A Place Called Harmony (22 page)

She rocked for a few minutes before she answered just as formally, “I am your wife. A man should have a right to kiss his wife, providing she’s told him such an act is not unpleasant to her.”

“And is it, dear?”

“No, Truman, it is not.”

He thought about kissing her right then, but people were everywhere tonight and they were not two kids in love like Patrick and Annie. He’d wait until the time was right.

An hour later, Granny Gigi simply forgot to take another breath and passed as if in sleep. Daisy came down to tell Karrisa, who told the family. They cried and hugged and talked of better times, but in the back of everyone’s mind whispered one question.

How long until they too breathed their last breath?

T
RADING
P
OST

At dawn everyone—except the prisoner tied up in the barn—dressed and followed the coffin Patrick and Shelly had made toward a rise in the earth a quarter mile away. Patrick had carved a dove on the top of the box and Gillian watched Momma Roma cry when she ran her fingers along the wood. Patrick’s thoughtful gesture had been simple, but it seemed to mean a great deal to Granny Gigi’s daughter.

Gillian wore his uniform and looked like the polished officer he was except for the bandage still circling his head. Black curly hair in need of a trim hung over the bandage. He had walked the land at dawn and marked off the beginning of a cemetery on a hill that would someday overlook the town. If generations of Mathesons, McAllens, and Trumans were to be buried here someday, he thought it only fitting that their spirits watch over the place.

Daisy walked beside him, her hand in his, and their boys followed along like ducks. Charlie was dirty by the time they were halfway to the open grave, but Gillian doubted anyone noticed. Charlie was always dirty.

Abe, the four-year-old, explained what was going on to his younger brother as they walked. “She’s dead, Ben, just like a chicken is when Momma wrings his neck.”

“Will she run around for a while?” Ben didn’t seem all that interested in a woman he’d never seen dying. “Chickens run around for a while even without their heads.”

“I don’t think so. Maybe. Maybe not.” Abe answered as if he were an authority on everything. “That may be why they put her in the box. Just to make sure.”

Gillian turned around, frowning at his oldest sons. “Stop talking, boys. Just march. No talking or running around at funerals. It’s a rule.”

The frown that sent new recruits running for cover didn’t seem to affect a three- and four-year-old.

They both nodded, then forgot the rule while watching Charlie push Dylan over in the muddy wagon rut. Now both twins were dirty.

As the small procession reached the grave, Patrick and Shelly lowered the casket while the others gathered around. Gillian guessed it was his job to do the service since no one else volunteered. When he’d suggested Patrick might want to say the words, McAllen said no so fast he must have already feared being assigned the duty.

As Gillian read from the Bible slowly, allowing Karrisa to repeat the words in Italian, all the women and Harry Woolsey cried. Gillian didn’t dare close his eyes for the prayer. No telling how many of his sons would fall into the grave.

“She lived a long life and was blessed with those who mourn her,” he said. “Now may she go from Harmony to Heaven in peaceful passing.”

Everyone said amen. They all waited as the dirt was placed in the grave, and Annie set a handful of spring flowers on top. Momma Roma sang a soft song that few understood, but they all politely listened. Then they all walked back to the trading post.

Daisy put her arm around Momma Roma in comfort, leaving Gillian to grab hold of the twins, who’d decided to toss mud clods at each other. As he gripped two muddy little hands, Gillian announced in his most military voice, “You two will be in for a round of reprimand when we get back to headquarters.”

Neither looked like they cared. Charlie was trying to swing with Gillian’s steps, and Dylan fell down so many times Gillian felt like he was dragging him most of the way. He was thankful when Daisy took them from him, only she frowned at him like she thought it was his fault they looked like mini mud men.

“These two have no discipline,” he said, thinking it was lucky that he came home from the army to help. Daisy was outnumbered.

She just smiled as if she knew a secret. “Wait until they turn two and move into open rebellion.”

His wife walked away with the mud boys before he could ask any questions.

Gillian joined the main group gathering in the kitchen for coffee.

