Heart of a Dove (34 page)

I nodded, my eyes drifting closed.

Morning came,
with no regard to the devastation within me and the rending of our group. Malcolm roused me as he got up and hurried to load Aces’ saddlebags; they were leaving Gus and me with the wagon, and would purchase another in Keokuk, Iowa, where they would await us. Gus and I would be married there. The sun was still below the horizon when Boyd and Malcolm were loaded and ready to ride. Wrapped in my shawl, I stood numb and dead. Sawyer had left last night.

Boyd hugged me to him and tipped his head to my ear. He murmured, “All will be well, Lorie-girl, don’t you worry.”

My throat was too tight to reply, but I nodded against his chest. He drew back and cupped my shoulders for a moment. He added, “It’s good to see you up an’ about. We was right worried about you.”

He clasped Gus’s hand and the two men hugged briefly, as Malcolm wrapped me into his arms and I clung back, missing them with a palpable ache, already.

“We’ll see you soon, Lorie-Lorie. We’ll wait for you-all in
I-oh-wah
.” He pronounced all of the syllables, accenting them.

I whispered into his hair, “Take care of him.”

Malcolm held my gaze and I knew without saying that he understood. He nodded. I kissed his cheeks, then moved to kiss both Fortune and Aces on their velvet noses before stepping back and wrapping into my shawl. The Carters mounted just as the sun peeked over the horizon, highlighting the both of them with haloes of golden fire.

My heart panged; for just a moment, a horrible moment, I felt that I would never see them again.

“We’ll see you down the road,” Boyd said, turning Fortune north. “Take care of my fiddle!”

“Good-bye!” Malcolm yodeled, waving back as they rode out.

Angus and I watched until they were no longer visible.

I retired immediately to my tent but could not sleep. Gus came to the entrance and whispered, “Lorie, I aim to wash up at the creek. I’ll be there, just there. You rest.”

I had not replied and now lay staring on a fixed point upon the canvas wall, as the light brightened and brought small details into focus around me. I tried for a time to clear all thoughts from my mind. My hands moved lightly over my belly, over the tiny child growing there. I felt it to be true; I had denied what I’d known, in my desperation. My breasts were full against my palms, the top curves swelling to match the lower, as they never had before; even the circumference of my nipples had grown, and they’d darkened.

A child.

Gus’s child.

You are lucky, daughter, you should count your very blessings,
Mama told me, her low voice clear and stern in my head.
He is a good man, and he will care for you, he will love you. In time you may even love him. That’s the way of it, for most.

I could never be near Sawyer again.

If I was, I would go to him, everything else be damned.

What would happen when he married someone else, as he would surely do? He would work as a blacksmith in Minnesota, breed horses, build a home for her, for their eventual children. He would undoubtedly give another woman children, start his family again. Family meant everything to him. Sobs wrenched from me, ragged and terrible. I choked on them, curling around my stomach and loathing the child that grew there, even though it had nothing to do with this, had never asked to be conceived. Its mother was a whore, and its father was marrying her from a sense of duty. And that was certainly more than any whore could possibly hope for, as I had reminded myself time and again.

Sawyer. My woodcutter,
mo ghrá
.

He was riding away from me.

I moaned his name into my pillow, crying until I couldn’t lift my head.

Perhaps two
hours had drifted away when Angus returned and said, “Lorie, I am so worried for you. Please come out.”

“I can’t,” I whispered.

“May I come in?” he asked me.

I nodded, then realized he could not see me, and replied, “Yes.”

He did, moving to sit near me and brushing hair from my cheeks. His hands were gentle and warm, both. They weren’t Sawyer’s hands and my first instinct was to cringe away, but I remained still as he regarded me with pain in his storm-gray eyes. At last he implored, “Lorie, I would do anything to make you happy. I am truly sorry about Sawyer. I love him like a brother, even a son. I would never wish to hurt him, or you.”

He sighed, holding his head in his hands. When he lifted his eyes at last, he looked deeply into mine and said, his voice soft, “Lorie, I do love you. I will care for you, and our child, all of my days. I mean to make you love me, I truly do.” There was nothing challenging in his voice, only an earnest sincerity. I knew he meant that. At last he whispered, “Will you let me try?”

