A place called harmony, p.5
A Place Called Harmony, page 5
The sound of a bullwhip whispered in his mind as he drifted off to sleep, but Patrick paid it no mind. The fear that his father might be following faded a little. If Solomon planned to track him down and kill him, this wouldn’t be a bad way to spend his last night on earth.
Chapter 5
Patrick and Annie McAllen
After a week on the road, Annie decided she and her new husband worked like a well-oiled machine. They’d moved into marriage both accepting the other unconditionally, and their marriage rules grew, along with the laughter.
No going to bed without her socks on. He claimed he couldn’t take the shock of her cold toes touching his leg in the middle of the night.
The one who drank the last of the coffee had to wash the pot.
He should always drive in the morning when the horses were fresh.
Each had their private time to wash and dress each day while the other stood guard.
As the list grew longer, so did the kisses. They’d both lived with so much criticism and so little affection that an overdose of kisses seemed the only cure.
Patrick, maybe because he had four sisters, seemed to understand women, or at least her. He never told her to do anything, only politely asked. He did most of the talking as they traveled slowly toward their new home, but she decided that was probably because he’d done all the talking for Shelly when they were growing up.
The only shadow she saw in his eyes was when he mentioned his brother.
One morning when she saw him staring down the road they’d traveled the day before, she whispered, “Shelly will come.”
Patrick shook his head.
“He will.”
“How do you know, Annie? He said he wouldn’t.”
“He misses you as much as you miss him. He’ll come.”
Patrick didn’t look like he believed her, but he tried to smile. “I hope so.” Then as if in a hurry, he said, “We’d better get going.”
They traveled faster that day. Memories of home flew around them like the winter air. Both talked of their childhood and their fears. He told her of his four older brothers. Two had been old enough to fight in the war. The other two couldn’t stand it at home so they left. Solomon said they went to the devil, but he and Shelly were working in Fredericksburg last year when a German asked them if they were kin to the McAllens farming over near Victoria.
“I like to think they’re happy, not running around wild like Solomon says,” he added. “Now I guess I’ll be the old man’s third son to go to the devil.”
“No, you won’t, because if you do I’ll have to go along with you.”
He moved the reins to his left hand and put his right arm around her. Pulling her close, he kissed her forehead. “If he ever does find me, I wouldn’t put it past him to kill me. I’ve seen him turn away from people before. Cut them off like they were dead. He did that to a new widow who swore against God when her husband died. She and her children almost starved before anyone dared go against Solomon.”
“He sees his family as part of him. And right now I’m thinking he sees me as a part that’s now rotten to the core.”
She kissed his hand. “When we were in school I used to watch the way you always stood up for Shelly. You might have been younger and smaller than the boys who picked on him, but you never backed down. You were a good boy, Patrick, and you’re a good man.”
“Just promise me if Solomon does ever come, you’ll hide or run away, Annie. I don’t want him hurting you. I don’t think I could stand that.”
“Don’t worry about it. He’ll never find us.” Annie didn’t turn loose of his hand, because she knew he was probably also praying her words were true. Solomon would never find them. Never hurt Patrick again.
They moved on, with the weather turning worse by the mile. By midafternoon it began to sleet and they knew they’d have to pull off the road and find shelter for both them and the horses.
A run-down farmhouse set back from the road was all they saw. Patrick turned the wagon onto a path marked with a downed fence. As they neared, even the snow couldn’t hide the barn in need of a roof and a house with the porch sagging low at one side as if frowning.
Patrick knocked twice before a woman opened the door a few inches.
“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we’d be much obliged if you’d allow us to shelter in your barn for the night.”
The woman looked from one of them to the other and must have decided they posed no threat. “You’re welcome to come in and share my fire. You can put the horses in my barn, but I have no feed for them.”
Annie had seen people on hard times all her life. When she’d been small, her mother would take loaves of bread to the widows barely surviving in Galveston. Only this woman was in rags and her place was almost empty of furniture.
“I have some potato soup, if you’d like some.” The woman limped to the fire and pulled a pot away from the coals.
Annie looked at Patrick and saw that he felt the same as she did. Taking the woman’s food seemed cruel, but hospitality demanded she offer and they accept.
As they sat and ate, the woman added a log to the fire. “I’m sorry I don’t have more to offer. My husband died in the war and my son hasn’t made it home yet. I’ve been just barely getting by since.”
Eleven years, Annie thought. This woman had waited eleven years believing that her son might have survived and would someday make it back. Thousands had died and no one recorded their deaths except in numbers. How could she have kept hoping after a year, or even two?
As she talked about her boy and how good a son he was, Annie figured it out. Hope was all she lived on.
When Patrick offered to pay for the night, the woman, who introduced herself as Mrs. Dixon, shook her head. “You kids need your money to make a start. I’ll get by.”
Annie saw the pride in her as she straightened.
Patrick must have seen it also because he said, “The weather may be too bad to travel for a few days. Looks like a bad norther is coming in. I’d be pleased if you’d let me work off our keep. I’d hate to be caught out in the storm without shelter.”