They all sat at the long table drinking from tin mugs and eating biscuits with jam. Since most had had little sleep, no one felt like talking. One by one they all drifted off to take care of neglected business or to rest.

Gillian could hear Ely snoring in his comfortable chair by the old stove in the store. The McAllens went out to the barn, saying they had a little project to finish. Momma Roma told all her boys to get some sleep as they climbed the stairs. Truman hitched up his wagon and took his wife out to see their place before the low clouds dumped another round of rain.

The trading post was quiet. For a few hours, Gillian worked on his plans. For a town to work, every detail had to be considered.

When Daisy went to their bedroom to get the boys down for a nap, Gillian poured himself another cup of coffee and sat across from Jessie, who looked to be knitting a ball of knots.

The girl still looked frail, but he knew exactly how strong she was. She’d gotten him here all by herself. They hadn’t had time to talk without others around since they’d been at the post, but Daisy had kept him up on what Jessie was doing.

“You all right, kid?” he asked her, wondering again how old she might be.

She nodded. “I like it here. You going to let me stay or try to take me back to that mission you dumped me at before? Daisy says I can stay, but she’s not the captain of this camp.”

Gillian shrugged. “I’m not so sure she’s not the boss, but either way, you can stay. You saved my life, kid. I’m grateful. If you want to stay here with Daisy and me till you’re grown, that’s fine with us. You’ll be treated like one of the family. You’ll be expected to work like we all do, but whatever we have will be yours, too.”

“I get to keep the money I make at the store?” She faced him directly, but he saw the uncertainty in her eyes. “I dust and put things where they go for Mr. Ely. He pays me a dime an hour.”

“You keep that money. Daisy and I will buy what you need like clothes and such. That money from Ely is for what you want.” Gillian still wasn’t sure the girl liked him. The only time she talked seemed to be to the boys. “Are we all right with what happened out there on the trail?” He knew he didn’t have to mention the man she killed. “You did what you had to do, girl, and there is no wrong in that.”

“I know what Nate had planned for me,” she whispered. “They caught an Apache girl once. I seen what they did to her. We were moving camp the next day and Nate said to just leave her tied up, but I cut her ropes before we left. When Nate noticed she was gone, he slugged me hard and told me my time was coming. If Nate were to rise up from the dead, I’d shoot him again.”

“How’d you end up with them?”

“My mom used to cook in an outlaw camp over near the Indian Territory. One night she and this man she’d been keeping company with ran off with the latest haul of stolen goods.” The girl played with her hands, twisting her fingers together, then pulling them apart. “I ran after her, but she told me to stay. She said she’d come back for me, but she never did. Since I could cook, I got traded to first one gang and then another. I figure I don’t got no one, but I ain’t a dumb animal to be swapped around.”

“Can you read?”

She shook her head. “Never saw no need. I like learning, though. Mr. Ely is teaching me to count money and Karrisa is showing me how to sew.” Jessie leaned forward. “Can I stay here with you and Daisy forever, Captain? I swear I’ll never be a bother. I’ve never known good people like all you folks. If my mom drove up today I wouldn’t want to go with her.”

Gillian nodded. “You can stay and we’ll teach you to read. We’ll build a schoolhouse soon and you can go to school.”

The girl hardened a little, silently telling Gillian that she’d been lied to all her life.

“I’ll stay for a while, but don’t promise too much.”

“Fair enough. Do you have any idea how old you are, Jessie?”

“The sergeant’s wife at the fort said I was about the same size as her twelve-year-old, but she said the way I’m filling out I might be older and just small for my age.”

“How about we start with fifteen? You can tell people that, and next spring we’ll have you a birthday party and you’ll be sixteen.”

She frowned for a moment, then shrugged. “All right. Nobody ever bothered to ask me before about my age, but lots of folks around here seem to want to know, so now I’ll have something to tell them.” She stood. “I’m going to the store. There’s work to be done there. I can’t just sit around here getting older.” She took two steps and turned back. “I’d like to know how to read and write. It might come in useful sometime.”

