Prairie Wife (19 page)

He gestured with both hands in the air. "I do. He as much as
told me so. He didn't say it like that, but now that I think it over, that's
what he meant."

His words reminded her of her father's talk with her. "He
said something about her... having an appetite for men." Amy's eyes
widened and she brought her hand to her cheek.
"That's
what he was
telling me!"

Jesse leaned in to say in a hushed tone, "Those Sunday
afternoons they went for rides.... He was sure in a good mood on Mondays."

"No wonder he's so hurt. For a man like him that's a
promise."

Jesse's gaze took in her expression. "I think the promises
should come first. 'Cleave unto each other' and all that."

"He was lonely and she baited him. I hope she gets what's
coming to her," she said. She stood abruptly and waved a hand in the air
as though there was a bad smell. "Enough. I can't think about her with my
father."

Jesse raised a brow and winked. "She went back for more—he
must be a real stud."

"Jesse Shelby!" She picked up a fistful of checkers and
threw them at him just as he stood up.

He laughed and caught her around the waist.

She spun from him and he chased her into the kitchen.

"I'll bet she put that smile on his face by—"

Amy turned back and clapped her hand over his mouth. "Not one
more word, do you hear me? Not one!"

He drew her up against him and ran his hands down her back to cup
her bottom.

She tried to keep her expression fierce, but her body turned to
liquid heat at the suggestions in his eloquent eyes and hands. Through layers
of fabric, he caressed her backside. Slowly Amy took her hand from his mouth.
"If I move my hand, will you stop talking?"

"Only if I can start kissin'."

She laughed and met his lips with hers.

***

A week later, a tall slender man with slicked-down black hair
arrived with trunks and cases and asked permission to set up a tent to the
north, across the road from where the stages arrived and left.

"What's your business, Mr. Quenton?" Jesse asked,
looking over the assortment of luggage.

"I'm a photographer, Mr. Shelby. I'm chronicling the Western
advancement. There's much about this country that those back East still don't
understand. The untamed magnificence." He gestured to the vast prairie.
"The vision and struggles of men such as yourself. I want to bring it back
to them."

"Sounds ambitious."

"As ambitious as embarking on a new life? As ambitious as
paving the way for thousands of others? All of us have something to share. And
something to leave for the future. My mark on the future will be
photographs."

Jesse appreciated the man's passion. "I don't have a problem
with you stayin' a while. You'll be expected to pay for your stay and your
food, so you might as well enjoy a bed in the boardin' house."

"Thank you, Mr. Shelby, but I must keep a close eye on my
equipment. I'll sleep in my tent and gladly pay for lodging."

"Suit yourself."

In the days that followed, Mr. Quenton joined them for meals and
shared tales of his trips across the country.

A light snow was falling when Rachel entered the kitchen one
afternoon the following week. She brushed flakes from the shoulders of her coat
and hung it on a hook. "Do you think Mr. Quenton will show us his
photographs soon?"

"I'd imagine so. He does seem to be everywhere, doesn't
he?"

Rachel agreed with a smile. Over the past month, she had
blossomed. Even the loose shirts and flowing skirts she wore couldn't disguise
her burgeoning belly. Between Amy and Leda Bently, they had seen that Rachel
had proper clothing, not only for daily chores but for church. In fact Amy had
put aside her own new dresses until a few of Rachel's were altered.

Weeks ago, Amy had brought a plump cushion to the kitchen and
insisted that Rachel perform only chores she could do sitting down. Her baby would
be born in a few short weeks.

Now Amy's throat tightened as she watched the cheerful young woman
seat herself and reach for the bag of potatoes.

Rachel paused in her peeling to place a hand on her belly and
frown.

"You all right?" Amy asked.

"I'm fine. This baby never stops moving. Even at night he's
rolling around in there."

Amy almost told her it would only get worse, but she kept silent.

"Sometimes I can't believe our good fortune. Jack getting a
job here, and you and Mr. Shelby giving us the soddy to use."

Her joyful optimism worked to dredge up feelings in Amy, but she
fought them back. She was pleased for the young couple to have a good start for
their marriage and their family. Jealousy was wrong and sorrow was a waste of
time.

"Jack says after the baby comes he's going to teach me to
ride."

"It's a good thing to know. I've noticed Jack is a good
rider, and Jesse mentioned he's accomplished with the animals."

"He was a groomsman back in England." Rachel glanced
around. "Where's Mrs. Barnes?"

Amy carried a cutting board to the table and placed a stack of
carrots beside it. "Stacking preserves in the root cellar."

Rachel peeled a potato and let the skin fall onto the sack
protecting her white apron. "Jack heard from one of the hands that you'd
had a child, Amy."

Amy's hand froze on the knife she held. The subject was completely
unexpected. Completely unwelcome. And everyone knew that. Except Rachel. She
picked up a carrot and scraped the sides. "I never talk about that."

"I'm sorry.

Silence stretched between them. They'd worked companionably for
weeks. Rachel was a sweet young woman who wouldn't deliberately hurt anyone,
and Amy felt the weight of guilt for creating a wedge between them. She'd
already done it to everyone else. She looked up.

Rachel's gaze lifted and met hers. Amy saw only compassion in the
other woman's eyes.

"No, I'm sorry, Rachel. It's a flaw of mine. You didn't
know."

"It's okay. It's just that, well, sometimes I'd like another
woman to talk to about things. I wasn't prying, really I wasn't."

"I know that."

They both resumed their peeling.

