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“No!” Celia snapped. “You know she lives in Old Zeb’s mud hut. I don’t want white trash around me. Certainly not at a time like this. I want my mother and my aunts!”
“Elizabeth struck me as a good woman. She certainly isn’t white trash. And she’s a lot nearer than your mother and aunts.”
“Go away, Brice! Get out of my sight! I wish you were dead!” She screamed at him so hysterically a bead of spittle ran down her chin. She didn’t notice.
Brice left without a word.
Cal, his closest friend, had come in from the bunk house and was waiting downstairs in the back parlor. He was called Wandering Cal because of a cast in his right eye. Brice didn’t know his last name or where he came from, but they had been friends for years and Cal was his right-hand man on the ranch.
“She doing all right?” Cal asked. He was a man of few words.
“I don’t know. It’s too damned early for the baby to come. It’s too early!” He paced to the hearth, then to the window. “What if I lose them, Cal?”
“Probably won’t.” Cal sat by the fire and picked up a piece of kindling to whittle. He looked entirely out of place in Celia’s back parlor, even if it wasn’t as grand as the formal front one. Cal was more suited for the barn.
“I should have sent her back home when I saw she didn’t like it here. I kept thinking she would change her mind after a while. I was wrong.”
“Wives belong with their husbands.” Cal didn’t like Celia and never had. He had only come into the house to keep Brice company. Celia never allowed him, or any of the other hired hands, nearer than the back porch.
An agonized scream made Brice cross to the door, hesitate and go back to the window.
“Go to the barn,” Cal suggested. “I’ll come tell you when it’s over.”
“No, I have to stay here. If Celia can live through it, I can stand to listen.” But the next scream drained the blood from his face.
Cal looked up at the ceiling and paused in his whittling until the sound died away.
Brice started pacing again. He had to keep moving, even if he wasn’t going anywhere. Every sound from Celia’s bedroom tore at him.
The terrible wailing continued. Hours later Celia’s voice had grown hoarse. Brice went up the stairs and back into her room. She no longer looked like herself. Her skin was pasty-gray and her blond hair hung in damp strings about her face. Circles like dark bruises lay under her glassy eyes.
Consuela looked at him in fright. “The baby is not coming. It still does not show. I think it is turned sideways.”
There was no need for her to explain to Brice what this meant. He had seen enough calvings to know it couldn’t be born this way. “Can you turn it?”
Consuela shook her head. “Senora Graham will not let me try.”
Brice went closer to the bed. “We have to turn the baby, Celia.”
“No! I don’t want either of you to touch me!”
He sat beside her on the bed and held her arms gently but firmly. “You don’t have a choice in this. You’re getting too weak. Consuela, can you do it?”
“Sí,” she said reluctantly. She was clearly afraid of her mistress, but she prepared to turn the baby nonetheless.
Celia screamed as if she were dying, but Brice held her, speaking to her gently in spite of the names she was calling him.
Minutes later, Consuela went to the washbasin and washed her hands. Brice released Celia, who struck him repeatedly until he left the bed. “Well? Did it turn?”
Silently she shook her head.
“I’ll try.” He went back to Celia and tried to steel himself to her string of curses. A few minutes later he found a tiny foot, then another one. “I have him!” he said triumphantly. “Push, Celia!”
Soon the baby lay screaming on the bed, waving her fists in protest at being born. “It’s a girl, Celia!” he called out. “She’s so tiny!”
He finished tying off the cord and held her up so Celia could see her. “Isn’t she a beauty?”
“Ugly,” Celia croaked out. “She’s ugly!”
“No,” he said with a laugh as he went to sponge her clean at the washbasin. “She’s going to be a rare beauty someday! Celia?” The room was suddenly too quiet.
Consuela stopped cleaning Celia and stared at her face. Then she looked at Brice, her eyes filled with fear and dread.
“Celia?” he repeated. He wrapped the baby in the towel and went to his wife.
Celia’s eyes were fixed and growing dull. Her pale lips moved. Brice leaned closer to hear what she was saying.
