Bouquet for Iris (5 page)

“Thank you so much, Mr. Howington.” Iris allowed him to pull her forward until she could stand up, albeit with a rather hunched stance. “I can never repay your kindness.”

“That’s quite all right, Miss Landon. I would only hope some other gentleman might do the same favor for any daughter of mine.”

In the crowded interior of the coach, Iris did not have enough room to give the dear man a hug so she contented herself with squeezing his hand. “Godspeed.”

One of the other passengers yawned while a grouchy man frowned at her. “Would you go on and get out so we can get on our way? I’ve got to get to Washington before Friday.”

Another blush suffused Iris’s cheeks. She had overheard the bad-tempered man offering a bonus to the stagecoach driver to get him to his destination early. Not only had that meant long days on the coach, it also meant she had a problem. Camie and her husband would not expect her to arrive tonight. As she inched her way past the feet, bags, and boxes of the passengers, Iris wondered how she would arrange transportation to their home.

She stepped to the ground with a sigh of relief and took a moment to thank God for her safe arrival. A thump to her right made Iris jump back and stumble against the outside of the coach. Her trunk lay in the dusty road at her feet. A grunt warned her just in time. Iris looked up to see her portmanteau, the large case that held her dearest possessions, sail through the air to land neatly atop the trunk. She winced, hoping the bottle of expensive French perfume from Grandma Landon had survived the coachman’s callous treatment.

Iris would have complained about his roughness with her items, but the coachman had already regained his bench on the front of the large coach. He whipped up the team of four horses without a backward glance, and the equipage careened around a corner and disappeared.

“Well, I never.” Iris looked around her at the tiny town that was to be her new home. What she could see in the gloom of late evening was not inspiring. Only three or four buildings seemed to make up the town of Daisy, and only one of those was lit up. There were no lights outside, of course. Not that she’d expected them. This was not Nashville, after all. It was barely a community. According to the description Camie had sent, only a few dozen families lived on this side of the Tennessee River, although more settlers were beginning to make their way here. The other side of the river was mostly Indian Territory, although it did boast a trading post, called Ross’s Landing, and Brainerd Mission, where Reverend and Mrs. Miller lived.

Iris wondered if she could walk to Camie’s house but realized she didn’t even know which way to go. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. Whenever she’d imagined arriving, it had been in the middle of the day, not during the gloom of night and not a whole day ahead of schedule. What was she supposed to do?

The cool night air nipped at her cheeks as she wondered if the town of Daisy boasted an inn. She drew her shoulders back in an effort to bolster her waning confidence and walked down the street in search of a likely prospect.

Raucous laughter spewed from the one lit building in town. It must be a tavern. Iris took a step in that direction. Perhaps they could direct her to the Sherers’ home or at least rent her a room for the evening. Another roar of laughter slowed her. She tilted her head and listened intently. Someone played a piano, and a lady sang. It sounded like a friendly place. She pasted a smile on her face, gripped her reticule tightly, and stepped past the hitching post onto the raised walkway that ran the length of the building.

As Iris reached out a tentative hand toward the door, it swung outward. A man exited precipitously, barreling into her and pushing her down. Her teeth clacked together. “Well, I never!”

“What are you doing on t’ ground?” His slurred voice indicated that the man had been imbibing. “Here.” He leaned over and offered his hand.

Iris wanted to burst into tears. Maybe she was having a bad dream. But then why did the ground under her feel so solid? She put her hand in the stranger’s and allowed him to help her up. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of whiskey. In their work with the Indians at home, her parents had often had to deal with Indians who had imbibed too much “firewater.”

The stranger bowed, still holding onto her hand. “Adam Stuart’s m’ name.”

Iris didn’t know how to answer him. She should have been embarrassed by his casual manners. Back home she would never have considered speaking to a man without a proper introduction. And she certainly wouldn’t allow him to continue holding her hand. She gave a tug and pulled free.

He pointed a finger at her. “Why are you wandering outside all alone?”

Some part of her mind noticed that Mr. Stuart was tall, taller than she. He had a square chin and even features—she might even call him handsome if he was sober. His eyes were large and appeared brown in the muted light. They shone with intelligence and something else—was it vulnerability? Pain? For a brief instant, she wanted to comfort him.

