Читать книгу Wolf Creek Widow - Penny Richards - Страница 13

Chapter Three

It was late afternoon when the noisy clatter of the dinner bell roused Meg from a light sleep. Nita must have supper ready. Meg felt a pang of guilt for leaving the older woman to do her work, but she’d been crushed by the news that she would not be snuggling with Teddy and Lucy just yet. Knowing Rachel was right didn’t lessen her disappointment. Holding her babies would have been a sweet balm to her spirit.

As she’d done so often in the past when things threatened her peace of mind, Meg had wandered into the woods, making her way to her favorite spot, where she’d always sought the healing quiet of the solitude. Soon after Elton had moved her away from her family, she’d found this place that had become her sanctuary, a place set apart from the reality of her life.

She’d often brought the children there and found comfort in the whisper of the breeze and the pleasing chuckling of the water that meandered along the rocky bottom of the creek, running to some faraway place she could only imagine. She’d often wished she could follow it.

A bed of moss beneath a giant oak made a cool spot for a nap when she needed a place to rest. In the early spring, she’d brought a broom to sweep away the leaves that had fallen throughout the winter. By chance or God’s design, a wild rose of vibrant pink had sprawled and clambered up and over the branches of a nearby dogwood in early summer, reaching for what sunlight it could find in the mostly shaded area and sending its sweet fragrance adrift on the whispers of the vagrant breezes.

Even now, in the heat of September, hurting and wondering if she would ever feel whole again, she found the place beautiful. The rose and bleeding hearts had long since bloomed and the resurrection fern had dried up and curled into brown patches that clung tenaciously to the sturdy limbs of the tree, yet the sweet blessing of one good rain would return them to vibrant life.

Secure in the hope that that same vibrancy of life would be hers again someday, she’d closed her eyes and waited to see if the peacefulness of her surroundings would work its healing powers as it had in the past. In time, it did. She’d let her thoughts wander at will, from wondering where the creek emptied to how much Lucy and Teddy had probably grown since she’d seen them and how she would give them a better life. They might not have a lot of extras, but she would make up for it by giving them a life filled with love, not fear.

Throughout the afternoon, she’d heard the measured whack of an ax against wood. Ace cutting down more trees. She must have dozed off while thinking about him and his mother and their willingness to help a woman who was more or less a stranger.

Awake now, Meg sat up and looked around, hardly able to believe that she’d slept so long and without any frightening dreams. She wondered if finding a few hours of peace was a good start for putting the pieces of her life back together and knew that Rachel would say it was.

This had always been a perfect spot for dreams and plans. Dreams. Like all young girls, she’d had dreams once, daydreams about a life free of the shame of her mother’s life. Visions of finding a way out. Then she’d met Elton, with his good looks and his own extravagant fantasies of big houses and fancy clothes and trips to San Francisco and St. Louis, and she felt that her yearnings had come true at last.

Those dreams had begun to flee one after the other, shortly after marrying him almost four years ago. Now her mind was filled with plans, but the dreams were as dead as her husband and the resurrection ferns that had turned brown from the heat of summer.

When she’d first awakened at Rachel’s and was coherent enough to make sense of the things she was told, she’d thought—even dared to hope—that with Elton out of the picture her life would change for the better. Would it?

She gave her head a shake to dislodge the brief moment of melancholy and doubt. She could not let gloomy thoughts take hold. She had no idea how to move ahead with her life, but she knew that if she dwelled on her mistakes and her past, Elton would win, and she refused to let him rule her life from the grave. She would get past this, just as she’d always done.

Could she, all alone?

One day at a time.

Rachel’s gentle reminder. In the early days, when Meg had been racked by unbearable pain, Rachel had told her to take it hour by hour, one day at a time. She also told her that to find her way back she should look for joy in small things, telling Meg that God sprinkled dozens of blessings throughout our days if we only took time to look for them.

Well, there was this place, she thought, looking around. It was surely a blessing, since she had slept without interruption or bad dreams. And, she thought wryly, as the dinner bell rang a second time, it was a blessing that she didn’t have to cook supper.

She stood and stretched her arms and shoulders with care to get out the kinks. Giving her faded skirt a shake, she started back to the house, using the much-traveled deer path. She was a few feet from the clearing when she stopped dead still. Like a wild creature sensing danger, her head came up. A sharp gasp escaped her.