He grinned at Jessie but didn’t try to delay her, guessing she’d talked to him about as much as she wanted to talk. Standing, Gillian set his cup on the washstand and opened the door to his bedroom.

To his surprise every member of his family was sound asleep. With all the people at the trading post the boys were up early every morning and hard to get to sleep at night. Daisy was no exception. With the extra people, she’d been helping out more in the kitchen. Her day started an hour before dawn and ended when the last boy went to sleep.

He removed his uniform jacket and boots, then carefully lay beside her, pulling the blanket over them both as he leaned back. She was still sleeping on top of the covers every night, using excuses for not sleeping with him. Most nights both were too exhausted to talk when they finally settled all the boys.

Placing his hand on the side of her head, he felt her soft sunshine hair and the warmth of her cheek. He wanted nothing more in the world than to make love to his wife, but he knew this was not the time. The boys might wake or someone might come into the kitchen or it was too light or too late, or she was too tired.

He’d heard all her excuses except the truth. His beautiful wife of five years didn’t want to sleep with him. Gillian couldn’t figure it out. She’d uprooted the family, she’d traveled hundreds of miles, she’d risked everything on the chance that he’d stay with her here, but she didn’t want him to make love to her.

Part of him thought he might try courting her again, but how does a man court the mother of his children? They might not have spent a great deal of time together, but she was his wife and his only lover. He knew her body in great detail, not only from memories, but also from his dreams.

He couldn’t bring himself to wake her. He didn’t want a hurried mating; he wanted the passion of before. He wanted his loving Daisy back, and he’d have her if he had to build the two-story house all by himself.

Then there would be no blanket between them if he had anything to do with it.

T
RADING
P
OST

Clint felt like he was walking in an ocean of sorrow. No one ate any lunch. The weather had turned too bad to take Karrisa out to check on his land and new chimney. He’d hitched up a wagon but wasn’t surprised when she shook her head and took the baby back inside. He took the wagon to the barn, checked on the prisoner, who’d refused to say a word, and walked back to the porch.

No one came to the trading post, so Harmon Ely complained that he might as well close the store. If there were wagons on the road they’d probably stopped wherever they could find cover to wait out the rain.

He walked around the store, the kitchen area, the back porch with a roof that leaked, then back to the front porch where rain barred him in like a prison. Restless in the confined space with so many people, he circled again and again.

Matheson and McAllen were poring over what they called a city map as if the town were already built. The captain wanted to go out as soon as the rain stopped and measure the streams. The last thing they needed to worry about was flooding across the place they’d sectioned off as the town square.

For a while Clint stood around watching the women quilt as the Matheson boys played under the frame. Jessie and Momma Roma’s youngest son were playing checkers on the floor of the store. By early afternoon Harmon Ely had taken up drinking with Harry Woolsey. Neither was a very enthusiastic drinker, but it passed the afternoon.

About the time Clint thought he might go up and take a nap, his wife asked him to try on the shirt she’d made for him.

They left Danny sleeping in his basket beside the women and went up to their room. The rainy day made the small room almost dark enough to need a light, but Clint doubted they’d be there long enough to bother.

He pulled off his worn shirt. When he slipped on the new one, he felt the difference in the fine cut of the shoulders and the sleeves. The material was probably the best she could find at the trading post, but she’d finished it like one of the fine custom-made shirts he’d seen in a Houston tailor’s window. The shoulders had plenty of give and the sleeves were long enough not to pull when he moved. He was a man bigger than most and never could remember a shirt fit so right.

“I added a double row of stitches where the sleeves join the yoke so you wouldn’t pull them out so easily,” Karrisa said as she brushed her fingers along her work.

“This is nice, dear. Really nice. But you didn’t have to go to so much trouble. I’m not a man used to being pampered. Maybe make something for yourself.”

She stood in front of him and smoothed the material out as she buttoned each button. “I liked making it for you. I thought of you while I worked. The width of your shoulders that I slept on during the train ride. The way you move, always aware, always ready for trouble. I thought this color might warm the cold blue of your eyes.”

