Newton (Prairie Grooms Book 9)

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opyright
© 2016 by Kit Morgan

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over design
by Angel Creek Press, The Killion Group and
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Y
ou’ve been asking
for more Clear Creek stories, so this book marks a transition into a couple of different things. First, many have asked for more day-to-day tales of the residents of Clear Creek. So, a new series will be coming this year about the townsfolk and what it’s like to live in a place that borders on something almost magical. Secondly, there has always been a second story line going on in these books. In fact, not just in my book series involving Clear Creek, but my other series as well. Those stories will be told in their entirety this year and written by my alter-ego Geralyn Beauchamp. They take place in her realm of story-telling, and are far more than a simple romance or western. But until then, enjoy Newton’s story. The simple western version anyway … the “other” version, Geralyn Beauchamp will have to tell.

“
A
rya
, take my hand,” Newton commanded.

Arya reached up, took the hand he offered, and in one swift move he deftly swung her onto the horse behind him. “Hang on,” he said, and it was a good thing she did. As soon as her arms came around his waist, he spurred the horse into a fast gallop.

He knew that if he didn’t leave now, Arya’s people might not let them leave at all. He chanced a quick glance behind them but no one was following. Yet. “Hang on,” he shouted again over the wind and urged the horse to go faster. If he could make it past the canyon they’d be safe. He knew it, could feel it in his gut.

If only he knew if he was breaking some unspoken law of Arya’s people. To them she seemed to be something sacred. He didn’t understand why and might not know for a long time. The language barrier between them was difficult to contend with, but getting better. He’d been able to teach her a few phrases thus far, and learn a few in turn. He’d have to work on that. If he lived long enough, that is.

Arya pressed against his back. The warmth of her body felt good as cold wind rushed to meet them in their flight. He hoped and prayed the horse didn’t stumble or trip. If it did they’d be caught – and that, he was sure, wouldn’t bode well for either of them.

Newton could sense the horse was beginning to tire and slowed to a trot. The forest that separated the prairie around Clear Creek from the lands of Arya’s people was ahead. Still no one following. Good. They might survive this yet.

Not until they were well into the trees did he bring the horse to a stop and turn him around. Newton realized he was breathing almost as hard as his mount was. He twisted in the saddle to look at the woman behind him as best he could. “Arya, are you all right?”

She looked at him with her big gray eyes, her head cocked to one side. She didn’t understand.

He tried again. “Arya,” he said, his voice softer. “Are you well? Good?”

She smiled. “Good,” she repeated, her voice silky-smooth. A chill went up his spine at the sound, and he closed his eyes a moment. There was something in her voice he couldn’t resist. It was one reason he’d parted from his father with so much unsettled between them to return to Arya’s people.

“Good,” he repeated, studying their surroundings. “Very good, sweet. But if I don’t get us out of here quickly, it might not stay that way.” He searched for the shortest path of the several he’d learned in his last two visits, and tried to remember which ones Mr. Awahnee said to take if he was ever in a hurry.

“Kwaku Awahnee,” he muttered, his jaw tight. The giant African had gotten him into this mess, and he was hoping he’d get him out. But no! Instead, he’d plunged Newton into marital bliss. Alas, he’d only reached the bliss part once – and had barely lived long enough to do that! His only recourse was to go back to Clear Creek and hope for safety in numbers. Arya’s people would be moving on any day now, and with luck would leave them alone and not try to reclaim one of their own.

Arya, his beautiful Arya. Now his wife.

N
ewton pulled
Arya close to him when they reached Mulligan’s Saloon. His father Cutty – the former Thackary Cuthbert Holmes – had just gotten married to Newton’s distant cousin Imogene, and had no idea of their flight to escape Arya’s people before they broke camp and left for the winter. If Newton and Arya hadn’t left when they did, he feared they’d be forced to go with the tribe. If that happened, he might never see his family again. Even if some of the men of Clear Creek came after him there would be no trail to follow – Arya’s people were far too stealthy for that.