Ace stood on the path, blocking the way to the house just as the breadth of his shoulders obstructed the clearing behind him. He loomed over her. The lacy pattern of sunlight and shadows gave his lean cheeks the impression of wearing war paint, like the pictures she’d once seen in a book. He looked untamed and dangerous. His sheer size and raw maleness were overpowering, making her feel weak and defenseless.

“What are you doing here?” The breathless question sounded accusatory even to her ears.

His troubled blue eyes seemed to take in every inch of her in a single glance. “Mother was worried that you’d gone too far or got turned around. She was afraid you didn’t hear the bell, so she sent me to find you.” His voice was deep and low, mesmerizing. The frightened fluttering of her heart slowed.

“I was down by the creek. I’m fine. I’m here.” The explanation came out in a flurry of words that tumbled over one another.

“So you are.”

Did she imagine the flicker of gentleness that came and went in his eyes? Without warning, he reached out toward her. With a little yelp, Meg cringed and brought up both arms to cover her head in an instinctive gesture of self-preservation. The action was both instant and involuntary as he took her wrists gently.

Breathing hard, eyes shut tight and little whimpers of fear escaping her, she waited for the blow to come, but instead she heard words murmured in a language she didn’t understand. Soft words. Soothing words.

“Meg.” His deep voice persuaded, compelled. “Look at me.”

Bit by bit, as if she were expecting it to be a trick, she did as he commanded and saw the remorse clouding his crystalline eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was only going to get a twig out of your hair.”

Trembling, Meg stood stock-still. She’d seen regret before. She’d heard all the ways to say I’m sorry. She’d learned not to believe them. Still, something held her immovable. What was it she saw or felt in him that told her she could trust him, despite his fierceness?

“No!” she heard herself saying. “I...I’m s-sorry.”

Moving at a snail’s pace so as not to alarm her further, he let go of her wrists. Then he held one palm up in a stop gesture and reached out with the other to pluck the twig from her tangled hair. Without a word, he held it out to show her.

She felt like a fool for overreacting. “Th-thank you,” she whispered, daring to let her gaze make contact with the disturbing intensity of his. She saw nothing there but the same tenderness she heard in his voice.

He nodded. “I know you don’t have many reasons to believe anything a man says, but I want you to know that I have never raised my hand against a woman, and I never will. You have no reason to be frightened of me. Ever.”

Then, without waiting for her to answer, he held out his arm as if he were a well-heeled gentleman from the city and she an elegant lady going to some fancy social event. She looked from his arm to his face in confusion. She was no lady. He was no gentleman.

When she made no move to take his proffered elbow, he stepped aside for her to precede him to the house. She brushed against him on the narrow path and caught a whiff of leather and pine. She stumbled and glanced up at him, even as he reached out to steady her. Once again her heart began to beat faster, but not because she felt threatened. Disturbingly aware of his nearness, she cast an occasional glance over her shoulder just to be sure he was keeping his distance.

She didn’t want him too close. The question that tumbled through her mind was Why?

* * *

Nita Allen had been busy while Meg hid out in the woods. Her little house fairly sparkled. Ace’s mother had taken the cleaning begun by the church ladies a step further. She’d scrubbed the windows, polished the beat-up buffet table Elton had found dumped somewhere and brought home to her in the wagon, and washed the dust from her scant collection of mismatched plates and glassware. Even the globes of her kerosene lamps glistened. The scents of fried potatoes and pinto beans mingled with the sharp, clean odor of the lemon balm and beeswax used on the furniture.

A crockery bowl with a blue rim was filled with crisp fried potatoes. The pot of beans with a dipper in it sat on a folded dish towel, as if the table were a piece of fine furniture that the heat might ruin. A plate of corn bread baked in a small iron skillet had already been sliced into wedges. A bowl of fresh butter sat next to a jar of pickled beets, and a small plate held wild green onions.

It was like walking into a fairy tale. Thanks to two strangers, her tired little house felt like a home, but not because it was clean and tidy. Even though she worked hard and had little, Meg had always kept a clean house. Elton demanded that.

The difference was in the feel of the house. She’d experienced no dread or fear when she’d walked through the door. No need to walk on eggshells to keep whatever tentative peace might be found on any given day. No need to guard her tongue lest she set Elton off with some innocent comment. No dread of when he might come back and shatter the temporary respite she found during his absences. No despair.

The house felt warm. Welcoming.

As she stood letting the differences register on her mind, her stomach growled. Nita smiled. Embarrassed, Meg turned away, but for the first time in weeks, she thought she might be able to eat more than a few bites.

