The Diamond of the Rockies [03] The Tender Vine (17 page)

Again he didn’t answer. She felt him withdrawing.
Signore, don’t let
him close me out
. She wanted to touch him, but he stood too separately. He was fighting, but what?

She rested her hand on the iron fence. “It doesn’t matter what they think. You’ve seen them now.”

“And they’ve seen me.” He gripped two of the posts until his knuckles whitened. Then suddenly he let go. “Come on.” He started for the carriage.

She hurried behind. What was he thinking? Was there something they could do? His stride made her lift her skirts to keep up. “Where are we going?”

He reached the carriage and opened the door before the cabby could climb down from his box. Carina got in.

“Take us back to the hotel,” Quillan called up and pushed in behind her.

She could almost taste his disappointment. What had seemed irresolution, she now knew was self-protection. If she had not argued for the meeting, he might have decided against it. What had he gained? The knowledge that his only family didn’t want him, wouldn’t even believe him.

“They don’t matter.” She reached over and took his hand, felt him stiffen. She expected no answer and got none. It wasn’t true. They had mattered, more than she would have believed. He said nothing the entire drive back. When they reached the room, she expected the same, but though he didn’t speak, he took her hand and led her to the bed, closing the door behind. And that, though the sun had yet to set.

Quillan needed to feel alive. It was as though he’d been snuffed from existence. Seeing his mother’s grave dated before he was born, hearing,
“There is no possible way she is your mother.”
He knew it was lies, but it hit him anyway. He was nothing, no one.

He kissed Carina. He didn’t want her to talk. Her platitudes changed nothing. He wanted the primal affirmation he found only with her. But when he was through, he felt empty. Carina stroked his head, kissed his brow. She knew him. She knew what he was feeling. But he turned away and stared at the wall.

“Don’t go away.” Her voice was thick and husky.

“You think I’d leave?” He spoke to the wall.

“Here.” She tapped his temple.

She knew him all right. He was closing up. She wanted him to turn, to talk. But he felt like stone. When he didn’t move, she got up and dressed. He heard the door close behind her, and he was glad to be alone. It was familiar territory. His mind wandered over the episode. There was no question he’d found his mother’s people. Nor did he question their obvious disregard.

That was expected, and it no longer hurt. The hard part was learning they had put Rose to death without knowing, maybe without caring where or how she truly was, interred her memory rather than praying for her return. Why? He couldn’t fathom it. He felt an aching tenderness for his mother, wanting to shield her from them, take her where their judgment couldn’t hurt her.

He shook his head. That was foolish. She was beyond all human condemnation. Only God in His mercy had charge of her soul. Not the DeMornays. What had he hoped to accomplish? Certainly not some grand reunion, some open-arm welcome to their long lost progeny. If he was truly honest, he’d hoped to recognize them, to see something of himself, some extension beyond his own being.

Had he looked hard enough he might have found it. Had they conversed he might have seen mannerisms, intonation, expressions. Maybe he had. He closed his eyes and pictured William DeMornay, as stiff and unyielding and silently furious as Quillan felt right now. Strange to think the harder part of his nature came through his mother.

Well, it was done now. But their accusation that he wanted money rankled. As though money were paramount to family and belonging.

What had Carina said? Family was the most important thing. For that he’d pursued it, not for any financial gain. His anger surged. That, at least, he could feel.

Oh, God, help me make sense of it
. But he couldn’t. He rolled from the bed and put his pants on, then sat down atop the covers. He’d hardly settled in when Carina came through the door with a tray. Her beauty hit him physically. Had she gone down to the dining room looking so ravishing?

Two plates of pork seasoned with apples, buttered potatoes, and winter squash steamed up as she set the tray on stands across his legs. He looked from it to her. “Did you go down for this?”

“I ordered it up and charged it to your bill.” She settled onto the bed beside him.

He’d never eaten in bed in his life. Unless you counted sitting on the edge of his cot in his tent with a heated can of beans or potatoes. But then the cot had been the only thing to sit on.

She took a napkin from the tray, unfolded it, and laid it against his chest, which he had yet to cover in a shirt. Carina didn’t seem to care. She tucked her hair back behind her ear where it had fallen forward as she leaned toward the tray. With one finger he flicked it loose again.

