CHAPTER
16 
I returned to the room to find Kindle looking rumpled and sewing the bottom of my saddlebag.
“Where have you been?” His voice sounded like sandpaper on wood, giving further lie to his assertion of sobriety the night before. I walked to the chest and poured a glass of water.
“I walked with Aén
hé’ke to her tribe, drank some rather delicious tea—at least I think it was tea—and returned. How do you feel?”
“Fine. Why do you ask?”
He obviously hadn’t looked in a mirror and didn’t seem in the mood to admit his intoxication from the night before. “No reason.” I sat on the bed next to him and handed him the water. He drank, watching me.
“Thank you.” He went back to his work.
“You’re welcome.” I held the glass and watched him sew. He used a piece of leather to push the thick needle through the small holes. “Why are you sewing my saddlebag?”
“I’ve put half our money as well as your necklace inside.” He lifted the saddlebag to look at the bottom. It was slightly bulky, but it wasn’t too noticeable.
“Excellent job.”
“Would you like to take over, considering your advanced needlepoint skills?” His mouth quirked up into a half smile.
“No, I will do my best Aunt Emily impression and sit here and point out your deficiencies.”
“I cannot wait to meet Aunt Emily.”
“I hope we live long enough to meet her.”
“Of course we will.”
“Hmm. It is easier with such a large needle if you push up.” I sipped the remaining water and put the glass on the side table. “She has a weakness for men in uniform. She would never admit a weakness for anything, but Charlotte and I used to watch and laugh at how her eyes lit up when officers would attend the balls.”
“Charlotte is your cousin?”
“Yes.”
“And the inspiration for your name?”
“Yes.” I pointed to his work. “If you use the same hole it would be much easier.” When he didn’t continue my eyes met his. “Are you sure you don’t want to do this?” he said.
“Quite.” I held up my hands. The fingers on my right could have been the fingers of an octogenarian with severe arthritis, and the left was burned.
“Of course.” He put his work down and lightly grasped my hands. He caressed my knobby right hand. “Can you?” Kindle made a fist.
I tried and succeeded in forming a claw. “It’s better since you’ve been massaging it. I can shoot a gun, but I couldn’t save the life of the victim. Which I suppose out here is more important.”
He massaged my hand. “Does this hurt or feel good?”
“A little of both. But do not stop.”
I watched his long, slender fingers rub my hand before moving to each individual finger. I switched my gaze to his face and saw his brows furrowed in concentration. “One of the first things I noticed about you was your hands,” I said, voice low. “They look like the hands of an artist, not a cavalry officer.”
His eyes met mine, but his massaging didn’t stop. “I was a pianist, not an artist.”
My head jerked back in surprise. “Were you?”
Kindle nodded and focused again on my hands. “My mother taught me. My father thought it was a sissy thing for a boy to do, so of course John thought so as well. My father forbid it, so my mother could teach me only when my father and John weren’t around. The slaves hated my father and adored my mother so they kept our secret. They kept a watch out for whenever my father or John would return. My mother would slide to the middle of the bench and I would retire to a chair where I read something appropriately masculine.” His hands stopped and he gazed into the middle distance. “God, she played beautifully. She was partial to Bach, but could also play a reel for the slaves to dance to.” He took my index finger and bent it up and down, slowly. “After I tried to help the slave, Cotter, escape, we stopped.”
“Why?”
He silently flexed my finger for a minute, and moved to the middle finger. “My father questioned all the slaves. There was no way a child and a slave could have planned an escape without anyone else knowing, he said. We weren’t stupid enough to tell the other slaves.” He moved to my ring finger.
“You told your mother, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “My father found out and broke her hand as punishment.” I inhaled sharply as he moved to my pinky finger. “The doctor’d treated my mother enough to know what went on. My mother didn’t leave her room for six weeks. When the doc returned to remove her cast, I heard him tell my mother’s slave to massage her hand daily, multiple times, to help her get her mobility back. When I visited Mother for the first time I didn’t recognize her. She’d aged ten years in six weeks. I came in every day after breakfast and massaged her hand. She never said a word. She never left her room again.”