This Mrs. Dixon understood. “All right. My back door needs fixing. I’m not strong enough to do it myself. The roof leaks and with this bad leg I can’t climb the ladder. You fix that, Mr. McAllen, and we’ll call it even.”
They’d settled on a plan. After supper, she showed them to her son’s room. The bed was small, but everything was clean and in place as if she expected him any day. She might have sold everything of value in the rest of the house, but this was her only child’s room and it would be ready for him when he returned.
Patrick went to put the horses and wagon in the barn while Annie changed into the shirt she’d claimed as her nightgown. When he returned, he stripped down to his long johns and climbed in beside her.
Annie cuddled beside Patrick and they whispered their plans for the next day. They’d do far more than fix the door. Mrs. Dixon needed wood chopped and fences mended.
While they talked, he gently stroked her hair. Annie wasn’t sure why he did it, but the gentle touch seemed to relax them both.
She was almost asleep when Patrick asked, “Annie, would you mind if I touched you?”
Since she was pressed up against his side on a bed not big enough for them both to lie on their backs, she guessed he was already touching her, but she tried to wake up enough to understand his question. “Where?”
He was silent for so long, she thought he must have given up on the idea and fallen asleep. Then he said, “On your breast.”
Now she was wide awake. “Why?” For almost two weeks they’d cuddled and kissed a few times each day; now out of the blue he wanted to touch her.
“Forget it,” he said, and would have probably rolled over if he wouldn’t have fallen out of bed.
She sat up, making room enough to turn and look at him. “I guess it would be all right, if you want to.” Touching a breast wasn’t making love, so they wouldn’t be making a baby. And, since she was his wife, she knew at some point he’d be touching her.
She could feel him staring at her in the darkness, but he didn’t say a word.
The light from a small window spread a dim yellow glow over her as she unbuttoned the front of the shirt he’d given her to wear. She opened it, exposing both of her breasts.
For a while he didn’t move, and then very slowly he raised his hand and pressed his palm over one of her breasts. His touch was warm and tender. After a while, his fingers began to move, outlining the curve of each.
Her breathing grew rapid, but she didn’t move away. When his full hand pressed over her, she drew in a breath of surprise.
“Does this hurt you?” he asked, his fingers still.
“No,” she answered. “It’s just that no one has ever touched me like you are now.”
“It’s something husbands do, I think?”
She nodded, unable to trust her voice.
“If you don’t like me to touch you there, just let me know, Annie, but I have to tell you it’s like you’re giving me a great gift letting me do this.”
He rose to his elbow and leaned close, gently kissing the fullness of each breast. When he lifted his head, he smiled. “Thank you. You’re so beautiful, so soft there.”
Annie didn’t know how to take the compliment. No one in her life had ever said she was beautiful. When he leaned back, she buttoned the shirt and slipped in beside him once more. His arm circled, pulling her close against him.
He kissed her forehead and whispered, “Are you sure it didn’t hurt?”
“No, it didn’t. In fact, I think I liked it.”
She was surprised when he laughed.
“I’ve been avoiding accidentally touching you in the wrong place since the night we married. Just wanting to has driven me crazy.” He kissed her cheek. “Now I know how wonderful they feel, would you mind if I touched you there, not by accident, but on purpose now and then?”
“I wouldn’t mind at all.”
His mouth covered hers with a kiss that warmed her all the way to her toes. When he finally pulled away, she sighed and said, “We’d better get some sleep.”
He agreed, but she had a feeling his heart wasn’t in the idea.
When she awoke at dawn, his hand rested on her breast and she guessed it had been there all night. To her surprise, she didn’t mind. In fact, she felt cherished. She didn’t know much about men, but she figured Patrick McAllen, all six feet of lean muscle, was a good man and worth the loving. Right there, in the tiny bed, in the run-down house, Annie decided she’d love him the rest of her life.
By the time she helped Mrs. Dixon make breakfast, Patrick had fixed the back door and repaired the steps outside. Though the day was cloudy and promised rain, he kept working. Annie saw his skill in everything he did, not just repairing the barn and the house, but making it better than it had ever been. He even repaired the chicken coop, though Mrs. Dixon had not a chicken in sight.
On the third day the sun returned, but Patrick insisted on hunting so they’d have meat for the road. The deer he killed would give both them and Mrs. Dixon food for weeks. That night they huddled around the fireplace and talked about their families. Patrick told the old lady all about his brother Shelly. When Annie talked about her sisters and their fights over nothing, Mrs. Dixon laughed so hard tears rolled down her wrinkled cheeks.
As they had every night, Patrick took Annie’s hand and led her to the bedroom. She’d change into the shirt with her back to him, and then they’d get into bed. Without a word, he’d kiss her good night as he slowly unbuttoned the shirt. His hands were bold now, caressing, pressing, and running his thumb over the tips of her breasts.
“I’ve waited all day for this, Annie,” he’d whisper in her ear. “Touching you like this feels so right. You belong to me.”
She giggled. “No, Patrick, you belong to me. I’ve already decided.”
She let him take his time, never dreaming such a small thing would mean so much to him. Again and again he’d kiss her softly as his fingers moved over her.
