he stared at the
fire. Bobbie was sobbing into her pillow not five feet away from his pallet. It
was obvious that she attempted to keep quiet, but he could hear her all the
same. He could comfort her, protect her, be what she needed and she'd still be
hurt and destroyed by circumstance.

He let out a sigh and held the
empty bottle to his breast. The world was a horrible place to be whether you
were alone or in the company of others. Very few died without regret…Sarah's
regret? Well damnation, it was marrying him.

He closed his eyes and as always,
memories of her filled his mind.

"Why
did you bring me here? Silver? You wanted silver? My father would have found
you work at his mill!"

"Your
father?" he said with derision. "The man wanted you to wed my brother
and yet you married me."

Her
pale cheeks turned a deep crimson, her brown eyes narrowed with anger.
"And for that I'm sorry. I don't want to be your wife if it means staying
here."

The
sound of his boots slamming against the floorboards as he backed her into a
corner echoed through his head. "And do you regret coming to our marital
bed a false virgin?"

His eyes flew open. How was it he'd
let the pain from that particular indiscretion subside at her death? But he
knew all to well. For even though her lie had come between them, her murder was
his fault. He insisted they stay. Insisted she be someone she wasn't to placate
his desire for wealth without strings.

"It
was war, David. Jasper was leaving. He cried upon my shoulder and before I knew
it, I was offering him comfort. He's not strong like you. He needed me."

"Then
why are you my wife and not his?" he shouted. "And why not be honest
with me? What other secrets do you have that can harm us?"

"I'm
not his wife because I love you! And had you not been so stubborn and dutiful
before joining the Confederacy you would have come to me and told me of your
feelings." She pushed past him and rushed toward the open door, a glorious
silhouette against the brilliant yellow sunlight. "I have loved you since
I was a child and when you said nothing before you left, not even goodbye, it
became crystal clear that the closest I was going to get to you, was your
brother."

He
could hear the tears in her voice and his pride evaporated. "I did come to
you but Jasper was there, in your parlor, on his knee. I thought he was the one
you wanted."

She
straightened and slowly turned toward him. "I chose him by default…he is
but a pale version of you."

David sat up, the world wavering
before his drunken eyes. Bobbie had quieted, the only sounds in the cabin the
popping fire and Alfred's gentle snore.

Stumbling to his feet, David made
his way to the door. He needed to talk to Sarah. Damnation, he needed to tell
her he was sorry for harming her. Explain to her how much her lie had hurt him.

He ran quaking fingers through his
hair. Her lie, even though he had forgiven her, still burned, still had him
questioning her after all these years.

"But
why not tell me before? I would have understood."

She
laughed, but there was no humor in it, only dismay and disbelief. "Like
you understood when Reg flirted with me at the trading post? Like you
understood when the fellow in Colorado Springs asked me to dine with him, not
knowing I was married?"

David
looked past her. "You should have told him you were married."

Her
exasperated sigh had him tightening his jaw. "You didn't give me the
opportunity. You bloodied his nose instead."

"Because
I am unsure of your faithfulness," he shouted and glared at her. "And
that my dear Mrs. Henderson, is your fault."

Tears
rushed from her eyes. "I know, but will you ever be able to forgive me my
mistake?"

He
raised an imperious brow. "Of course, as long as you remember that you are
my wife and that you are to do as I see fit."

Her
lower lip quivered and he recognized her defeat. He had indeed won but the
reward was far less valuable than he cared to admit. "And staying here is
what you see fit?"

"Yes."

She
sniffled and curled her long fingers in the fabric of her pale blue skirt.
"Then I will take my penance at the altar of your desires. I will stay
here and be miserable in silence."

Staggering toward the door, he
reached for the handle, his fingers only grazing the cold iron as they flew
uncontrollably past. "Damnation," he grumbled, his hand quivering.

Didn't God know he needed to get
outside, to sit a moment at her grave and tell her how sorry he was? He'd
apologized all over the mountain but since laying her to rest, he had yet to
return to her graveside. To touch the ground that claimed her. To envision her
beneath him as he begged her unhearing ears for forgiveness.

"What are you doing?"
Bobbie called to him from bed, her voice strained. "You can't go out in
your condition, you'll freeze to death." Without giving him a moment to
respond, she was by his side, her fingers grasping at his wrist. "Come sit
by the fire. Whatever you need to do outside can wait till morning."