What was she thinking? Offer comfort to a complete stranger? Iris shook her head and immediately put a hand up to keep her hat from falling off. Her pins must have loosened while she napped in the coach, and then her jarring tumble had made the situation more tenuous. Now her hair seemed determined to escape captivity. She fought the heavy curls, tucking them away with little success. Finally she gave up to concentrate on her main problem. “I need to find Lance and Camie Sherer.”

Mr. Stuart turned in a circle. “I don’t see them.”

“Of course not.” Iris wanted to scream her frustration. Why did Mr. Stuart have to be drunk? “They are probably at home. I need someone to help me get to the home of Mr. Lance Sherer.”

He frowned and stroked his chin with a finger as if deep in thought.

Iris waited a moment or two for him to answer. She had opened her mouth to ask him again when he dropped his hand and nodded at her.

“Lance Sherer. Nice man. Very smart. He already has a wife, y’know. And children.” He hiccuped and smiled at her. A dimple appeared in his left cheek, making him appear debonair in spite of the wrinkled condition of his dark suit.

“Well, I never!” Her indignation made her splutter the words. What was the man thinking? “I am a good friend of his wife. I’ve come at her suggestion.”

“Is there a problem here?” Unnoticed, another man had stepped through the doors of the tavern.

Foreboding made Iris’s heart thump loudly. Now she faced two strangers, and both of them were likely inebriated. What should she do? Cry for help? Make a dash through the door of the tavern? Or would that land her in even more trouble?

She took a deep breath to calm her fears and glanced at the second stranger. At least he seemed to be able to stand straight without aid. And he was tall, too. Were all the men tall in this part of Tennessee? She couldn’t believe that her first two encounters in Daisy were with men she had to look up to.

In appearance the second stranger was the opposite of the amiable man behind her. His hair was blond, and his shoulders were straight and wide. She couldn’t tell for certain in the dim light, but Iris thought his eyes were either blue or green. His style of dress was different, too—buckskin pants and a fur-lined coat instead of a crumpled suit. He carried a wide-brimmed hat in one hand, which he swept in an arc as he bowed to her. “Nathan Pierce at your service, miss.”

Iris didn’t know whether she should laugh or cry. Here she was stuck in the middle of nowhere, all her worldly goods lying in the street, and presented with two different men— one a charming rogue and the other a model of propriety. Except … If Mr. Nathan Pierce was such an upright citizen, what was he doing coming out of the tavern?

Another wave of laughter from inside suggested that the three of them would soon be joined by other examples of the male population to be found in Daisy.

“Do you know where Mr. and Mrs. Lance Sherer live?”

Mr. Pierce inclined his head over his right shoulder. “About two miles down that road.”

Two more men stumbled out of the tavern. One of them stared at her but moved past without saying anything when he caught the warning look in Mr. Pierce’s eyes.

Mr. Pierce returned his gaze to her face. “I can take you there, if you’d like.”

Iris wondered if the stranger was trustworthy. But what other option did she have? She couldn’t stay out here in the street all night.

“Don’t pay att … att’ntion to him.” Mr. Stuart’s words were still as slurred as when he’d first come outside, even though the crisp night air should have penetrated the fog of alcohol. He grabbed hold of the hitching post and leaned against it. “I c’n take care of you.”

Mr. Pierce deftly inserted himself between them. He held out his arm. “Ignore him. Mr. Stuart is too … tired … to recall his manners.”

Iris certainly couldn’t fault Mr. Pierce’s manners. Mr. Stuart was obviously not tired. But she appreciated Mr. Pierce’s kindness in trying to shield her from the man’s boorishness. Maybe it would be safe to allow him to take her to the Sherers’ home. She was about to tell him so when she remembered her trunk and portmanteau. She glanced around him to the street. From the corner of her vision she saw Mr. Stuart make a shaky bow and stagger away. She returned her attention to Mr. Pierce.

“Don’t worry about your things. I’ll have someone come back in the wagon and pick them up. When you wake up in the morning, everything will be there.”