“I hate you. And I hate your baby.” The last word was so broken as to be almost incoherent. A sigh of breath escaped from her lips and she didn’t draw another one.
“Celia!” Brice shouted. “Celia!”
Consuela eased away from the bed. “Señora Graham is dead. I see her spirit leaving!” The woman’s eyes were dilated with fear.
Brice stared at Celia’s body in disbelief. She couldn’t be dead! Sometimes women were in labor for days and lived. Celia bad only labored for a few hours. She was young!
Nevertheless, she was dead.
The funeral was simple. Cal and some of the other men built a coffin, and Brice, with Consuela’s help, laid Celia in it.
Numbly Brice decided to bury her a little distance from the house. He and Cal dug the grave.
Because no one was available to serve as the baby’s wet nurse, Consuela made a baby bottle from an empty whiskey bottle and diluted cow’s milk to a strength the baby could digest.
Brice went through the necessary motions of laying Celia to rest and caring for the baby, but part of his mind refused to accept the truth. They had no longer loved each other and Celia’s last words had been of her hatred for him, but he still felt a deep loss. Was part of it guilt? He had indirectly put her in mortal danger. She had never been robust and the pregnancy had been hard on her. And her heart had given out because it couldn’t stand up to the stress of hard labor. Still, she shouldn’t be dead. She was young. Brice spent the next few days in a fog.
When he woke up one morning to discover Consuela and her husband had left in the night, the strength of determination began to build in him. He had lost Celia. but he was not going to lose the baby as well!
From that moment on, Brice began to heal.
By now Elizabeth was becoming accustomed to the idea that Robert wasn’t coming home. At times this still terrified her because she had the rest of the winter to contend with alone. At others she was almost glad. With him gone there was no one to argue with or tell her she was wrong every time she opened her mouth. No one to chip at rocks while she did all the chores, no one to mess up the hut once she had everything in order.
She was beginning to realize how little Robert had done and was becoming resentful that she had allowed him to get away with it. If he came back, she vowed, it would be different. He would pull his own weight or leave.
Such thoughts sobered her. She had no way of enforcing them and, even if she did, why would she want this hovel to herself? If Robert wasn’t coming back, she would be smarter to go back to Hannibal, swallow her pride and return to her father’s house, begging his forgiveness. That alone was thought enough to make her know she would never return. There were worse situations than the one she was now in.
In the long days of solitude she taught herself to hunt. At first she missed everything she aimed at and got a bruised shoulder for her efforts. But gradually she started hitting the game more often than she missed and finally became a fairly good shot. The lack of money to buy more ammunition gave her incentive. She wasn’t sure what she would do once the bullets were gone. When the ground was clear of snow, she gathered hay and grass for the mule.
Elizabeth was good at making provisions last. She had learned it by necessity over the past seven years. She ate only what she really needed, and when she killed game, she didn’t waste any parts that could be boiled, dried or fried. She was even learning to tan hides so she could replace the soles of her shoes when they wore out. Little by little she had come to think of Robert as gone forever, and struggled to fill the void he left.
Loneliness was the worst part. There were times when she thought she would go mad if she didn’t hear a human voice. During these times she sang or talked aloud to the mule or quoted the poems she had learned in school or did verbal math problems. Anything to hear something other man wind and silence.
Frequently she considered going back to the ranch to visit Celia, but the weather was so unpredictable she was afraid to go so far from home. Also, she knew Celia and Brice would insist on giving her more provisions, and she was too proud to accept charity when she had no means of repaying it, even though her meal and flour were almost gone.
There was the constant worry of how to replace the things she couldn’t make for herself, such as the lamp oil, the bullets, cotton cloth for a dress when her two remaining ones became threadbare. She had no money at all and no way to make any. A few times she even went into the mine and chipped halfheartedly at the barren rocks in hopes of finding the gold she knew wasn’t there.