I felt trapped, a rabbit in a snare. Though it wasn’t fair to him; as I’d known from our first meeting, he was kind and good, a man that any woman would be lucky to love. At long last, I lied, nodding.

He smiled at me, softly and with such feeling. He added, “Let me fetch you the basin, and I will wash these clothes, your bedding.” He rose to his knees and then said, “The boys will be into Iowa within a few days and they’ll rest up in Keokuk. I thought…I hoped that you and I could move more slowly, talk and get to know one another. I would court you, ask your father’s permission for your hand, if I could. Our circumstances do not allow for such formalities. But know, please know, I will not share your bed until we are formally wed.”

Again I could only nod, weakly.

He cupped my cheek and then ducked back outside.

“Where are
we?” I asked him later as we sat near the fire. I sipped at tea, my stomach yet unsteady. I hadn’t eaten in days, as I’d lain ill, and Angus was frying salt pork and biscuits. Despite everything, I knew I had to consume something or he would be worried. I had washed my face and brushed out my hair, braided its length. Angus had scrubbed all of the soiled bedding and my clothes, which fluttered now in a light breeze as the afternoon drifted slowly to evening. He had told me we’d break camp tomorrow. Only my tent was erected now; Angus claimed he would sleep beneath the awning.

“Perhaps fifty miles south of Hannibal,” he told me. “When you fell sick, we left the trail and camped here, near the water. I didn’t think we should travel any further than necessary. You drifted in and out of a fever for nearly four days. We made willowbark tea for you, though I would liked to have given you beef broth. Perhaps we’ll detour into Hannibal as we pass there and purchase some beef. Though I recall my mama saying that it doesn’t do to reduce a fever too quickly, as the fever must run its course. We were scared, though, I’ll tell you. The typhoid is what robbed us all of so many, the Carters, the Davises, my Grace, too. I knew it wasn’t typhoid, though, as your fever wouldn’t have come on so quickly.” His eyes were concerned as he asked, “Do you feel well enough to travel tomorrow? We shall camp here as long as you need, my dear.”

“No, we can move on,” I said, staring at the flames of the fire and trying frantically not to reach out to Sawyer in my mind. The sense of him was so strong within my soul, his aching grief that rippled back to me, even as I sat here miles upon miles from him. I could feel it acutely, the brutal stretching of what linked us. I couldn’t stop my thoughts from flowing to him.

Sawyer, my Sawyer. How far have you gotten? Come back to me, please, come back. I need you.

Lorie
, he said back.
Lorie.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on not falling to pieces. At last I said, “Gus, I must lie down, my head yet hurts.”

“Of course,” he said at once, moving to help me up. “You rest, Lorie.”

At the entrance, he drew me gently to him and held me to his chest. He rocked me side to side, comforting me. I knew he would try, and continue to try, until he either hated me or hated himself.

“It will be all right,” he whispered into my hair.

Within, I lay almost immobile, terrified that the emptiness within me would consume everything if I let it, if it was to have free reign.

Whistler
.

I hadn’t even been able to say good-bye to her, though I knew Sawyer had left to avoid such a terrible scene by morning’s light. I rolled to the side as hot tears seeped again over my face.

Where are you? How far are you from me?

When will I see you again, and at what price?

I expected to dream of Sawyer, longed to, just to glimpse him. And yet when I slept another figure invaded my mind.

Rebel whore
, he muttered.
Fucking Rebel whore, riding with your Rebel soldiers.

I’ll find you, Lila.

Though I knew it was a nightmare, and could not hurt me, the essence of it stuck with me throughout the following day, as an oil upon my skin. I didn’t tell Angus, as he knew nothing of Sam. I imagined in time he would know many things about me, including that particular story, but I couldn’t bear to speak of it just now; as I helped Angus load the wagon, though he would hardly let me lift a finger to assist him, I kept hearing Sam’s words, echoing out of the dark parts of my mind.

