Read Wind Dancer Online

Authors: Jamie Carie

Wind Dancer (6 page)

BOOK: Wind Dancer
7.04Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

“Do forgive me.” She smiled and batted her eyelashes at Samuel, “My
husband
swore he knew the way.” She pressed her lips together in mock innocence. “He always did have a tendency to get us lost. Why one time …”

Samuel stopped her, groaning internally, knowing that he had underestimated her yet again and that she was determined to make his life difficult at best. “This is Isabelle—”

“What is our last name, dear? I've forgotten.” She dimpled at him, tilting her head again as Samuel silently cursed at himself.

“Holt.” He smiled at the bewildered-looking hosts. “A sudden wedding. Recently.”

Julian made a choking sound that Samuel tried to cover by pulling Julian to the forefront. “This is Julian Renoir.”

“His brother-in-law,” Isabelle said happily. “They knew each other first. Samuel wanted shooting lessons—can't hit the side of a barn with that fancy rifle of his to save his life, and wouldn't you know it, my brother is a sharpshooter.” She shrugged. “I took one look at him, so big and strong and manly,” she clung to his arm and looked up into his face with adoring eyes, “and I was smitten.”

The young woman giggled. “Well, ain't that a story. Please come in and rest yourselves. I'm Missy and this,” she went to a cradle and lifted out a tiny baby, “this is Benjamin. He's three weeks old today. Say howdy, Benjamin.”

Isabelle smiled at the baby. “So precious. Why I was just telling Samuel the other day that I want a baby so bad I can hardly stand it.”

Samuel nearly choked on the water he was drinking and thrust the ladle into Isabelle's chest. “Could you get me some more water, wife?”

“Why certainly, husband. You know I live and breathe to serve you.” Another lingering, adoring smile, and she turned to do his bidding.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

They all sat around the table, Missy heating up a stew they'd had for dinner, supplying plenty of water and making tea for them. Isabelle was holding the baby, looking a little uncomfortable as though she'd like to find a place to set him down, while Henry, who thankfully had turned out to be a fount of information about the area, sat and smoked from an old clay pipe and talked with Samuel and Julian.

Samuel learned that this was the only farm for miles this side of the Kaskaskia River and that the activity at the fort was normal for this time of year—Indians traveling in and out to
trade and the British firmly, if absently, in control. It would take less than thirty minutes to hike to the fort from here. Henry owned two canoes and assured Samuel he would be happy to ferry them across in the morning so that they could continue on their mission of fetching the priest's books.

After dinner, feeling much better with a full stomach, Samuel rose and asked the location of the outhouse. He planned to get a better look at the layout of the farm.

“Oh, I'll come with you. You know how afraid of the dark I am,” Isabelle said in a somewhat ominous tone. A vision of her killing the wolf flashed through Samuel's mind, and he almost laughed aloud but managed to duck his head instead and slap his hat down low on his head. “Come along then.”

Once outside and safely out of earshot, Isabelle hissed in a whisper, “What was that all about? Your
wife
? Why didn't you tell them the truth? Who are you really, Samuel Holt?”

“Which question would you like answered first, sweetheart?”

“Sweetheart, is it? Why, I ought to shoot you for doing that to me without any warning.”

“I knew you'd catch on quick enough. And anyway, you didn't let me lead. You tore off toward the front door before I had a chance to tell you my plan.”

“I was
dying
of
thirst
, if you will remember. You certainly didn't know where to find water.”

“I knew it was at the river; it just took us longer to get here than I thought it would.”

“Don't get me sidetracked. Why would you need to lie? What is wrong with the truth?”

They had reached the outhouse door, a quaint moon and three stars cut out of the wood. Samuel leaned against it and sighed. “Can you keep a secret?”

Isabelle scowled. “What do you think?”

“I work for a large trading company. Out of New Orleans. I'm here scouting, fleshing out new areas of trade.”

Isabelle stared hard at him, her head cocked to one side and her lips pressed together. “A trader. New Orleans? What is the company's name?”

Samuel searched his memory and blurted out the only one he knew of, the one the folks at Fort Boonesborough had been complaining about. “The Virginia Company. Do you doubt it?”

“Yes, I doubt it. What would a trader have to hide?”

Samuel gave a short laugh and his most condescending look. “Men are generally more honest if they don't know you are interested in their goods. Large quantities of goods.”

Isabelle gave him a long considering look. “My father is a trader,” she said, looking smug. “So be careful, Mr. Trader. I'm not ignorant about the ways of a
voyageur
.”

Wonderful. He'd picked the one vocation she knew something about. Samuel reached over and touched her cheek, not being able to resist its creamy softness in the moonlight and knowing it would change the dynamic of their conversation. “Guard the door for me, love? I wouldn't want to be attacked by wild animals or anything while doing my business.”

