Lady of Light (25 page)

“Aren’t you going to wash up?” she asked. “I’ll be ready soon for some water myself, but I wanted you to have it first—you being so weary and all.”

Evan grinned. He deserved her little dig about him being so tired, especially when all thoughts of sleep had fled in the past few minutes. “Go on and finish with your hair. I’ll be done soon.” He carried the pitcher to the commode, poured water into the porcelain basin, then set the vessel beside it. He made quick work of washing his face and hands, then vigorously applied a generous dose of Dr. Grave’s Unequaled Tooth Powder to his teeth. Finally, his bedtime ablutions completed, Evan shed his denims and climbed into bed.

With hooded eyes, he watched as Claire finally undressed and donned a simple, cambric nightdress trimmed with lace, washed her face and brushed her teeth, then padded across the hardwood floor and knelt for her nightly prayers on her side of the bed. Her head bowed. He heard the soft murmur of Claire’s fervent entreaties. A tiny twinge of guilt that he wasn’t kneeling there beside her assailed him. After all, Evan thought, gazing at his glorious, beautiful young wife, he had even more to be thankful for than she.

He had her. He had returned to Culdee Creek, his home. With each passing day he realized more and more deeply how truly blessed he was to have his family, this ranch, and the promise of a rich, full life that lay before him.

A rich, full life that might someday even include children of his own. Evan smiled at the consideration, and even more at the remembrance of the exquisite pleasure inherent in conceiving those children. He pillowed his hands behind his head, waiting patiently for Claire to finish her prayers and join him.

Yes, indeed, Evan thought, his body warming with a most husbandly anticipation. As hard as the work could sometimes be, there was much to be said for everything that went with being a family man.

14

And when ye stand praying, forgive, if ye have ought against any: that your Father also which is in heaven may forgive you your trespasses.

Mark 11:25

Her prayers finished, Claire shoved to her feet, paused to turn down the oil lamp until the flame extinguished, and climbed into bed. No sooner had she pulled up the covers, then Evan turned toward her.

“Do you know how much I love watching you brush your hair?” he asked, his voice a husky murmur as he reached over and took a long tress between his thumb and forefinger. “I think your hair was the first thing that caught my eye about you, that first day we met. In the light it’s like … like molten fire … yet when I touch it, it’s as smooth and soft as silk.” He lifted the lock, brushed it against his face, and inhaled. “And the scent is flowers, and fresh air, and big, blue, open skies.”

Claire shifted uneasily, wanting nothing more at that moment than to jerk her hair from Evan’s grip and turn away. She was still upset over her confrontation with Mary Sue today, not to mention what she had learned from the gossipy girl. Evan hadn’t helped things any when he had attacked her porridge a few minutes ago, then held Hannah’s cooking up as a shining example of what he really wanted.

The primary reason, however, for not welcoming her husband’s amorous advances was his failure to tell her about his past love affair with Hannah. It angered her that he had purposely withheld that information. What angered her even more, though, was the position it now placed her in of having to confront him about it.

Confrontation, Claire had learned from sad experience, always seemed to put one person on the attack and the other on the defensive. In such situations, the defender’s testimony wasn’t generally as trustworthy as one would like.

Mayhap it would be better, she tried to reason with herself, to sleep on the matter and give her seething emotions time to cool, before broaching the subject with her husband. The matter had waited long enough as it was. Mayhap when her head was calmer, her heart less torn, she would find the proper words. Words that would set all aright, and heal the breach that had begun to form between them.

“Claire?”

Evan moved closer. His hand slipped across the pillows and beneath her head, to cradle her face in the warm, callused expanse of his palm. He leaned close, his lips touching hers gently, tenderly. In spite of herself, a tremor of desire vibrated through Claire. As much as he had hurt her with his silence, as angry as she was with him, she still loved Evan.

But something was gone—a trust, a sweet innocence. She wasn’t so sure she truly knew him or his heart anymore. She couldn’t be as certain of his love. And, until she could, she couldn’t give herself to him.

“N-nay, Evan,” she whispered, pulling back and shaking her head. “Not tonight. I can’t … I just can’t.”

For a long moment he was silent. Claire could feel him staring at her, sense his puzzlement. Then he sighed and rolled back over onto his side of the bed.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “it
is
a mite strange, making love in my parents’ bed. We’ll get over it in time, though, I reckon.”

“Aye,” she agreed hoarsely, the tears welling, then trickling down her cheeks. “We’ll get over it in time.”

For some reason, it didn’t seem any easier to talk to Evan about Hannah the next morning, or that night, or for the next several days. When Evan came to her each night she pleaded the same excuses, adding as well the justifiable reason of exhaustion. If her husband found anything strange in her pretenses, he didn’t say. He was soon snoring softly away, while Claire lay there in the dark battling her frustration and pain until she eventually fell into a restless sleep—a sleep that left her tired, irritable, and sick to her stomach each morning.

