Choices of the Heart (5 page)

“Tiresome problem, him losing the one bit of fringe with his letters on it,” Griff mused aloud. He flashed a gaze at his sister’s grim face. “Or does his momma put them on every fringe?”

Of course she didn’t. No woman had that kind of time.

Bethann shrugged. “Can’t change what I found. But with the fringe and the yeller hair, looks kinda bad, don’t you think?”

“Right bad.” Griff tucked the bit of fringe into his trouser pocket and returned to his gelding.

He turned the roan east to meet up with Zach and Hannah and Miss Esther Cherrett, to place as much distance between the ambush place and himself as possible. Out of sight, out of mind. When he met up with Zach, saw his cousin and friend’s smiling, bright face, he would know for certain Bethann was mistaken. The ambusher was a stranger thinking to rob him, or one of Zach’s cousins thinking to get rid of one more Tolliver out on the trail and away from the rest of the families. Anyone else. Despite the hatred reigning in the rest of the family, Zach and Griff refused to let it poison their friendship. Nothing, they had vowed before the traveling preacher and one another, would come between their efforts to bring peace back to the ridge.

He met up with his cousins and the new schoolma’am the following day. Wood-smoke aromas slowed their pace. A quarter mile down the road, a familiar giggle and accompanying light laugh joined that of another voice, something clear and sharp, a little brittle like new ice.

Griff held up his hand for Bethann to halt and reined in his own mount. “Zach? Hannah?” he called to them without approaching.

The merriment stopped. Underbrush rustled, and Zach’s mop of yellow hair emerged from the trees. “Griff, you’re a’right.”

“Looks like it this time.” Griff dismounted and paced toward his cousin, his hand on his own knife. “You got the lady?”

“Yep. Come have some dinner. Hey, Bethann.” Zach lifted aside branches to reveal a flickering fire and two females perched atop a log on its far side.

Bethann didn’t move off of her horse. “I’m not hungry.”

“Bethann.” Griff shot her a warning glance. “We’ve got a friendly invite. Step down and say hey to your cousins and the schoolma’am.”

Not waiting for Bethann, Griff tethered his horse, then stepped into the clearing. Hannah lifted a hand to him, but the other female stood.

“Miss Esther Cherrett,” Zach said with a soft look toward the young woman.

A shaft of late afternoon sunlight fingered its way through the branches to find her face and make it glow as though she were lit from within. Even her eyes and hair, for all their dark brown color, sparkled with golden lights. Her skin looked like some fine bowls Pa had brought Momma from a trip to the city after they’d excavated the lead—as smooth as the glass they were putting into the new house, but with shades of cream and roses. His gaze flicked down a dusty riding dress, then quickly back to meet her eyes to stifle thoughts of how fine even a grimy dress could look on the right female.

She looked away from him, and her face lost the rose color. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Tolliver.”

Not half as pleased as he was to meet her.

He cleared his throat. “It’s right glad I am to meet up with you all. Bethann?”

He turned to introduce his sister, but Bethann was gone.

4

Esther watched Griff from beneath her lashes, her body tense. She’d seen the flare of interest in his blue eyes—eyes the same sky-blue as Zach’s, but more striking against his curly, dark hair and sun-darkened skin with the shadow of dark whisker stubble. Bold blue eyes that took her in at a glance, as though he assessed a horse for possible purchase at a fair.

She glanced at her mount. “Do we need to go look for your sister, Mr. Tolliver?”

“Not Bethann.” Griff shrugged. “She’ll get here when she chooses and not before. But I’m right happy to see you’ve come this far unscathed.”

“Did you think we’d dump her in a river for the load of books she’s carrying?” Zach stood with his legs splayed and his hands on his hips, not quite in fists but halfway there.

Griff laughed and strode forward to slap his cousin on the back. “I didn’t know if she could ride all this way without one of those fancy eastern saddles.” He stood with one of his soft leather boots a finger’s breadth from Esther’s long skirt.

“I’ve managed perfectly well.” She swept her skirt behind her. “Thank you.”

Griff smiled at her, a smile that reached his eyes, then glanced at his cousin. “Her voice is as pretty as her face. Is she of a good temperament too?”