Sure enough, Isabelle's eyes grew dark and hot. “Too bad I don't have my gun,” she said in a sultry voice. “I might just find something out here worth shooting,
husband
.”

Samuel laughed and ducked into the dark outhouse, shaking his head. Could there be another woman on the face of this earth so different from his Sara?

* * *

THE STARS WERE filling up the sky as they walked slowly back to the house, lingering in the dark. They entered the cabin to find Julian playing Henry's guitar and singing a song—a sweet, heart-filled song about love lost that had Missy gazing at him with stars in her eyes. When the song ended, she clapped heartily and said to Isabelle on a long breath, “Your brother is so musical. My goodness, what talent.”

Isabelle smiled at her, nodding, glancing at Samuel who seemed to be engrossed with Henry. Both were cleaning their guns. “Yes he is. My mother says when he cried as a baby it sounded more like a song than a complaint. He's been making up songs ever since.”

Missy shook her head, leaning over her son. “I sure would like to see a talent like that in one of my children someday. What a joy.” She glanced at her husband, and something sad flashed in her brown eyes. She quickly turned back to Isabelle and grinned, holding out her hand. “Come see the bed I made up for you and Mr. Holt.”

Julian looked suddenly toward Isabelle, a frown furrowing his eyebrows. Samuel stopped cleaning the gun and looked at Isabelle with something like panic in his eyes.
He apparently hadn't
thought this scheme through
, Isabelle thought with internal laughter. She grinned at him, saying to Missy, “Oh, you shouldn't have. But it'll be so nice to sleep on something other than the hard ground.”

6

They climbed the rickety ladder to the loft, which smelled faintly of garlic and onions and lavender, much like her mother's cellar. Dried vegetables and herbs hung from the ceiling, and the sweet scent caused Isabelle her first pang of homesickness. A straw mattress lay in the middle of the floor, made up with two pillows and a couple of quilts. Isabelle found she wasn't tired now though. Her body was humming with anticipation, just waiting to see Samuel's head appear at the top of the ladder.

Missy said, “Julian can sleep in the baby's room, and we'll move little Benjamin's cradle into our bedroom. So, you see, there's plenty of room.”

“Thank you, Missy, this is just perfect.” Thinking of what two married women might say in private to each other, Isabelle lowered her voice. “You are so kind.”

Missy blushed and held the baby tighter to her chest, looking a little wistful. “I—that is—” She started to tear up and turned her head away from Isabelle, blinking rapidly. “I'm glad for you,” she managed, then quickly turned away and climbed back down the ladder.

Isabelle stared after her, wondering what was wrong. Hope had talked to Isabelle about what it would be like to be a wife, to share the marriage bed; and although there hadn't been many physical details, Isabelle was no stranger to forest and farm animals. She was certain she knew the fundamentals. But Missy seemed so sad and unhappy about something. Sighing, not knowing what to do to help, she turned her body and her mind to the bed and smiled a smug smile, reaching for the top button of her dress.

* * *

HENRY YAWNED FOR the third time, looked over to Samuel and nodded, his eyes watering. “Yes, well, dawn comes early.”

Samuel grasped for some topic to keep the man from bed, to keep himself from having to climb those attic stairs.

Julian rose and stretched, giving Samuel a stern look. Then he took a couple of steps toward their host and stretched out his hand. “Thank you, sir. For the dinner and a bed for the night. I know I will sleep well not being in the open as we've been.” He turned, gave Samuel one last long disapproving look, and made for the bedroom assigned to him.

Samuel heaved a sigh and stood. Maybe he should go to the outhouse and hang out there for a bit. Heaven knew after drinking so much tea he likely would be climbing up and down that rickety ladder all night. But no. Time to face the music of a lie that had sounded so sweet when he'd told it. He had no one to blame but himself and his own foolishness. He nodded good-night toward Henry, then took hold of the ladder.

The loft was dark, which was good. He could just make out Isabelle's form under the blanket, the small rise and fall of
her chest. Now, if he could just get into the bed without waking her. What had he been thinking to suggest they were married? It hadn't been one of his better ideas. He would be lucky to get any sleep at all this night, with her right next to him.

Calling on all of his training, he silently shrugged out of his jacket and moccasins. Next, he slipped out of his shirt but left the buckskin leggings on.

Slipping in between the blankets, he eased his body onto the mattress, careful not to touch her. She turned to her side with a quick jerk, facing him, but still breathing steadily in sleep. Samuel lay on his back and slowly, by careful degrees, relaxed his tired body and closed his eyes.

They just might make it through this unscathed.