Angus assisted me upon the wagon seat, then sat near me, collecting the reins. I had tied my hat over my hair and sat woodenly, determined not to think about sitting on this same seat with Sawyer. Angus kept our pace slow and steady beneath a skittish sky of intermingling gray and white clouds, the air humid and sticky. We rode in silence, and although I didn’t intend to appear sullen, no doubt I did. My head ached and surely it was obvious that I had spent the night weeping. Though he spoke not of that, and to be fair, I knew Angus could not possibly fathom how deeply Sawyer and I loved one another; certainly he assumed we were simply infatuated, given the amount of time we had known one another. He could not guess the truth.

We were silent for some time before I asked softly, “Will you tell me about Grace?”

Angus leaned back and looked over at me. I dared to meet his eyes then, frankly studying his face. He was brown from the sun, and there were lines at the outer corners of his gray eyes. I realized afresh that he was over twenty years older than me. His hair was heavy and with a slight curl, hanging to his shoulders. I had never noticed him wearing it tied back. I blinked slowly, considering how I would look upon his face for many years to come, that our child would bear his features as well as mine. Would we have other children? Would he despise me after a time, when it would become apparent that I could never love him, at least not as I should?

Angus had saved me from Ginny’s, had taken me under his care when I had no one else in the entire world. I owed him more than I could ever possibly hope to repay. I did not doubt his sincerity when he told me he cared for me and my heart felt knifed as I understood that he deserved far more than my love. He deserved a woman who would love him the way I loved Sawyer.

Sawyer cannot be yours, not any longer.

You must acknowledge this, Lorie
.

But a stubborn and dangerous part of me writhed and rebelled, and would not acknowledge it.

At last Gus said, “Lorie, I know that Sawyer left…abruptly. He and I have never exchanged words before, I’ll have you know, and it was not your fault that we did in the days past. Please don’t feel as such, Lorie. I’ve known him from the time he was a boy, as you know. And he has always been…passionate about things. The three of us will move beyond this, I feel assured. I love him, and I love you, and in time it will work itself out.”

Was he oversimplifying, or just much more optimistic than I had ever realized?

Before I could respond, he went on, “But you asked about Grace.” He sighed and his gaze moved out to the distant horizon. He said gently, “She was the love of my life, Grace McAllister. I knew her from the time I was a boy. I tortured myself for so long after the War, figuring that I could have saved her if I had been there. But even Ellen Davis couldn’t manage to treat the typhoid that ravaged that winter, and she was known for her birthing skills, for her knowledge of herbs.”

Ellen Davis, Sawyer’s mother.

Just taking a breath hurt me as I thought of Sawyer telling me about her.

Angus said, “Grace was striking. She was fair, blond as fresh-cut hay, but her eyes were brown. A soft brown. She was slim, like you, and there are movements you make that bring her to my mind.” He paused and looked back at me, his gray eyes soft with remembrance. He added, “She was delicate and soft-spoken. I loved her with all of my heart. For a time I felt as though my heart had been buried with her, there in the cemetery in Suttonville. But it was not, I have finally lived long enough to realize that.”

Still I could not find words. I felt a seeping, self-preserving numbness overtaking me.

“Lorie, my dear,” and he took my right hand carefully into his, folding my fingers against his palm. “I promise you I will love our child, and I will do everything I can to make you happy. It grieves me so to see the sadness in your eyes. I will take it away and make you smile, if you’ll give me the chance.”

I swallowed and managed to nod, my throat thick with pain.

“Tell me about yourself,” he invited, squeezing my fingers gently before releasing my hand. “Anything at all. I feel as though I know so little about your past. Let’s pretend I’ve come to call and we are seated in your family’s parlor, and that I have brought for you a bouquet of wild roses. Those would suit you well, I think.”

I swallowed again and looked away, up and into the scattered clouds, the restless sky. I cleared my throat and said, “Gus, I wish I could tell you…” I paused, stumbling, trying to collect what I wanted to say, as though to deliver it to him as upon a silver tray.

“Tell me what?” he asked softly.

“How grateful I am that you found me,” I said, determined to speak without allowing the aching in my throat to rise up and obliterate my words, my self-control.