“Not at the moment.” Esther enunciated each word with the English diction her father had fruitlessly tried to teach his children to use all of the time. They had sounded too out of place in Seabourne. There in the mountains, she sounded outright ridiculous and fumbled for something less clipped.

But the others were laughing as though she’d made a great joke. Zach’s stance relaxed, and together the two men turned toward the fire.

“Does she always talk like that?” Griff asked.

“Naw.” Zach glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “She’s been perfectly amiable.”

She’d been too weary to be anything else. Talking proved a staggering effort. And she ached in every limb. But they would reach the ridge in two more days, Zach assured her. If only she could survive for another forty-eight hours without collapsing in an ignominious heap under the hooves of her horse.

“I think it’s right pretty,” Griff said. “Kind of sweet and sharp at the same time.”

“Like those oranges we had a couple Christmases back?” Zach suggested.

Cheeks hot, Esther snatched up the water bucket and headed for the sound of running water. Behind her, Hannah and then the men made a perfunctory offer to go instead. Esther ignored them and pushed aside some fir tree branches to another clearing with a stream sparkling through it over a jumble of rocks—the endless rocks of the mountains catching one’s heel, blocking the straightness of a path, rising like monuments in the middle of a patch of wild strawberries.

A woman knelt on one of those rocks, a flat one worn smooth by years of spring floods. She splashed water on her face but still looked pale.

“May I help you?” Esther made the offer by instinct.

The woman jumped and lost her balance. She caught herself in the shallow water, but the rippling stream soaked the front of her dress.

“I’m so sorry.” Esther dropped the bucket and rushed forward to take the woman’s arms to help her upright.

She jerked free and crossed her arms over her middle. “I don’t need no help like you’ve given me already.” Her voice was high, a little nasal, her features sharp. She’d be rather pretty with a little more flesh on her bones. Flesh and a smile. Her pursed-up lips tightened the skin over her cheekbones into the semblance of a skull mask.

Esther shuddered and retrieved the bucket. “Suit yourself. I’ll be here for a few minutes if you need someone to help you up.” She selected her own flat rock onto which she could kneel and set the bucket to fill with the swiftest part of the creek flow. “Are you Bethann Tolliver?”

“I am.” The woman hadn’t moved except to commence shivering.

“I’m Esther Cherrett.”

“I know.” Bethann stood and turned her back on Esther. “You’re too pretty for anyone’s good.”

Esther sighed from the depths of her chest, where a constant ache reigned. “I know, especially mine.”

Bethann cast her a narrow-eyed glance over her shoulder. “You making fun of me?”

“No.” Esther stood and lifted the bucket. “I’d rather look like—”

She stopped at the sound of footfalls crunching along the path.

“Me?” Bethann suggested.

“No, you’re much too pretty.”

Bethann snorted with a hint of genuine amusement. “Maybe you need glasses, child.”

“Do you think they’d make me ugly?”

“Nothing,” Griff Tolliver said from the trees, “could make you ugly, Miss Esther. Bethann, you all right?”

She faced her brother and shrugged, emphasizing the sharpness of her collarbone and shoulder points. Unlike her brother and cousins, the former of which had been laid low by a stab wound, she looked unwell, pasty-faced, and red-eyed.

Consumption? A cancerous growth? A blood disorder? The latter required lots of meat. Red meat. And red fruits like strawberries and grapes. People got well from some blood disorders that way, but not the other two. Esther could try to persuade Bethann of—

Of nothing. She was on this journey to teach younger children how to be—to use their mother’s and aunt’s words—civilized and book-learned. Esther had given up her role as healer. Bethann had summarized why in three words:
You’re too pretty.
Mothers, wives, sisters, and sweethearts didn’t want Esther around their menfolk.

Esther ground her teeth and took a step toward the path. “If you all will excuse me, I should get this back so we can get some food cooking.”

“I’ll take it for you.” Griff closed the distance between them in a few long strides and removed the bucket from her hands. Then he glanced back at his sister. “You’re going to join us, aren’t you, Bethann?”

“I s’pose.” Bethann’s voice sounded choked.

Esther’s training tugged her toward the stream. Griff’s hand on her arm tugged her toward the path.

“Let her go,” he murmured.

“But she’s ill.”

“Yea. Yes, I expect she is. But she’ll be all right once we’re home.”

“If you’re certain.” Esther glanced back again.