Another snowstorm came and she was again stranded with the mule in her hut. The mule didn’t seem to like the arrangement any better than she did, but she wouldn’t leave him in the barn where he might freeze. The second day of the storm, she realized how fortuitous her decision had been when the weight of the wet snow caved in one end of the barn’s roof. Had the mule been inside, he would almost certainly have been injured or killed. Elizabeth tried not to think about the ponderous load of snow over her own head or to wonder how much more weight the roof could bear without collapsing.
When the snow finally started to melt, a portion of the roof crumbled into her hut and landed on her table as she ate. She would have been hard-pressed to say which upset her more, the hole in the roof or the loss of food she could ill afford to replace.
Something had to be done. Elizabeth was becoming more and more aware that she couldn’t stay here indefinitely. But where could she go? If she went to Glory she might be able to earn her living by washing clothes and ironing, but, until she had money, she would have no roof over her head. Without a house, where would she wash and iron? She could try to sell her land and the sod hut, but who would be fool enough to buy them?
She considered going to Brice’s ranch and asking for a job as housekeeper. By now Celia’s baby would have been barn and Elizabeth had always liked children. Perhaps she could be the baby’s nanny and later its tutor. She was well educated and there was no school in the valley. Such a job would be a joy.
But with such an arrangement would come the problem of living under the same roof with a man who was already in her dreams too often and whose temper was reportedly as bad as Robert’s.
Elizabeth hated herself for her dreams about Brice. In them he was far more than a friend. Brice could never be her lover. Not every. She was married to Robert and was stuck with him, like it or not. And Brice was married to Celia. All marital obstacles removed, Elizabeth vowed to avoid another abusive man.
Faced with no recourse but to relocate to Glory, Elizabeth began thinking in terms of how to find the town. All she remembered about that leg of their journey was her anticipation of finally reaching their new home and that it had been all uphill. She would start off in the direction Robert had taken the day he left and hope that she’d recognize enough of the landmarks to avoid getting completely lost. The mule wouldn’t travel as fast as the horse, but she would get there eventually. There had been no trouble with Indians that she knew of, and being a laundress wasn’t the worst fate in the world. At least she’d be alive.
As she was planning for her departure, she heard a horse ride into the yard. For a moment she was frozen. Could it be Robert? She ran to the door and threw it open.
Instead of Robert, Brice was dismounting from a prancing bay. He pined at her and her heart skipped. “I hope I’m not barging in,” he said as he tied the animal to a bush.
“No. Not at all. Come in.” She was heartily glad she had moved the mule back to the pen and had cleaned the hut as well as possible. All the same, she was embarrassed at him seeing where she lived.
Brice ducked in order to get through the doorway into the hut, his hat in his hand. His eyes glanced about and his face was carefully expressionless. He took the chair she indicated and laid his hat on the table. “Is your husband around?”
“No, he never came back.” Her illicit dreams hadn’t done Brice justice. He was far more handsome than she remembered and his voice was deeper and seemed to resonate somewhere within her. She abruptly looked away.
Brice leaned forward as if he hadn’t heard her correctly. “He didn’t? You’re still alone?”
She refused to meet his eyes. “I don’t believe he’s going to come back. Not after being away this long. I’m planning to move to Glory.” Almost defensively she added, “I can’t make it here on my own.”
He glanced up at the sky that showed through the roof over her head. “I don’t see how you’ve made it this long.”
Tears rose in her eyes and she blinked them back impatiently. “I manage quite well. Better than you might expect. I finally learned to shoot, and I found a spot down the stream that is level enough to plant a garden, which I’d planned to do come spring. I’m only going to Glory because I can’t figure out how to buy bullets or calico or lamp oil. Other than that, I could make it here just fine.”
“I wasn’t finding fault. I was complimenting you.”
Elizabeth drew in a steadying breath. “I’m sorry for the way the place looks, but there’s not much you can do with a sod hut.” She still felt as if she should defend herself and her life-style.
Brice was quiet for a moment. “I want you to come back to the ranch with me.”
Her eyes met his. “Why?” If he was offering her charity she didn’t think she could stand it.
He looked away. “A lot has happened since you’ve been gone. Celia had the baby.” He paused for a long time. “The baby—a girl—is well. Celia didn’t make it.”