Clint didn’t move. She’d never said so much to him at one time. It was like she’d saved up all she had to say and said it at once.

On impulse, he leaned down and kissed her cheek. When she didn’t move, he tilted her head up with one finger and gently kissed her lips. The kiss he’d waited so long for didn’t disappoint. Her lips were every bit as soft and full as he remembered.

“Come closer,” he whispered against her wet lips just before he pulled an inch away. He wanted her coming to him. He needed to know there was no doubt that she wanted this between them.

Her hands moved up to his shoulders as she closed the distance between them.

“Are you sure you want to be so close to me?” Clint gave her one more chance to back away. He’d made up his mind he wouldn’t push this shy creature. If she came to him, she came of her own free will.

“Yes,” she answered. “I want this between us.”

That was all he needed to hear. His hands slid around her waist as he pressed her to him. His mouth tugged at her bottom lip and she opened to a deep kiss. The memory of their first kiss that he’d carried with him for two weeks blended with another memory he knew he’d keep until the day he died.

He could feel her heart beating against his chest. Lifting her off the ground, he straightened as her body rested on his. The feel of her pressed against him was quickly moving from being a longing to a need. When her fingers dug into his hair, he opened her mouth wide and explored.

There was so much he didn’t know about her. But right now, with her in his arms, he knew that he wanted her. This shy, fragile woman with her secret past and fears deeper than he’d ever seen was the one person who made him feel alive.

This silent broken woman who didn’t even look at him most of the time was willingly giving him exactly what he needed. Contact. He’d been so alone for so long that her body resting on his was almost too much for his senses to bear.

He felt her shiver in his arms and he lowered her back to the floor. Out of breath, he forced himself to pull away from her lips but not from the nearness of her.

“Too much?” he whispered against her ear, knowing that the kiss had been far deeper than he’d planned. “Am I demanding more than you’re ready to give, dear?” He could have asked himself the same question. He’d allowed no comfort from a woman since his wife died. “You taste so good. You feel so good. I may drown in this pleasure you allow me.”

She buried her face against his throat, her breath coming fast. “No,” she whispered. “It wasn’t too much. I just—I just never thought it would be like this. You make me feel warm all over. I’m not afraid of you. I don’t want to stop. Please hold me.”

Dear God, she was begging him. For two weeks he’d wondered if she’d allow him one more kiss and here she was asking for more.

He laughed and kissed her hair. “We need to ration kisses or I fear we may become addicted.”

“Of course.” She backed away. “If that’s what you wish.”

He tugged her into the circle of his arms. “But not yet, dear. Don’t move away so fast. Right now all I wish is to have you against me, so close I can feel your heart beat.”

This time she came to him quickly, surprising him. She wanted more and he was perfectly willing to accommodate her wish. If his brain exploded with the overdose, he’d risk it. The thought crossed his mind that he would risk anything to know he mattered to someone again.

He cupped the back of her head and turned her just right so that his mouth fit over hers fully. His hands moved from her waist up, stroking the sides of her body as he took her breath away with his passion. Her mouth was soft, timidly waiting for his kiss. He found her shy hesitance blended with her willingness to try intoxicating. She made him want to be tender.

When he finally ended the kiss, he’d become addicted to the smell of her, the feel of her, the taste of her. He moved to her throat, enjoying the rapid pulse as his mouth nibbled along her soft skin. He couldn’t let her go. It wasn’t time to end this with a kiss. He wanted more of her. “Lean your head back for me, dear,” he whispered as he gently tasted her neck.

She closed her eyes and smiled her little smile as if waiting for a gift. He knew she’d run if he stepped too far, but he wanted to please her and, if she wanted a little more, he’d do just that.

He tilted her over one arm as his free hand tugged at the buttons of her dress. Kissing each one as it gave, he worked his way down to the V between her breasts.

She stiffened at his boldness.

“Easy now, dear, I’m not going to hurt you. Just relax and I promise you’ll enjoy it as much as I do. If you want to stop at any time, just say so. I’ll go no further.”

She nodded once, silently telling him to continue.