Deep into the night she woke enough to feel him moving her to her back as he lowered his head between her breasts.
When she cried out in surprise, he moved to her ear and whispered, “It’s all right, Annie. I’m sorry I woke you. I just can’t sleep without one more taste of your beautiful body. It’s so nicely rounded in all the right places.”
“Kiss me first,” she whispered. “Before you gobble me up.”
He laughed. “Even if I do, you still willing to come along with me on the journey?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
The next morning, when they finally hitched the wagon to head north, Mrs. Dixon hugged them both and wished them well. They’d told her their story about running away. As they climbed in, the widow gave them a box, saying it was a small wedding gift, but they couldn’t open it until they had a house.
Annie didn’t care what was in the box. It was a gift. Her first and only real wedding gift.
Three hours later, when they passed a small cluster of buildings that seemed to be built with no order, Patrick stopped in at the general store and ordered a dozen chickens to be delivered out to Mrs. Dixon’s place along with ten pounds each of potatoes, sugar, and flour. While the owner, a man named Brown who’d lost the use of his arm in the war, gathered up everything, Annie added seeds for Mrs. Dixon’s garden next spring and two nightgowns for herself.
When Patrick said he’d done some carpentry work out at Mrs. Dixon’s place, Mr. Brown said he didn’t even know anyone lived out there, but now that he did he’d stop by when he made deliveries out that direction and check on her.
As they loaded up to leave, Mr. Brown followed Patrick out and asked, “I got a load of furniture that came in three weeks ago. Factory shipped it in parts. With this limp arm I can’t manage to handle it and hammer at the same time. Can’t sell it when all it looks like is a pile of firewood. Any chance you’d stay a few days and help me out?”
Patrick hesitated. He’d like to help, but two days’ more delay could cost them if, on a long shot, Solomon was following them.
“I could pay,” the owner added.
Patrick figured he had plenty of money and a job already waiting for him.
“How about I pay in chickens to the old lady? A crate every fall and spring for three years if you’ll work a full day.”
Patrick glanced at Annie.
She smiled, reading him easily. “All right. I know you want to. I’ll even help.”
An hour later their wagon was pulled behind the store and they were working. Annie might not be able to lift a man’s load, but she was a great help, and talking as they worked made the time fly. Before dark they’d completed all the furniture. Patrick, with his carving skills, carved the store name on a long board over the door. The owner offered them supper and breakfast and, of course, six crates of chickens as payment.
They ate, collapsed in their wagon bed, and slept until dawn. Just in time to eat again before they headed out.
As they moved on down the road, Annie said, “You know, Patrick McAllen, I think I’m falling in love with you.”
He winked. “It was bound to happen, wife. I always figured I’d be irresistible if I ever stayed around a girl long enough for her to discover it.”
That night, when she opened her nightgown just as she’d done the shirt for several nights, he smiled. “I’m afraid I may have started something. If we’re not careful this nightly thing we do could become a habit.”
“You’re no longer interested in touching me?”
He pulled her down in the wagon and covered them both with a blanket. “Wife, I promised I’d never lie to you. I’d have to be dead not to be interested in you. All I think about is what might happen after dark.”
She giggled, knowing that tonight they’d be giving up sleep while they got to know each other better.
“Can we take our time?” she whispered. “I want to remember everything about tonight.”
His hand slid over her hip. “I’ve many parts of your lovely body to explore if you’ll allow me, but you don’t have to remember everything. I’ll be happy to repeat each step.”
She cupped his face in her hands. “You make me feel beautiful.”
“You are beautiful, Annie. You always have been, just no one took the time to tell you.” Patrick whispered his first promise again. “I’ll never lie to you, remember.”
Chapter 6
Captain Gillian Matheson
MARCH
Captain Gillian Matheson didn’t bother to sleep. He’d been out hunting outlaws for three months only to find trouble waiting for him at the fort. His wife had sent a letter saying he had to join her at a trading post run by Harmon Ely by the second week in March. No details. Just the place and time.
Hell. It was already the seventh of March. He’d have to ride hard and fast to be on time. He dug his fingers through black curly hair that was so dirty it looked brown.
She hadn’t said why, but Gillian knew it must be life or death. She’d never leave her family farm in Kansas otherwise. His wife, Daisy, was the most nesting woman he’d ever seen. He usually couldn’t even talk her into going into town for supper when he was home on leave.
He swore as he stuffed a clean uniform into his saddlebags. He had to get to her. She might refuse to travel with him, but she was his wife. If she needed him, he’d be there.
His blond, beautiful, smiling Daisy. Her pure sunshine had blinded him the day they’d met and he’d tumbled straight into love five years ago. They’d been married two weeks after they said hello, only to discover she wanted him to quit the army and stay on the family’s farm. He thought she’d pack up and go with him.
He’d left her after a short honeymoon, planning to return on his next leave and change her mind. Only she’d been with child when he returned, and the option of her being with him was dropped.
Somehow, with time and another baby, they’d settled into a life apart. He’d always thought someday she’d change her mind, and he guessed she felt the same. Now, if she was in real trouble, it might be too late for them. They were both in their twenties. He’d figured they’d have years together eventually.
