The Beloved Woman (6 page)

Justis had made certain that all five graves faced that heavenly view.

He stood back and watched Katherine walk from one mound of red dirt to the next, her hands hanging motionless by her sides. What kind of grieving thoughts churned behind her mysterious eyes, he wondered. She took a bit of dirt from each grave and dropped it in her purse.

“It’d do you good to cry,” he hinted.

She stared blankly at the graves. “I’m hollow inside. There’s nothing there to make tears.”

She walked toward the yard again, moving with short, unsteady steps. He sighed with relief. She was in shock, that was all. He’d never seen such a bad case of it before, but he knew it would pass eventually.

She veered toward the small log structure a little way
from the house. “I shall live here until the house is rebuilt,” she announced. After stumbling, she regained her composure and opened the door. Justis went over and stopped behind her, his mouth open in dismay. She was worse off than he’d figured.

She stood in the doorway and surveyed the dark, cool interior, where the farm’s butter and eggs had been stored. A stone well stood at the center, unharmed.

“I’ll sleep in the springhouse on a cot,” she said.

Sorrow and determination boiled up inside Justis. He took her by the arm, slammed the door, and swung her to face him. Be merciful, he told himself. Make the cut clean and quick.

“You’re not gonna live here, Katie. It’s not your home anymore.”

“I was born here,” she explained patiently. “My mother was born here. Her father was a half-breed fur trapper. He settled on this land in 1797. The date’s carved on an old walnut tree over there.” She pointed. “See? The tree with the bench under it …”

“The land’s been given away!” Justis yelled. He shook her hard, trying to break through her heart-wrenching blindness.

Finally agony and panic showed in her eyes. Her voice rose. “I can buy it back!”

“No, you don’t even have the right to do that! If you had all the money in the world you couldn’t buy it, or even lease it. The law says so!”

“It’s mine. My family’s here.” She shook her head as she talked, breathing heavily, her hands clenched. “Who stole it and killed them?”

“Nobody
stole
it,” he said between gritted teeth. “I don’t have an answer about the other. Gangs roam all over these hills, doing whatever they want to the Cherokees, and the state lets ’em. Come on, let’s get out of here. I’m not armed well enough to protect you if a gang was to wander up.”

She looked as if she might bolt into the woods, and Justis suddenly wondered how he would ever get her back to town. He pulled her to him gently and wrapped his arms around her. She trembled and balled her fists against the center of his chest.

“It’s because of this,” she said in fierce anguish, raising the gold nugget that hung there. “This poison is responsible for bringing every worthless white soul in the country here to murder innocent people.” She slung the nugget aside and dug her hands into his shirt. “
Who stole this land
?”

“Let’s go back to town,” he said. He’d have to take her back by force if she didn’t cooperate. “I’ll tell you once we get there. Only when we get there. If you want to know who owns the land, you have to come with me.”

The horror was taking its toll now, and she swayed against him. Finally she hung her head and said hoarsely, “
Swear it.
”

“I swear.”

Released by that vow, she fainted in his arms.

CHAPTER 3

K
ATHERINE
woke with bright sunshine stinging her eyes. A hazy sense of despair and half-formed thoughts swam in her mind. It was easier to gaze around the room than to remember why she felt so hopeless.

Starched white curtains swayed stiffly at an open window. The walls were papered rather than painted. The rich floral print made her dizzy, and she looked away. The room contained a tall dresser and a marble-topped washstand complete with a bowl, a pitcher, and colorful cotton towels. Rugs dotted the wooden floor.

She lifted her covers and squinted at them groggily. Clean sheets and a pretty patchwork quilt. No bedbugs. The Gallatin-Kirkland Hotel provided lodgings that were far superior to most on the frontier.

They’re dead. Papa, Mama, Anna, Elizabeth, even little Sallie
.

Katherine let the covers fall, and her hands dropped limply on top of them. Memories nearly smothered her—her mother’s walnut-brown eyes, warm with affection;
her father’s way of laughing; her sisters’ merry pranks. The sound of footsteps made her jump. Feeling too weary to move, she managed to push herself into a sitting position against the ornately carved headboard.

Her door opened and Justis Gallatin stepped into the room carrying a breakfast tray. Startled to find her staring at him, he halted. His sudden appearance jolted her senses. Like yesterday, he was dressed in a white shirt and dark trousers, but this morning he had tucked the trousers into knee-high boots.

His skin was so weathered that had it been a little darker, he would have passed for part Cherokee, except that no Cherokee had ever had such wavy chestnut hair. His mustache made him look like the handsome villain in a play. The gold nugget gleamed on the light background of his shirt.

Grief and anger fought within her, equally matched. She felt yesterday’s anguish settling into her bones with fresh, sharp agony. It would have to work its way to the surface before she knew who she was again. Katherine wanted to hate every white settler in north Georgia.

“How do you feel?” Justis asked gently as he walked to a bedside table.

Could she hate this dangerous man who’d befriended her?

“Leave me alone. I don’t need your help. You’re trash, just a thieving settler no matter how kindly you act. Men such as you aren’t fit to set foot on Cherokee land. Not so many years ago we would have burned you alive and laughed while you begged for mercy.”

He stood beside the bed, looking miserable. “Katie, I know you hold it against me. Against every white man. If I thought it’d do a damned bit of good, I’d … All right, I will.”