When they were seated and thanks had been given for the food, Ace began to pass the bowls. Feeling she should show her appreciation in some way, Meg scooped a few potatoes onto her plate and said, “The house looks so nice, Mrs. Allen. Thank you. And supper looks delicious.”

“It was nothing. Things were already in order. It just needed the dust washed off. Did you have a good rest this afternoon?”

The question surprised Meg as much as the answer that came to mind. She realized with something of a start that she had rested, and not just during the time she slept. There had always been something about her special spot that brought her at least passing peace. Today had been no different.

“Actually, I did.”

“That’s good.” Nita finished filling her plate and turned to her son. “Did you let everyone know Meg is back in business?”

“I did,” he said, slathering some fresh-churned butter onto a piece of corn bread. “Hattie is really excited. So is Ellie.” He glanced at Meg. “Keeping up with the wash has been hard for them since you’ve been out of commission.”

Though she did weekly laundry for a few of the more affluent people in town, Hattie’s Hotel and Boardinghouse and Ellie’s Café were Meg’s biggest customers.

“I’ll take the wagon in and pick up what they have early in the morning,” Ace told her. “If you ladies will have the kettles boiling when I get back, we ought to be done by evening.”

It was good to know that her services had been missed, but she hated relying on someone else to do her work, even though she needed the money.

“I think I’ll be able to help with the ironing,” she said, looking from Ace to Nita, knowing Ellie and Hattie would have several tablecloths to do up with starch.

“I don’t think it will hurt you, either,” Nita said, “as long as you don’t overdo things. I’ll bring my ironing board and iron in the morning. Together, we should be able to get it done in no time.”

It sounded like a good plan, Meg thought. She would iron until she got tired, do any mending and gradually work back into her regular routine. A step toward taking control of her life once again.

Meg had forgotten that the Allens would be leaving soon, probably as soon as the supper dishes were done. After all, they had their own chores to do. It occurred to her with something of a start just how much of a sacrifice they were making to help her. Their log cabin that sat on a small parcel of land must be at least four miles from her place.

Though she hadn’t wanted to spend any more time with them than necessary, now that she knew they were about to go, she wondered how she would pass the long hours of the night that stretched out before her, empty and lonely.

She’d spent more nights than she could number here alone except for her kids, and she’d stayed by herself last night, but she had been so numb, so exhausted from the ride from town, that sheer weariness and a dream-filled, restless sleep had claimed her early in the evening.

Now that she was a bit more herself, the thought of being alone was a little troubling. Except for the kids, she’d been here alone when Elton and Joseph Jones had barged in after their prison escape. Without warning, her heart began to race. As Rachel had taught her, Meg forced her breathing to a slow rhythm and reminded herself that she no longer had to worry about either of them.

“I hope it’s all right, but I picked up some mending for you while I was in town.”

She was grateful for the sound of Ace’s voice that brought her wandering thoughts back to the present.

“Just a few things Ellie needed repaired and a tear on the sleeve of one of Daniel’s shirts that Rachel hasn’t had time to get to.”

“Oh, yes!” Meg heard the relief and eagerness in her voice. “That’s fine. It will give me something to do when you go.”

“Would you like for me to stay with you tonight?” Nita asked. “I don’t mind. Ace can take care of things at home.”

Longing to take her new companion up on her offer, Meg stiffened her spine and her resolve. She’d stood on her own two feet all her life, and just because things were...different now was no reason to become a namby-pamby. She couldn’t lean on others forever. She raised her chin a fraction and met Nita’s troubled gaze. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine.”

She gave her attention back to her plate, almost missing the look that passed between mother and son. When the meal was over, Meg was surprised to see that she’d eaten almost all the food she’d dished up.

“Being outside did you a lot of good,” Nita said, rising and gathering the plates.

“I guess it did.”

“You’ll be surprised at how much better you feel the more you’re able to be up and around. No one has much appetite when they’re lying around all day.”

Meg hoped it was true. She was tired of being an invalid.

By the time they finished the supper dishes, dusk was settling in. Ace came in from outside and put a couple of eggs into the wire basket sitting on the scarred buffet.

As she watched, he rolled his shoulders and arched his back. “I gave the horse some oats and penned up the chickens and the pig for the night. I think things are fine until morning.”

“The question is, are you?” There was a teasing note in his mother’s voice.

Something that might have been a smile crossed his face. “I’m getting a little stiff,” he admitted. “I haven’t chopped this much wood in a long while, and I’m not as young as I used to be.” He leveled a teasing look at his mother. “Which means you aren’t, either.”