She turned, suffocated him with the warmth in her eyes. “Do you want to eat or not?”

Unfortunately he did. He blessed the food, saying the prayer Reverend Shepard had taught him as a boy. Then he took the fork and knife and made short work of the meal. He could see Carina’s amusement as she ate hers with more delicacy. When they finished he moved the tray to the floor and turned to her. “What made you do that?”

“At home, when I was sick or peevish, Mamma would bring me a tray in bed. I always felt like a princess.” She waved her hand in the way that fascinated him.

“So I’m the prince?” He pulled up the side of his mouth. “Far cry from a pirate, isn’t it?”

“Not so far.” She shrugged. “If you consider all the despot rulers.”

Amused, he tucked his arms behind his head and studied her. “I must be wicked, with all my kin against me.”

“Your kin don’t know what they’re missing.” She set the tray on the table beside the bed, then sat again and shook her hair back. Did she know what that hair did to him? “Soon you’ll have more kin than you can stand.”

Carina’s family. And she hadn’t told them about him. He raised her hand and kissed her fingers. “Ever been to Alaska?”

“Alaska!”

“Great salmon fishing.” He stroked her fingers.

She tugged her hand away. “What are you saying?”

“With my wagon I could haul for the canneries. The cost of goods is astounding.”

“You want to go to Alaska?”

Did he? He’d thrown it out as a joke, but just now the thought was mighty appealing. Her face was stricken, though she didn’t say what was obvious to see. She wanted her family, her most important thing.

“Well, maybe we’ll go by way of California.”

She eased. “And maybe we’ll like Sonoma so well, your wandering feet will stop clamoring.”

He smiled. “Well, now. Wandering feet.” He looked down at his gray woolen stockings and curled his toes back.

She settled against him, and he brought his arm down to circle her shoulders. No, wandering was not on his mind.

E
LEVEN

What stench is in a tainted soul that righteous men recoil, some fetid, darksome malady which makes their blood to boil.

Why not instead a cleansing balm to wash away the stain, and let men see as God has seen the weariness and pain.

—Quillan

W
ITH QUILLAN GONE TO
get the wagon, Carina took one last look around the lobby. They were leaving Denver after just one night, and she wasn’t sure how to feel. If things had gone well yesterday, they might have stayed awhile and gotten acquainted with the DeMornays—Rose’s parents. Carina felt a keen disappointment. And though Quillan wouldn’t show it, she knew he stung still.

But now they would go to Sonoma. Oh, how she longed to see her home, her own mamma, her dear papa. Everyone, even Divina. She could almost feel their arms around her. Of course they would love Quillan. Why did she doubt it? They were not DeMornays; they were DiGratias!

She turned, and there was Mrs. DeMornay coming through the door with a quick darting step, glancing back once at the door, then proceeding to the counter. She stopped short when she saw Carina. “Oh. Oh, you’re here.”

Carina drew herself up almost to a height with the older woman.

Before she could speak, however, Mrs. DeMornay caught her hand and drew her into the alcove by the front window. “I’ve been forbidden to speak further with your husband, in case he tried to pursue things again. But nothing was said about you.”

Carina was startled. This seemed so out of character from the woman who had sat so prim and stately, offering no word yesterday when Quillan said his piece.

“Please, I have only a moment.”

Carina caught the woman’s hands. “Tell me.”

“Mr. DeMornay needs to believe . . . I’m certain he does believe . . .”

“That Rose lies in that grave?”

Mrs. DeMornay shuddered. “You can’t know how it was. We did what we had to, at first to protect Rose, then all of us. Judge me kindly.”

As they had judged Rose? And Quillan? Carina stayed silent.

Mrs. DeMornay’s liquid eyes were nearly aqua, perhaps paled a little with years, but Carina wondered if Rose’s eyes had been the same. Wolf had painted dark hair on the cave wall. Rose would have been a beauty indeed. The older woman dampened her gathered lips. “The diary . . .”

“It is Rose’s diary.” Carina stooped and drew it from her satchel. She had kept it close this morning, unable to pack it dispassionately into the trunk for the wagon. She pressed it to her heart. “My husband’s mother’s words.”