He had no sooner thought this than her hand flopped down onto his belly. She huffed in her sleep and rolled closer, into his side, her hand curled against the bare skin of his stomach.

Every muscle in his body tensed. He felt the blood roar into his ears and barely breathed. He hadn't been with a woman since Sara died nearly two years ago. But Isabelle … her hand, her soft breast pressing against his arm, her leg looped over his. She made him want to run from the room or, worse, give in to his desire and gather her up in his arms. He imagined burying his face in her hair.

Stop it! Think of something else and, for mercy's sake, get her to
turn back over.

Taking her hand by the wrist, he slowly lifted it and moved it to her side. She smiled then and plopped it back down and began caressing him, running her hand back and forth across his stomach.

“You've been awake this entire time, haven't you, you little minx?” Samuel growled. He turned abruptly, loudly, over onto his side, facing away from her, and hugged the edge of the mattress.

Next thing he knew, she was up, propped on an elbow and leaning over him, a dark curtain of her hair teasing his shoulder. “You have finally come to bed,” she whispered. “I must have fallen asleep.”

Looking back at her, over his shoulder, he commanded, “Go to sleep, Isabelle.”

She smiled, and as his eyes adjusted to the light, he could now see the dark blue pools of her irises glowing at him, the creamy white of her shoulders revealing the lace of her undergarments.

“I'm not sleepy,” she said softly.

Samuel bit off a curse and flopped unto his back, looking up at her. “Is that what you want? To
truly
pretend to be married?” He thought to scare her, to call her bluff.
Of all the brazen, wanton
acts …

She nodded and leaned toward him, her lips parted, anticipating a kiss.

He stopped her with the flat of his palm, a mistake as his hand grasped roundness instead of the throat he had been going for. “No. You don't know what you are asking for.”

“How do you know what I know? Maybe I know exactly what I am asking for.”

Samuel inhaled. “There have been others? You have done this before?”

Isabelle had the decency to flush and look away, uncertainty lighting her gaze.

Samuel breathed a sigh of relief. “Go to sleep, Isabelle.”

She looked back at him, stricken, like a child whose toy had been snatched away. Samuel tried not to smile, seeing a glimpse of her as a little girl: round cheeks with dimples, dark eyes flashing with emotion, darker curls haloing a cherubic face. Had she always managed to get what she wanted?

Isabelle turned on her side, away from him, and Samuel
found his desire turning to compassion. Turning toward her, he pulled her into his chest and wrapped an arm around her middle, his chin in her hair, just as he'd imagined. Sighing into her hair, he closed his eyes, feeling her lithe body relax against his, the two of them curled together, fitting perfectly, feeling her breath go in and out, his nose buried in her sweet hair.

It felt like heaven.

It felt like home.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING Julian was edgy and brooding in the kitchen as Isabelle followed Samuel down from the ladder. He was staring at the two of them, his lips a thin line as Isabelle blushed and stuttered, “G–Good morning.” Hands on his hips, he glared at Samuel.

Samuel looked away to where Missy worked on a large pile of flapjacks. Then, deciding to meet the subject head on, he swung back around. “Let's go outside, take a look around.” He looked Julian square in the eyes.

The younger man nodded briefly and reached for his hat.

Isabelle rose to go with them, but Samuel shook his head. “Stay here and help Missy with the breakfast, Isabelle.”

She started to protest, her face a comical mix of outrage and shock and then, as she looked at Julian, as understanding dawned on her face, she nodded. “Oh, of course. Here, Missy, let me hold the baby and set the table while you work on those flapjacks. Mmm, that bacon smells heavenly.”

Julian pulled his hat over his dark brown hair, his eyes grim. Samuel motioned him outside and shut the door behind them.

The sun was bright, promising a beautiful day. They walked to the calls of the morning birds, not saying anything until they
had gone some distance away from the house, toward the river. At the bank Julian turned suddenly, facing Samuel. “What are your intentions toward my sister, sir?”

Samuel put a hand on his hip, shaking his head and looking down at the thick, green grass. “I don't really know. It was stupid of me to pretend we are married.”

Julian did not respond.

“At the time, I thought it would look like less of a threat… . Folks are skittish as wild horses these days, with all the Indian attacks. But I didn't think through the sleeping arrangements.”

A long, dead silence reigned.

Samuel knew the full force of his mistake in that silence.

“What if word gets out?” Julian finally said. “It usually does. Another man around these parts won't look at her, not for a wife anyway.”

“Nothing happened.” Samuel didn't mention that the sister Julian was trying to defend had made that most difficult for him.