Bethann had raised her hands to her face, and Esther caught her breath. She now knew why Bethann was so thin and unwell. Esther could help her. She must help her. If she continued to be ill and lose weight, she would die.

Later. Esther would talk to her later.

“Have a care of the rocks, Miss Esther.” Griff grasped her arm above the elbow.

Esther flinched away. “Please, don’t.”

“You were about to step onto that rock break.”

“I’ll . . . be more careful.” Esther ducked her head under the pretext of watching for loose stones and more outcroppings of rock along the path, but it was more to mask her face, her muscles feeling tight enough to crack if she so much as brushed her cheek with a finger. Her head spun a little, and she felt queasy.

She would not be sick. The only thing worse than being touched was being sick in front of others. Neither must she show her weakness. Griff or Zach, once they returned to the clearing, would believe she needed assistance and would try to help her, take her arm again, hold her hand, lead her to a fallen log to sit.

Hungry. She was merely hungry. The sooner she helped Hannah prepare dinner, the sooner she could eat.

“I make the coffee,” she announced to Griff.

“They make you work?” He shook his head as though disapproving.

“I volunteered.”

“And a good job of it she does,” Zach said.

He and Hannah already had bacon frying. Esther’s nose wrinkled. She was hungry enough to eat it, but if she never saw another slab of pork after this journey, it wouldn’t be too soon.

“I hope your coffee is better than Bethann’s,” Griff said. “She likes it so weak you may as well save money and have hot water.”

“Is she all right?” Hannah asked.

“Are you all right?” Zach asked Griff.

Esther set about making the coffee while the three cousins talked. She’d thought earlier that Hannah didn’t like Griff, but now she smiled with warmth when he assured her he was fully healed from his stab wound and the lump on his head.

“Who would’ve done that to you?” Zach asked. “We’ve been pondering that since we had to leave you.”

Hannah paused in the middle of measuring cornmeal for the fried corn cakes they mostly ate, and Esther nudged her aside. “Go talk to him.”

Hannah nodded and smiled her thanks, then joined her brother and cousin on the far side of the fire as Griff answered.

“I don’t know. Someone thinking to rob me, I suppose.”

“But they didn’t.” Zach stooped to add more wood to the fire. He met Esther’s eyes across the flames and gave her his gentle smile.

It warmed her a bit, almost like when one of her brothers winked at her across the dinner table—but not quite. Just the message seemed the same. It was a gesture of “I’m not ignoring you.”

She didn’t care if the cousins talked while she worked. Zach had said something about needing them to get along, both families to get along, better than they had been. These three looked to be on the right path for that.

Then Griff said, “Bethann says it was you, Zach.”

Zach dropped his armful of kindling with the crack and crunch of wood snapping.

Hannah gasped and pressed her hand to her throat. “That’s nonsense. Zach wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“I will if it gets in my dinner.” He swiped at a handful of insects heading for the sweet cornmeal Esther was about to drop into the hot fat.

“You know what I mean.” Hannah took a step backward and narrowed her gaze at Griff. “You don’t believe it, do you?”

“No. But I’ve seen him kill a lot of fli—”

Hannah smacked his arm.

He grinned and caught her wrist. “You might be older, but you’re smaller.”

“Let her go.” Zach’s face was white, his mouth tight. “You know I wouldn’t harm you. We took the vow together.”

“I know.” Griff patted Hannah’s hand and released her. “Never fear, cousin Hannah, I’m not about to start thinking that Zach wants to start the feuding up again.”

Esther’s hand shook. Cornmeal batter slipped off of her wooden spoon and into the fire. It smoked and stank, and she jumped away. “I’m so sorry.” She raised her hand to wipe her streaming eyes.

Griff caught hold of her hand. “You’ll get that in your hair.” He removed the batter-coated spoon from her hand but didn’t move away. “Is something wrong?”

He held her gaze from six inches back. His breath brushed her lips.

She shut her mouth tight and turned her face from him without speaking.

“Of course something’s wrong.” Zach punched Griff’s arm, breaking his hold on Esther’s hand. “You just talked about the feud.”

“Why shouldn’t he?” Bethann stalked into the clearing, a beautifully woven shawl wrapped around her shoulders and hiding the wet front of her dress. “She’s coming into it.”