Elizabeth reflexively took a step forward. “No! Celia died?”
He nodded. “It was a terrible thing. There was nothing we could do. When the baby came, I thought she would be out of danger. But she died before she ever touched the baby.”
“How terrible!” Elizabeth felt stunned. It had never occurred to her that Celia would die. “She was going to send for me when she started labor. Why did no one come?”
Brice gave her a measured look. Quietly he said, “She changed her mind. She told me not to send for you.”
Elizabeth stared at him. She didn’t believe a word of it. Her stomach turned at the idea of Celia crying out for the company of a woman and Brice refusing to send for her. He really must be a monster as Celia had said.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.
“No reason.” She averted her eyes.
“Consuela left. She didn’t give me any warning. One morning she and her husband, along with all their belongings, were gone. She never liked it here. I guess I can’t really blame her. But that leaves me without anyone to look after Mary Kate. I hate to ask you, but I need the help. In addition to room and board, I’ll pay you a salary.”
He was offering her the best possible of alternatives. He might be abusive, but she would have to take her chances. For now, she still had her pride. Elizabeth lifted her chin. “I will care for your child. I have an education. As she grows older, I’ll be able to teach her to read and write and do arithmetic.”
“It sounds like a perfect solution.” His soft voice warmed her like a summer’s breeze in spite of her dislike of him. “I came here thinking I’d have to argue your husband into letting you come, at least until I could find someone to take Consuela’s place.”
“But I’m not coming because I have no other option. It’s important that you understand that.” Celia was gone, but she could at least keep the baby safe. That might be necessary for its survival.
He smiled. “I understand. You’ll still have this place and the land it stands on. I can send a wagon up for your belongings.”
“That won’t be necessary. I can tie it all in a quilt and put it on the back of the mule. Most of this can stay right where it stands.” She would have no need for a rain-stained table and two chairs that didn’t sit evenly, or a bed whose mattress hadn’t been really dry since summer. Her few personal belongings wouldn’t even fill a quilt.
“I’ll go catch the mule for you,” he offered.
She looked around the room for the last time. The colorful quilt she’d covered the bed with seemed to be struggling in vain to make the place bright and cheerful. The other was draped over the table to hide the stained wood. She folded the smaller one and put it in the center of the larger one, then plucked her other dress and nightgown from the peg that had been hammered into the rock of the back wall and laid them atop the folded quilt.
There was no need to take Robert’s clothes. She had no use for them, and he might come back at some time.
She put her precious copy of The Mysteries of Udolpho in the center of the quilt and tied the opposite corners to make a pack. Again she looked around the room. She had lived here for months, yet all she had to take with her was a bundle that she could carry in one arm. With a sigh she went out to meet Brice and the mule.
He tied the bundle behind his saddle, then, as he had done before, he encircled her waist with his massive hands and lifted her onto the mule’s back. His touch sent her senses reeling even more this time than before. She reminded herself what sort of person he was. Why did she always find herself drawn to the wrong sort?
Trying to keep her composure from slipping away entirely, Elizabeth said, “Although I’m coming to live in your house, Mr. Graham, it’s to be understood that I’m only taking care of the baby and doing the housekeeping. You and I... That is, I’m only taking Consuela’s place as nursemaid and housekeeper. Is that understood?”
“It’s all I’ve asked of you,” he said quietly.
Elizabeth felt a blush rising. “I know. I just wanted it to be understood from the very beginning.”
“Of course. Your bedroom door has a lock on it, but you won’t need it. I’m a man of honor. I have no intention of taking advantage of you.”
“Good,” she said as she tapped her heels against the mule’s sides. She hoped she wasn’t putting herself in danger by agreeing to live in his house. She was fairly certain no other adult lived there. But by his own admission, he had no interest in her, and that would make her job easier. She should be glad of it. This way they each knew what the other expected.
All the same, she wished she hadn’t brought it up.
“Why the name Mary Kate?” she asked as they rode down the hill.
“It’s my mother’s name.”