Amy had always had her mother to talk to and answer questions.
Rachel was far from home with a new husband and a new life growing inside her.
"Is something in particular troubling you?"

Rachel's cheeks flushed a becoming pink. She nodded. "It's
not easy to talk about."

"You don't have to."

"But I want to ask."

Amy gave a little nod to encourage her. "Go ahead."

"Is it all right for Jack and me to, well... you know, be
close
so near to my time?"

Amy understood Rachel's concern and her embarrassment. She was a
newly married young woman, in love with her husband, but her changing body
seemed like a stranger's. She smiled. "You aren't the first woman who ever
wondered that. You're afraid to hurt your baby, but you love your
husband."

Eyes wide at Amy's understanding, Rachel nodded.

"I had to ask my mother, can you believe that?"

Rachel shook her head.

"She told me that she was sure Jesse was a very tender and
considerate partner, and that as long as I was comfortable, there was no
problem. There are many ways to make love, and being creative can be a good
thing."

Rachel's eyes brightened. "Was she right?"

"She was very right."

Rachel smiled. "Thanks, Amy."

Amy nodded and sliced carrots.

"One more thing..."

Amy looked up again.

"It's embarrassing."

"More embarrassing than
that?"

"Uh-huh. It's about gas."

Amy burst into laughter.

***

In the days that followed, Rachel seemed to glow even more, if
that was possible. She took well to pregnancy, and from her shy smiles, Amy
guessed she had shared Amy's advice with Jack.

Amy wiped her hands on a towel. "I thought I'd make cobbler
for supper. What's your preference?"

"I love berries. Is that out of the question?"

"I have several jars of gooseberry. I could make an apple and
a gooseberry." The root cellar was around back, so she put on her coat and
took a bushel basket to carry supplies.

Returning to the kitchen, she stepped inside and froze.

A man she'd never seen before stood behind Rachel, holding a knife
at her throat.

Amy
dropped the basket, jars breaking at her feet. It took several
seconds for her to comprehend what her eyes were seeing, and when she did, her
heart lurched.

The stranger wore a dark coat and a hat that shaded his eyes. One
of his hands covered Rachel's mouth, the other held the knife. Rachel stared
back at Amy, her round eyes revealing fear.

"Who are you?" Amy took a halting step forward.
"What are you doing?"

"Don't come any closer." He touched the blade to
Rachel's neck, and behind his palm she let out an alarmed squeak. "Just
stand right where you are."

Amy stopped, her heart thudding against her ribs. She couldn't
grasp his intent. "What do you want? Let her go."

"I want a little information. Nobody's going anywhere until I
get it."

"What do you want to know?"

"I want to know about a fetching woman with dark hair who was
through a while back."

Eden again. "Wh-what about her?"

"She shared her pleasures with one of the men here."

Insult and anger stirred Amy's insides. She held her tongue and
tried to assure Rachel with a steady comforting gaze. Rachel was gripping the
man's forearms through the sleeves of his coat as though she could keep the
knife from her neck.

"You know who that was?"

"I do."

"What's his name?"

"If you know about it, why don't you know his name?"

He tightened his hold on the already terrified young woman. Her
eyes begged Amy for help.

"I asked his name."

Amy studied Rachel only a moment before improvising, "Sam
Baker."

"You know where he lives?"

She nodded.

"Is he there right now?"

She shook her head.

"Listen carefully while I tell you what you're going to do.
You're going to go out to the barn and get a wagon. If anyone asks, you tell
'em you're going for supplies. You bring that wagon right up to the house here.
If you're not back with it in twenty minutes, she's going to bleed all over the
floor."

"Let her go. She doesn't need to be involved. You can see
she's expecting a baby."

"And let her alert the others? I'm not a fool."

"We'll leave her here and tie her up. I swear I'll get the
wagon and go with you. Just leave her. Please."

For the first time Amy wondered what had become of Mrs. Barnes.
She'd been emptying ashes the last time Amy saw her. And Cay's dog—any other
time the animal was directly underfoot, but now, when he could have been useful
in alerting them of danger, he was probably off chasing rabbits. She refused to
think the worst. Even Mr. Quenton was nowhere to be seen. Dimly, she recalled
his mentioning he'd be photographing horses in the pastures that day.

It could be noon before anyone came to the kitchen. Before anyone
noticed something wrong...

"All right—" he said finally.

If he was thinking, he'd know two women would be harder to take
with him than one.

"Get something to tie her with. Be quick."

Amy opened a cupboard and took out a stack of dish towels.
"These. They won't hurt her. Let me do it."

Rachel gripped against his front, the man stepped forward and
pushed her onto a chair. He took his hand from her mouth, but kept the edge of
the blade at her throat. "Fast."

Amy's fingers had never felt so awkward as she tied Rachel's
ankles together.

"Tighter!"

She obeyed and moved to secure Rachel's wrists behind her back.

Tears streamed from Rachel's eyes. "Amy—" She choked on
a ragged breath.

With one hand, the man jerked a towel from Amy's hand and stuffed
the corner into Rachel's mouth. "Now wrap her head so she can't spit that
out."

Amy was careful not to pull Rachel's hair as she tied the knot
securely. She turned her gaze to the stranger. There was nothing familiar about
him, nothing that gave any hint of his motive or intent.

The point of the weapon pressed against Rachel's neck, he drew
open his coat to reveal a pearl-handled revolver in a fancily tooled holster.
"Twenty minutes, lady. If you let on, if you tell someone, if you make
trouble, she'll die right here. Anyone besides you comes through that door,
they eat a bullet. I won't get caught."