“I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Pierce.” She put her hand on his arm, impressed by how hard his muscles felt under the thick fur coat.

“It’s my pleasure, Miss …?”

“Landon.”

“Miss Landon.” He led her to a tall roan stallion. “May I?”

Iris nodded and found herself picked up and tossed into the Spanish-style saddle. It was a good thing she’d spent time riding bareback, or she might have fallen since there was no place to hook her knee without immodestly displaying her ankles. Mr. Pierce mounted behind her and put an arm around her waist. Now she was safe from falling, but what about her reputation?

With a tiny shrug, she decided there was little choice if she wished to reach Camie’s home tonight. And what was the alternative? Taking her chances with the charming drunk? Not a good idea. She relaxed as she realized that Mr. Pierce was not going to take advantage of the situation.

“How do you know the Sherers?” His deep voice tickled her ear.

“Camie’s father, Reverend Miller, built a school for the Indians around the Nashville area, and my parents were very involved in its mission to teach English and spread the message of salvation. Camie and I worked and played together there. We were as close as sisters growing up.”

“I see.”

Silence grew between them, punctuated by the steady hoofbeats of his horse. Iris tried to force her tired mind to come up with another topic of conversation. “Have you seen her little girls?”

“No.” He shifted in the saddle. “Children make me nervous.”

“That’s because they’re not yours.”

Whatever his answer would have been was lost as they turned off the road toward a house that stood some feet away. It huddled at the edge of a dense forest, every window dark and shuttered against the night.

“They are not expecting you?” Mr. Pierce asked.

“Not exactly.” The Sherers were to meet her. But she had never imagined that her arrival would be twelve hours early.

“Hello the house!” Mr. Pierce’s yell ended her introspection. She waited while he dismounted and reached up to lift her down, once again marveling at the fact that he was so tall. Once her feet were on the ground, Iris actually had to bend her head back to meet his gaze.

Mr. Pierce escorted Iris to the front door with the same easy confidence he’d shown since they met. She deeply appreciated his taking charge because she felt overwhelmed. She stood to one side as he banged on the door. At first no sound came from inside the Sherer house, but then she heard heavy footfalls on the staircase. Yellow light flickered around the outer edge of the front door as it opened.

“Nathan Pierce? What brings you out in the middle of the night?” Lance Sherer’s voice was deep and authoritative.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you, Lance.” Her escort was nothing if not polite. Iris admired politeness. Her parents had stressed the finer points of social niceties, saying that living in the country was no excuse for poor manners. Apparently Mr. Pierce’s parents agreed with that philosophy. “I have brought a friend of your family.” He glanced back to where she stood. “Miss Landon was recently delivered to us by stage.”

“Iris?” Camie’s husband stepped onto the narrow porch, a candle in one hand and a rifle tucked under his other elbow. “Is it really you?” He leaned the rifle against the doorjamb and beckoned to them to enter.

She nodded and stepped forward with a little hiccup of relief mixed with tiredness. “It’s so good to meet you.”

Mr. Sherer was not as tall as the other two men she’d met tonight, destroying Iris’s earlier hope that all the men in this part of Tennessee would make her feel of normal height. Strands of dark brown hair straggled across his forehead, but her attention was caught by his wide blue eyes. They were so kind and calm, so full of welcome. She liked him immediately and could see why Camie had fallen in love with him. Everything about him, from his warm smile to his beckoning hand gestures, made her feel welcome.

“Camie, it’s your friend Iris.” He looked over his shoulder to address his wife, who must have been standing on the stairway. “She’s come to us early.” Camie’s husband turned back to look past her. “Where are your bags?”

“They’re back in town, lying in the middle of the road.” Iris forced the words between stiff lips. Irritation straightened her spine as she remembered the callous coachman.

Mr. Pierce diverted her thoughts by gently taking her hand and pressing a warm kiss on her gloved fingers. “I hope to see you again soon.”

He was such a nice man. “I hope so, too.” Iris couldn’t help being flattered by the obvious admiration in his voice. She watched him stride back to his horse before stepping back to allow Mr. Sherer to close the door.