Meg watched the loving interaction between the two. How long had it been since she’d heard that kind of lighthearted banter? Her second thought was to wonder how old he was. Older than she was, for certain, yet he looked to be in his prime, and he was certainly strong.

A wisp of memory floated across her mind, drifting in and out of her consciousness. She was hearing the sound of hoofbeats in rhythm with the steady heartbeat that throbbed beneath her ear, feeling powerful arms around her and knowing without a doubt she was safe.

Her thoughtful gaze found the man who had suddenly come to play such a huge role in her life. She recalled being told he had taken her to Rachel’s. It had been Ace’s arms that held her. Ace’s strength that made her feel safe. Ace’s heart that beat against her ear. Common sense told her that a man who would hold her so gently would not hurt her, but putting aside the wariness her past had instilled in her would not come overnight.

“Well, if there’s nothing else we can do, we’ll go,” Nita said, scattering Meg’s thoughts. The older woman crossed the room and enveloped Meg in a tender embrace. Unaccustomed to displays of affection, she stiffened. Her mother had seldom hugged her—Elton, never—and it had been a long time since she’d seen her aunt Serena.

Nita drew back at once, sensing that she’d overstepped some invisible boundary. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m afraid I’m a hugger. I forget not everyone is.”

Without waiting for Meg to reply, she gave a little wave and slipped through the door. Ace followed, leaving Meg alone with her memories, her sorrow and an aching loneliness. She wished Nita would come back. Wished she could let the older woman hold her in her arms while she cried out all her fears and worries.

Wished she could cry.

* * *

Nita and Ace climbed onto their horses and turned them toward home. “She’s worse than I expected,” Nita said as they rode side by side.

“She’s been through a lot.”

“I know.”

“When I went to fetch her for supper, I saw a twig in her hair and reached out to get it.” His tormented gaze met his mother’s, and his jaw knotted in a familiar way. “She covered her head and shrank away from me.”

“It’s what she knows,” Nita said after a moment. “It’s what she’s come to expect from men.”

“It isn’t right,” he said in a low, savage voice. “It isn’t fair.”

“Oh, my son,” Nita soothed, tipping her head back to look up at the first star of the evening. “You, of all people, should know that much of what happens in our lives is neither right nor fair.”

Yes. He should know. Did.

“Rachel told me today that she’s never seen Meg cry a single tear.”

He never stopped to think that neither had he, though he’d been imprisoned wrongly twice, beaten and even left for dead on one occasion. He considered tears a weakness, something men didn’t indulge in. He was Cherokee, from a people who had suffered more than he ever would. And he was Irish, able to put on a smile when it was called for.

“Some wounds are so great that the only way to survive is to lock them up in a little box and put them somewhere deep inside,” Nita said.

“Do you think she’ll get better?” Ace would rather rely on his mother’s knowledge than that of any other healer.

“Rachel says the mind is a strange thing,” Nita told him. “I pray that she will, in time. We can’t lose heart or patience.”

She looked at Ace with a solemn expression. “I’m proud of you, my son. Though it has taken time, I can say that the things you’ve been through have not destroyed you. They’ve made you the man you are. That’s something we need to try to get through to Meg. And it’s something you need to keep in mind, too, when you think about your role in all this.”

“Killing Elton, you mean?”

“Yes. You’ve come too far to let that destroy your faith and your peace.”

He sucked in a harsh lungful of air and met her tender gaze with one of defiance. “I hate that it happened, but God help me, I’m glad he’s dead.”

Instead of chastising him for the un-Christian thought, his mother asked, “Why?”

“I’d think that’s pretty obvious. He was a terrible human being who mistreated his wife.”

“And you care for her.”

Ace was appalled by her suggestion. Or perhaps he was appalled that his mother had discovered his secret.

“I think you care for Meg Thomerson. I think you’ve cared for her for a while. And I think that’s why you’re happy Elton is dead.”

“Are you saying that you think I did it on purpose?” he asked with a scowl.

“Of course not!” his mother scoffed. “You’re experiencing remorse for having feelings for another man’s wife. Those feelings only increase your guilt for taking his life, even though there is no doubt in anyone’s mind that it was warranted.

“You are not a killer, Ace Allen, and despite your past, you are an honorable man. I think that is why you are having such a hard time making peace with yourself,” she said.

“How can I ask God to forgive me when I’m sorry for shooting him but not sorry he’s dead?”

“Maybe it’s time you stopped trying to figure out things on your own and have a serious talk with God.”