“Are you hungry?” he asked her.

She smiled and put a hand on her heart.

“Hungry,” Newton repeated and pointed to his mouth.

She smiled again and put her fingers against his lips.

He glanced around first, then kissed them quickly. “I need food, and you probably do as well.” He took her hand and gazed into her eyes. “I wish you could understand me. I so hope you’ll forgive me for what I’ve done. But Mr. Awahnee said it’s for the best.”

Newton looked around at the saloon filled with people. The African, of course, was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Amon. The two had been talking outside the church after Cutty’s wedding. Where could they have gone? He searched the room again. “They can’t have gone far,” he said to himself.

He steered Arya toward the bar, which the Mulligans had turned into a buffet of sorts. People were lined up to fill their plates, and didn’t pay him much attention. He’d had enough of that when he’d barged into the church and interrupted his father’s wedding. Thankfully the ceremony was already over, and he hadn’t really disturbed anything. He only wished his life had been shaken up a bit less …

“There you are!”

Newton turned. “Nettie! Thank Heaven it’s you!”

Nettie gave him a quick embrace. “With all the excitement in the church, I didn’t get the chance to meet your new bride. Would you care to introduce me?”

Newton looked between the two women and prayed he didn’t start to sweat. “Nettie, this is Arya. I’m afraid her English isn’t good yet. Perhaps you can help me with that.”

“I thought I heard you mention something to that effect at the church.”

“About what?”

“That your wife was raised by the Indians.” Nettie looked Arya up and down. “She’s obviously not a native.”

“No, she’s not. I haven’t time to tell you everything, but … well, the short of it is they wanted to marry her off, and felt she would be better matched with someone outside the tribe.”

“What sort of tribe is it? I heard mention of the Umatilla, but Seth and Ryder said that’s not what they are.”

“No, they certainly aren’t. But I’m afraid I haven’t got time to get into that now. Would you look after her for me? I have to find Mr. Awahnee.”

“Then you’d best hurry – I think he and his wife were preparing to leave.”

“Oh no!” he groaned, and hurried toward the doors.

Once outside, he looked up one side of the street and down the other. There was no sign of anyone. “Right, then,” he said to himself. “Now what?”

“Newton, there you are!” Cutty said as he came up behind him. “Why aren’t you enjoying the party? It’s my wedding supper, you know … well, maybe yours too, now that I think of it. Come, sit and eat – and tell me what happened. A man doesn’t just ride back to town with a wife every day, you know.”

Newton stared at him, his head beginning to pound. He still wasn’t used to Cutty speaking with a British accent very much like his own – that in addition to being his own flesh and blood. “Now that you mention,” he finally said, “I could do with a glass of water …”

“There’s plenty of it inside. Let’s get you some.”

Newton nodded and let Cutty guide him back into the building. He was undoubtedly too late – Kwaku Awahnee had left, and who knew when he’d ever see him again? He had questions, lots of them, and the Awahnees were the only ones with any answers. But it looked like he’d have to make out as best he could until they returned – if they did.

Back inside, Cutty and Imogene got Newton some water and a plate of food, then led him to the table where Nettie was sitting with Arya. Arya was happily munching on a fried chicken drumstick. As far as he knew she’d never had one before.

“Your bride seems quite curious about the food, dear brother,” Nettie said.

Suspicion confirmed. “I’ve no doubt of that. Her diet was quite different from ours. There will be a lot of things new to her and I’m going to need help.”

“Can the poor child read or write?” Imogene asked.

“I’m afraid not – at least not English.”

“How on earth do you communicate then?” Nettie asked.

“It’s difficult,” he told her, “but not impossible. We’ve been making progress.”

“So this is what’s been calling to you from the prairie,” Imogene said with a smile. “I dare say, I can’t blame you for wanting to leave us in order to return to her.”

Newton smiled and turned away, his cheeks warm. “I’m afraid you caught me.”