He set the tray down and went to her trunks and valises stacked neatly beside an armoire. Searching among them he found her doctor’s satchel and took the scalpel
from it. He came back to her and laid it on the covers by her hand.

Then he pulled his shirt off and sat on the edge of the bed with his broad, muscular back so close, she could see every hair, every freckle, the smallest workings of the flesh. “Go ahead,” he said gruffly. “There are plenty of scars there already. I don’t mind another one.”

She stared at his back in horror. “I see them,” she whispered.

“I’ve been in a lot of fights.” He waited for her to do or say something else. He never looked over his shoulder to see whether she’d picked up the knife.

In the space of those few seconds she felt herself lose something deep and irretrievable from her soul. She began to cry silently because she knew she’d given it to the stranger who sat with his back bared to her, waiting stoically for her to hurt him.

She choked on a sob and flung the scalpel to the floor. “I don’t hate you. Dear God, what are you trying to do to me?”

His shoulders slumped. “I wish I knew, myself. I’m not prone to acting crazy.” Slowly he put his shirt back on. “Thank you, Katie.”

Trembling violently, she pressed her hands to her forehead and tried to remember the evening before. As soon as he’d brought her back to the hotel he’d insisted that she drink some tea. Her recall ended with the soothing sound of his drawling voice.
Shut those sad eyes and rest, gal
. And it had been so easy to do that, especially when he slipped his arms under her and carried her here.

Katherine leaned her head back, shut her eyes, and said dully. “You put something in the tea to make me sleep so that I wouldn’t question you anymore about my family or the farm.”

“You needed the rest first.”

She groaned at the headache that began pounding in her forehead. “Last night … I woke up once …” Her
gaze darted to the rocking chair in one corner. “You were there. Why?”

“Shhh.” He turned to face her, the weight of his big frame indenting the mattress so much that she rolled toward him, her hip nestling tightly against his. If he noticed the contact, he wisely said nothing. Instead, he lifted a strand of her hair. “I bet this almost reaches the floor when you stand up,” he murmured, rubbing the satiny black tresses between his fingertips and thumb. “And it’s so black that it’s got no shadows.”

His frowning gaze traveled up her body, and Katherine finally realized that the quilt lay bunched at her waist and above that she was barely covered by a thin, sleeveless undershirt. Never be fooled by this man, she told herself. His sympathies were of the most selfish sort.

“I didn’t undress you,” he said immediately. “Rebecca did.”

He might as well have, she thought, the way his green eyes studied her. She pulled the covers over her breasts.

“I’ll get out and give you some privacy in a minute.” Unfazed, he poured tea into a heavy ceramic cup, dribbled honey into it from a small pitcher, and handed the cup to her. “But I’m not budgin’ until you finish the whole cup.” He met her eyes. “It’s not drugged.”

She drank the tea quickly.

“You wanted some answers yesterday,” he said when she finished. He took the cup and thumped it on the tray angrily. “I won’t put you off any longer. I just wanted to wait until you were a little stronger, that’s all.”

She shut her eyes. “Who took the Blue Song land?”

“Easy, now. I want you to know how it was from the start.”

“It won’t make it any better.”

The regret in his eyes changed to grim determination. “Right after you went off to Philadelphia the state held a lottery for the Cherokee lands.”

“I know that. It was illegal.”

“Maybe then, but not now. People went to Milledgeville and drew their lots, most of ’em without knowin’ anything about the Indians, havin’ never seen the land they were drawin’ for.”

He frowned. “So a dirt-poor, hardworking man won a lot, and he got the deed, and he spent his last dollar to hurry up here and start a new life. But when he got here he saw that his land had your family livin’ on it, and they’d built it into the finest farm he’d ever seen. He felt bad about showing ’em the deed. But if he hadn’t claimed the farm, some other white man would have stolen it from them.”

When she didn’t comment, he looked disappointed. “But this hardworking man had a conscience, and he couldn’t kick a family off their farm, even though the state gave him the right to do it. So he made a deal with ’em, and it turned out real well.”

“For the white man,” she interjected, rubbing her forehead. “Hurry. I feel strange.”

“Your family showed him where to find gold, and in return he left their farm alone—even made sure that nobody else bothered them. That white man was willing to live and let live, and he did the best he could under the circumstances, wouldn’t you say?”

She felt sleepy again, and her lips moved slowly. “Sounds like a saint. Too good to be … true.”

“He’s sure not a saint, but he’s not a bad feller either. And he got real involved in your family’s problems, and the problems of the tribe, and he made a lot of enemies among his own people because he took the Injun side of things. How can you fault that man?”

Katherine sank down into the comfort of her feather pillow. “I miss my family,” she whispered raggedly. “And I want … to go back to sleep. Tell me the rest … later.”

Something was wrong, she realized hazily. This wasn’t
how she’d felt a minute before. The reason managed to seep through her thoughts.

“You lied,” she said, frowning. “The tea … was drugged again.”

He moved closer to her. His thigh pressed lightly against her side. As he leaned over her, she gazed into his eyes and found them shadowed with regret.

“I lied, sure enough,” he whispered. “I wanted to make things as easy for you as I could—and for myself. Katie, I’m that man who won the Blue Song land in the lottery.”

She moaned bitterly, then turned her face to one side. “Get out.”