Cooking three meals a day for the hands soon became a Herculean task as Claire’s meager repertoire of American meals began to strain its limits. What little free time she had was consumed in working out new menus, then trying to cook them successfully on the often recalcitrant old cookstove. Too many times to count she found herself restarting the fire and making everyone wait for meals served late.

“That does it!” Evan muttered one morning a week later, when he had been called back to the house to help Claire with the stove for what she knew must seem like the hundredth time. “I’m going to ask Hannah to come help cook lunch and supper. You can watch her children, and maybe pick up some pointers until you’re ready to take the job back over.”

Her cheeks burning hotly, Claire whirled around from the bread dough she was kneading on the kitchen table. “Nay! I won’t impose on Hannah. I won’t!”

Her husband closed the firebox door and stood. “She won’t mind. She’ll even understand. Which is more than the hands are doing, what with late meals and either burnt or half-cooked food.”

“I-I’m doing the best I-I can,” Claire cried, perilously on the edge of tears.

Evan stared at her, his gaze wary and searching, then finally sighed. “I know you are. But the men work long, hard hours and need their food. They’re trying to be understanding, but their patience can only last so long.”

“You … you think I’m failing you, don’t you?” Claire couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, and began to weep. “I’m an embarrassment to you, an obstacle to your dream of proving to your father that you can run the ranch in his absence.”

“Devlin’s running the ranch,” he growled, his countenance darkening. “I’ll just be blamed for not supporting him like I said I would.”

“See? See?” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “I’m right. One way or another, I’ll be the cause of your shame.” Claire sank onto the nearest chair and buried her face in her flour-covered hands. “Och, I’m so verra sorry, Evan. I’m so sorry!”

“Then help me help you, Claire. Let me fetch Hannah. It’ll just be for a while, until you get the hang of all this.”

Though frustration now threaded his voice, he made no move to come to her, take her into his arms and comfort her. The realization pierced clear to Claire’s soul. He had distanced himself as well; he thought she
was
in the wrong and needed help. And, most painful of all, he was disappointed in her.

Yet how could she explain to him that she didn’t want Hannah in the house? That she couldn’t bear it right now if Hannah had to come to Evan’s aid because his wife had failed him? If Hannah tried to lord it over her in any way—as unlikely as that probably was—Claire didn’t know what she’d do, or how she’d react. Or what she’d say—and that worried her most of all.

Yet what other choice had she? she thought miserably. Evan was right. She
didn’t
have the hang of cooking on that despicable stove, nor much talent as yet with American food. She did need help. Her confused feelings for Hannah notwithstanding, it wasn’t fair that Culdee Creek’s ranch hands be the ones to suffer.

“Fine,” Claire whispered, pulling out her handkerchief and blowing her nose. “Hannah can help. But only until I can handle things myself. Then she goes back to her house.”

“Of course. Hannah has enough work of her own as it is.” Evan put on his Stetson, turned toward the back door, then paused. An amused look flared in his eyes. “You know, you might want to go up and wash your face before Hannah gets here. You’ve got flour all over it.”

Claire touched her face. Once more, her cheeks warmed. Then, with a soft cry, she shoved back her chair, turned, and ran upstairs.

Hannah was outside playing with her three youngest children, when Evan walked up. At the sight of her, his heart twisted. In the autumn sunlight, her pale gold hair glowed like a halo. Her skin was soft and smooth, her lips pink and full. When she looked up and saw him approach, her smile of welcome stirred old, painful memories.

But none of that mattered anymore, he fiercely reminded himself. She loved another, and so did he. Still, he had to admit he had missed her and her kind, gentle ways.

“Why, Evan MacKay,” Hannah exclaimed, walking toward him and extending both hands, “what a pleasant surprise! Would you like to come in and visit for a spell? I have raisin applesauce cookies cooling, and the coffee’s still fresh.”

After the tumultuous episode with Claire just a few minutes ago, Evan found Hannah’s hospitable offer most appealing. But he had work piling up even as they talked, not to mention he wasn’t sure he could handle an extended visit with Hannah just yet. So, with a regretful smile and shake of his head, he declined.

“Best not today,” he said, courteously removing his Stetson and taking both of her hands in his one. “Devlin’s counting on me to ride the fence line and help repair any barbed wire that’s come down.”

“Yes, it
is
nearly the middle of October, and getting on toward the end of fall, isn’t it?” She pulled her hands free, and rubbed her arms in an unconscious reminder of the winter cold. “There always seems to be so much work needing done in preparation for winter.”

“Yeah, there is.”

An uncomfortable silence settled then between them.