“I don’t think I’m the one that did the catching,” Imogene said, studying Arya more closely. “She’s beautiful, Newton, simply stunning. I’ve never seen eyes quite like hers.”

“She rather reminds me of some sort of wood nymph out of a fairytale,” Nettie remarked. “Was she really raised by savages?”

Newton sighed heavily. “Please, don’t use that word. They’re not savages – they’re usually quite gentle, and very artistic in their own way.”

“I’m sorry, I meant no offense.” Nettie focused back on her plate.

Arya, oblivious to their conversation, dipped her fingers into her mashed potatoes.

“No, no, no,” Newton said, gently pushing her hand away. “Here, we use these.” He picked up a fork and held it before her. “A
fork
. Watch.” He took a forkful of potatoes and put them in his mouth. “Mmmmm,” he added with an exaggerated nod.

“You’ve got to be joking,” said Nettie, aghast.

“I’m afraid not, dear sister. In some ways, we’re starting from scratch. Are you up to helping me?”

Arya noticed the fork near her plate, picked it up gingerly, then did exactly as Newton had with the potatoes. Her eyes widened as she rolled them around in her mouth, then started poking at the rest of the food on her plate as she chewed.

“She’s a fast learner,” Nettie commented.

“You shouldn’t have to talk about her as if she was a trained sheepdog,” Imogene scolded. “I’m sure that between all of us we can have her civilized in no time.”

“I think that among her people she was very civilized,” Newton said quietly. “To them, we’re the savages.”

“How would you know if you couldn’t communicate with them?” Nettie asked.

“A few of them spoke some English – not very well, mind you, but well enough to get the idea across,” Newton replied, seemingly humbled by the memory.

“How did the two of you marry?” Cutty asked. “Especially since you can hardly talk to each other.”

“As I shared with Nettie, among her people she was considered of marriageable age, but they were unable to find a compatible candidate. They decided I was fit for the job and became rather… insistent that I take it.”

Nettie’s eyes widened. “You mean they forced you to marry this woman?”

“No, I married her of my own free will.”

“So it wasn’t some sort of, of shotgun wedding?” Cutty asked. “It happens, you know, especially around here.”

“No, nothing like that,” Newton said in exasperation. He drained his glass of water.

Arya watched him with concern, then scanned the table, reached for the nearest glass – Nettie’s – and placed it in front of him.

“Well, at least she looks out for you,” Nettie laughed. “I believe the first things I should teach her are ‘please’ and ‘thank you’.”

“Don’t worry, she’ll learn. She’s been through as much as I have lately, and now her people are moving on. They don’t stay in one place for very long.”

“Does
she
know that?” Cutty asked.

Newton looked at his new bride. She picked up another piece of chicken, sniffed at it a few times before taking a generous bite. “No,” he said. “I don’t think she does.”

“What will she do when she finds out?” Imogene asked.

Newton glanced around the table and sighed. “I haven’t the foggiest.”

N
ewton dragged
himself up the hotel’s stairs to his room, Arya at his side. She hadn’t left him since the wedding supper, not even to use the privy. Not that she knew what one was. How did he get into this mess? Not, admittedly, that he really wanted to get out of it. He glanced at the beauty beside him and sighed in mingled joy and frustration.

She cocked her head and studied his face. “Newton,” she said perfectly. She reached up and tenderly touched his cheek.

She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, “I’d be a fool to send you back. And I won’t, you hear?” He reached up, took her hand from his face and kissed it. “I dare say, I don’t think I could ever let you go. It would be the death of me.”

Arya gazed up at him as if she knew what he meant.

“We’d best go in, then. I don’t know about you, but I’m very tired.”

She reached a hand up and covered his heart with it.

Newton smiled. “Yes, my dear wife, I love you too. You have no idea how much. Instead, I’ll just have to show you.” He unlocked the door, opened it, then swept her up into his arms. She gasped, but he knew the action didn’t frighten her. He had her total trust.