Her trust of him made him want to go slow, make it perfect for her. He moved his hand along the open collar. When her dress opened, revealing her undergarment, he lowered and kissed the rise of her breasts over her cotton camisole.

“I’ve always wanted to tell you how beautiful you are right here.” He kissed her as his finger trailed along the top of her breasts. “So beautiful,” he repeated.

She cried out softly with pleasure.

He straightened her and once more captured her mouth, wanting another kiss more than he wanted to breathe. She was liquid in his arms, moving with him as if they were slowly dancing, letting him hold her any way he wanted. As he journeyed to the valley between her breasts once more, he realized he’d never kissed a woman with such hunger. He was starving and she was his only way to survive.

She smelled so good. Like a warm summer day, fresh and newborn. He opened his mouth, needing to taste her throat. As he moved down, pressing his face against her throat, he heard her make a little sound.

Glancing up, he watched her rock her head back and forth as if she were drifting with a tide. Moving his fingers across her camisole and along the exposed flesh of her throat, he finally reached her now slightly swollen lips. When he pressed his thumb against her mouth, she didn’t open her eyes but opened her mouth, letting him brush along her wet lips. Velvet, he thought.

He drew her to him then. Holding her against him as he took in the nearness of her. She let him take his time, never pushing away, never holding back. Finally when she moaned, he knew he’d found exactly how she liked to be kissed and several places she liked to be touched.

The realization that if he didn’t stop soon he wasn’t sure he’d be able to sobered him, and he broke the kiss. Lifting her up, he walked to the one chair and sat down, pulling her atop him.

For a while he just held her, thinking of how this shy woman had affected him more than anyone or anything had in years. He moved his hands over her dress, feeling a body that, though still slim, was nicely rounded in places.

“Karrisa.” He whispered her name as if the one word were an answer to a prayer. “Karrisa, I can’t get enough of you.” He held her close.

She cried softly against his shoulder. He didn’t turn loose and she made no move to slip away.

“Are you all right, dear?”

“Yes.”

“Then button your dress.” He wasn’t sure he could touch her so intimately and then walk away. “We should probably go back downstairs.”

She straightened and fastened the buttons he’d kissed. When she slipped off his lap he didn’t try to stop her, but his hand lingered at her waist.

“There is no need to cry. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Her hair was in her face again and he couldn’t see her eyes. She was still so frail he feared he might have held her too tightly.

“No.” Her slender hands moved over the wrinkles in her dress. “You can stop asking me that, Truman. I don’t think you’d ever hurt me.”

He waited, wishing she’d give him some reason why she’d cried, but he’d promised not to ask. If she’d never been kissed like a man kisses a woman or if she’d been abused in the past, he’d probably moved way too fast. Yet she believed that he wouldn’t hurt her, even now when what they’d done made her cry. She’d trusted him and he swore he’d never hurt her.

He stood. Suddenly their little room seemed even smaller. “Are you ready to go down?” He needed time to think.

“Yes, Truman.” Pushing her hair back, she looked at him. “I’m ready.”

The woman who’d been in his arms moments ago now looked very proper. A lady, he thought. A proper lady with her dress buttoned up to the throat, showing none of the satin flesh he’d touched, and kissed, and tasted.

Karrisa turned toward the door, but his hand on her arm stopped her. “Tell me. How do you feel about what we just did?” He couldn’t ask about her past, but he could ask this. If she hated what they’d done or was just kissing him because she thought it was her wifely duty, he swore he’d never touch her again.

She stared at her arm resting in his light grip, then raised her head and shook her straight midnight hair away from her face. “It frightens me a little, the way you make me feel all warm inside. The hunger you have for me. Only when you hold me I feel wanted, cared about. Cherished.” His shy wife straightened as if trying to be brave. “I liked what we just did, Truman. If you have no objections, I’d like it if we do it again?”

Clint froze, trying not to show how deeply her words set his mind to rest. “I think we might, dear. Maybe tonight if you’re not too tired.” He let his hand move up her arm and slide along her back. “And you’re right, Karrisa, I do find I have a hunger for you.”