Julian kicked at a dandelion, sending white fluff floating into the breeze. “It won't matter. Isabelle has always stirred up gossip. One time some men came upon her dancing in her chemise in the forest.” He paused and took a deep breath. “It was lucky she had her rifle with her that day. One man lost an earlobe, and the one really going after her … well, let's just say he won't be fathering any children. Then there are the clothes she sometimes wears …
to church
.” He pressed his lips together and stared at Samuel. “This will be the icing on the cake, lying the night through with a man.”

“No one will know.”

“Do you think the Coffmans won't talk about this in Kaskaskia? We're going to have to continue this story in town, or they will know it for the fabrication that it is, and Isabelle's
reputation will be … My father will kill you for this.” He stopped and looked sad. “And my mother. You've never met a better woman.” He shook his head. “She will forgive you and pray for you, and believe me, that will feel worse than a good thrashing from my father. I should thrash you myself.”

But they both knew he couldn't.

Samuel stared at Julian, weighing his next words carefully. “In a few days the citizens of Kaskaskia will have something much more pressing on their minds.” His mouth turned up into a grim half smile. “And my deception will make more sense to everyone.”

Julian stared, eyes squinting. “Who are you, really?”

“I have little reason to trust you with such knowledge. Beyond my gut instinct.”

A thoughtful look entered Julian's eyes, and he said quietly, “You can trust me.”

Samuel nodded, looked from Julian's intense face off into the distant sunrise, all yellow and orange and hopeful. With a short nod, he agreed. “I'm here with an army. An American army. We plan to take Kaskaskia in a few days.”

“You are a spy?” Excitement laced Julian's youthful voice.

“A scout, yes.”

Julian looked behind them, toward the east from where they had come. “They're behind us now?”

Samuel nodded. “A few days. I have to report back later today, after scouting the fort.”

“Why do the Americans want Kaskaskia? It's such a little, out-of-the-way place. There are not even any British there to speak of.”

Samuel's eyes locked with the young man's. “We are securing the land west of the Appalachians for the American government. We're all going to be Americans soon, Julian. No longer British
citizens, or even French. We are becoming our own nation. You understand that, don't you?”

Julian looked excited, the familiar fire of independence heating his eyes. “Yes, but—”

“That's all I'm going to tell you, so don't ask any more questions. And don't tell Isabelle. I am trusting you with the lives of many men, with dreams of glory and freedom. Don't disappoint me.”

* * *

HE SENT JULIAN inside and stared at the dark forms that were moving in the village across the river. He sincerely hoped he hadn't made a mistake, but he didn't think so. Julian was much the same as young men anywhere, straining for a cause to believe in, for something worthy to stand up and fight for. He thought of Isabelle and felt his blood go hot inside him.

Isabelle made every emotion he felt deepen in intensity. There were no grays with this woman, only color—the deep blues and greens of their rightness together, a deeper place of peace and connectedness; the oranges and reds of their passion, unrequited and pulsing; the purples, from lavender to deep violet, of her dance worship that left him breathless in awe. Most unsettling was the deep black he felt at moments, tiny snatches of time that stunned him with their intensity, leaving him grasping as to what his instincts were trying to tell him about him and her and their future together.

And they did have a future together. Since first laying eyes on her he had known. She had even said it aloud. They were meant to be together.

But what was that to look like in such a time and place as they found themselves? He was in the middle of a campaign,
a war, and there was a good chance he would die in the fighting of it. The risk was easier to consider without anyone waiting for him to come back on the other side of it. He had no home, no place to rest his own head, much less a wife's.

He thought of the wife he had lost. Sara. It had been four years since her death, a death that had shocked him after only ten months of marriage. He tried to remember her face now and felt a gripping fear that it was fading. He looked up at the dawn sky, trying to call to mind the pale gray of her eyes, the sound of her voice, and hearing only the throaty trill of a mockingbird nearby.

“I can't see her face anymore,” he whispered. When he closed his eyes, all he could see were Isabelle's gypsy features, so strong, so fierce in comparison to Sara's. Sara had been a faded beauty even at nineteen. He thought back to their wedding day, seeing only a pale visage, knowing that her hair had been blonde, her mouth small and bow-like, her eyes a dove's gray. On that day she had been full of a young woman's fear, reflecting the feelings in his heart, that they were being pushed into this thing by parents who wanted them joined for the land, for their dream of building an empire.

BOOK: Wind Dancer
7.04Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Words Will Break Cement by Masha Gessen
69 by Ryu Murakami
The Black Sentry by Bernhardt, William
Operation Massacre by Rodolfo Walsh, translation by Daniella Gitlin, foreword by Michael Greenberg, afterwood by Ricardo Piglia
A Broken Land by Jack Ludlow
Night Gate by Carmody, Isobelle