Mrs. DeMornay nodded slowly. “It was my gift to her on her nineteenth birthday.” Tears wet her eyes. “Your husband . . . was he, is he the product of a certain liaison? One which she fled . . .”

Surprised, Carina shook her head. Mrs. DeMornay knew of Rose’s seduction? “That child miscarried.” The word brought a pang to her heart, recalling Rose’s anguish. “Quillan is Rose’s son by Wolf, her husband.”

“Wolf.” Mrs. DeMornay shook her head. “Wolf?”

“The Sioux named him Cries Like a Wolf.” Carina thought the woman would faint she turned so pale and trembling.

“He was a savage?”

“He was a white captive who left the tribe and made his way to Placerville. A brave and wonderful man. Mrs. DeMornay, Wolf loved your daughter fiercely.” Loved her unto death. Slowly Carina drew the diary from her breast. She held it out. “It’s all in here.”

“No, I can’t.” Mrs. DeMornay shunned it with her hands. “If William saw . . . But here.” She reached into her purse, drew out a locket on a chain. “This is mine, so I can give it.”

It was large and gold, valuable in that alone. But Carina sensed more. Mrs. DeMornay opened it. Carina drew her breath in sharply. A photograph of a girl with dark curls and pale eyes.

Mrs. DeMornay pressed it into her hands. “I want your husband to have this.”

Carina covered it with her palm. “He will treasure it.”

Mrs. DeMornay’s lips trembled. “My daughter is . . . truly dead?”

Slowly Carina nodded. “Quillan was raised by another couple.” She sensed the woman would not bear more of the truth than that. “He only wanted to meet Rose’s people.”

Mrs. DeMornay dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“I have to go.” The woman’s eyes flicked to the doorway. “I was going to leave the locket at the desk. I can’t defy William. If I were to see your husband . . .”

“Go then. He’s fetching the wagon.”

But she hesitated. “He has her mouth. Wide and generous. Too generous. Rose . . . No, I won’t say it.”

“She loved deeply.”

Tears filled Rose’s mother’s eyes. “Yes . . . impetuously.” She pressed Carina’s hands. “As you do, I surmise.”

Did she guess that from their short encounter? Did she wear her love for Quillan so blatantly?

“Don’t sacrifice that.” Mrs. DeMornay released her.

Carina shook her head. “I won’t.”

“Give Quillan the locket and . . . my love.” Mrs. DeMornay’s voice shook.

Carina nodded, a lump stopping her speech. She looked down at the photograph in the locket as Mrs. DeMornay passed out the door. Quillan did have his mother’s mouth. She closed the locket and folded it into her handkerchief, then put it in her satchel. Straightening her skirts, she went to wait at the door.

When Quillan pulled up in the wagon, she went out. He lifted her up and tucked the satchel behind the seat, exactly as he had the first time they’d met. His expression, too, was reminiscently grim. He had slept poorly, even groaning softly in his sleep. The DeMornays had opened old wounds. She considered the locket tucked secretly in the satchel. Should she give it to him now?

But Mrs. DeMornay’s concern had been palpable. And in his current mood Quillan was too unpredictable. He might confront Mr. DeMornay, and where would that leave his grandmother? So Carina said nothing.

Quillan climbed in beside her. “I’m putting you on the train, Carina.”

He would start that again? They had argued it last night, but she had not changed her mind. “I want to travel with you.”

“The train makes more sense.”

And she would arrive home without him. “Then sell your wagon and come with me.”

He shook his head. “I need it.”

She tossed her hands. “Then drive.”

He took up the lines. “At least let me inquire.”

“What’s to inquire? We can take the train or we can drive. I am not doing either without you.”

He stayed silent until they reached the station. Bene. If he would be stubborn, she would, too. She refused to leave the wagon seat when he dismounted and walked to the ticket counter. He would have to bodily remove her.

But when he came back, he eyed her squarely. “How about a compromise?”

She clutched the seat in case it were a ruse. “What compromise?”

“Train’s got a car for hauling carriages and such. They’ll take the wagon and horses while we ride in the passenger car—together.”

Suddenly exuberant, she clasped her hands at her throat. “Then yes! Of course yes!”

He flicked his hat with the tips of his fingers and leaned his elbows on the wagon side with the closest thing to a smile he could manage. “Glad I don’t have to pry your hands off that seat.”