“This is a tradition of my people,” he explained knowing she couldn’t understand a word. “It’s customary for a groom to carry his bride across his threshold. Then he makes wild passionate love to her, and she to him.”

Arya smiled and stared at him with those lovely grey eyes.

He carried her over the threshold, set her on her feet near the settee and watched her study her surroundings. “I must say, I’m glad you’re so curious. At least you’re not frightened of every corner.” He reached over, tucked a finger under her chin and turned her to face him. “You trust me, don’t you? I think my people could learn much from yours. I wish you could understand that yours have left you behind with me. They’re gone, and I don’t know if you’ll see them again. Once you figure it out, I do hope you’re not angry with me.”

Arya smiled. “Not good?”

He smiled back and took her hands in his. “You and I are
very
good. But I’m afraid what I’ve done isn’t. Our being here might cause the pot to stir, as they say. Actually, I’m not sure who said it, but I’ve heard it somewhere …”

Arya put her fingers to his lips, as was her habit when he talked too much. He rambled when he felt nervous, and right now he certainly did. But she could sense this sort of thing in him. Even with a language barrier to cross, he swore she already knew him better than he knew himself. How that was possible, he had no idea.

“I think perhaps we should get ready for bed, don’t you?” He glanced at the door, crossed the room and shut it. “It’s hard to believe this is my father’s wedding night as well. Though we’ve had ours already, at least according to your people. But according to mine, this would be … it. I hate to admit it, but I’m a bit nervous.” He laughed. “Who would have thought a man like me would be nervous in the presence of his bride on his wedding night? At least I can tell you these things openly and know you won’t laugh or storm out the door and demand to be taken back to your parents’ house.”

He approached her and took her into his arms. “Maybe teaching you how to speak English isn’t such a good idea after all. I rather like being able to tell you everything and not have to worry if you think less of me. After all, how can you possibly judge me if you can’t understand a word I say?”

Arya studied his face. “Sleep?”

“Yes, it’s time for us to sleep. I’d quite forgotten I taught you that word. Let’s see now … what was the word for sleep in your language?” He looked her square in the eye. “Sleep?”

Arya smiled in understanding. “
Vlooh,
” she said, with a slight roll of the L.

“Yes,
vlooh
.” He held her tighter. “Arya, my dear sweet girl, how am I going to explain to you something I can’t explain to myself yet? Come to think of it, I can’t quite get over that you’re my wife.” He suddenly pulled away. “Great Scott! Among your people we’re married, but among mine we’re certainly not! I shouldn’t even have you in my room with me! Bugger, what to do?”

“Do?” she repeated.

“Yes,
do
. You remembered that word,” he said and tweaked her nose.

She swatted his hand away in a playful gesture. “Newton,
do
.”

“Do what?”

She took one of his hands and placed it over her heart.

“Oh … do
that
? Well, we are husband and wife … at least until the others figure things out. And, as we’ve already consummated our marriage according to the laws of your people, I guess that that law will have to do.”

And it did.

A
rya awoke
the next morning filled with a satisfaction she could not describe. Her new husband was beyond wonderful, and she thanked the elders of her people for choosing him for her.

Speaking of Nu-tan, where was he? She’d slept so soundly that she didn’t hear him leave.

She sat up, yawned and scanned the room. Yes, he was definitely gone – unless he was behind the closed door. She remembered how he’d opened it last night, then got out of bed and copied his actions. Sure enough, with a turn of the small lever attached to it, the door opened easily. She knew what a door was, but she’d never seen one like this before yesterday. She also didn’t know the word for it in Nu-tan’s language.

But she would learn, and quickly. She’d have to in order to survive. So far his people were kind toward her, but after everything she and Nu-tan had been through, she wasn’t sure it would last. But best not to think about that. She had a whole new world to explore, and not much time to do it. After all, they were just visiting, weren’t they? Her people would be leaving soon to make their winter camp. If she and Nu-tan didn’t join them soon, they’d be left behind.