“William.”
“Flex your fingers like this.” He waved his fingers into a fist. I did, and was surprised at how they felt slightly more limber. “Better?”
“Yes.”
He lifted my hand and kissed my fingers, lingering there. He looked me in the eye. “Every day. After breakfast.”
“Yes, sir.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, sir? I like the sound of that.”
I nudged my shoulder against his. “Get back to work.” He took up his needle and sewed. I put my hand on his back and rubbed it in circles. “Will you play for me someday?”
He nodded. “Do you play?”
“Heavens, no. Nor do I sing. I tell you my only talent was needlepoint. It is nigh on impossible to land a suitable husband when all you can offer is a beautifully stitched pillow or a screen. Though I never had the patience to finish a screen.”
“I appreciate your stitching skills.”
“I hope I never have to use them on you again. How are your shoulder and thigh by the way? I have been so focused on my own injuries, I have forgotten to check on yours.”
“I am fine.”
“I will check when you finish.”
“Laura, I am fine.”
“Would you please let me do something for you?”
“I wish you could finish this saddlebag.”
“You’re persistent.” I walked to the small mirror hanging over the chest. When I’d dressed earlier the room had been too dim to see well. I wished for the dimness now as I saw myself for the first time in two weeks.
My honey blond hair had faded to almost white and was the texture of straw. My skin was tanned and small lines that hadn’t been there before radiated from the corners of my eyes. My lips were cracked and my forehead was bruised from where Tuesday had banged my head into the ground. I turned away, covered my face with my hands, and burst into tears.
Kindle was across the room and holding me in his arms in a trice. He didn’t speak or shush me, but allowed me to vent my feelings, soggily, into his shoulder.
“I cannot do this,” I said, in between sobs. “I don’t recognize myself. I mistrust everyone and I am exhausted. Oh, how exhausted I am. I want to sleep for days.”
He led me to the bed and I lay down. He lay down next to me and pulled me onto my side, facing him. He held my hands gently, pushed a stray piece of hair behind my ear, and waited for my sobs to subside. I reached up and covered his eyes. “Don’t look at me.”
“Why?”
“William, you know why.”
“I thought I was the dandy between the two of us.”
“Two weeks on the trail made you look rugged and handsomer. I, on the other hand, look like my aunt’s charwoman.”
He pulled my hand away. “Laura, you’re being ridiculous.”
I turned over and away from him but pulled his arm close to my chest and nestled back against him. “I’ve always been vainer than I care to admit. One of the most difficult parts of being a doctor was diminishing my looks. No one takes a handsome woman seriously about anything but marriage, family, and housekeeping. Possibly charity, which is the one allowed outside interest.” I sighed. “I love beautiful clothes, wearing them, shopping for them. It was the one thing Aunt Emily and I had in common. And, my hair was beautiful.”
“It will be again.”
I knew Kindle was trying to make me feel better, but his subtle admission about the state of my hair stung.
“I was given a name by one of the Cheyenne girls.”
“Were you?”
I nodded.
“Are you going to make me guess?”
I sighed, wondering why I had brought it up. “Talks Like a Man Woman.”
When Kindle remained silent I turned slightly and looked over my shoulder at him. He was smiling. “It isn’t funny.”
“It’s perfect for you, and not because your voice sounds like a man.”
I turned away from him again. “You think it does. I knew it.”
“No, Laura.” He moved my hair away from my neck and kissed it, sending shivers down my spine, awakening a memory of a disheveled desk, a broken lantern, and the soft patter of rain on a window. “You’ve always had a husky voice, and I love it. No, it’s perfect because you speak your mind like a man.”
“Hmm.”
Kindle pulled my collar away and kissed the top of my shoulder. “You are as beautiful to me today as the day I met you.”
“Would that be dressed as a man and covered in blood at Antietam, or dressed like a woman and covered in blood in Texas?”
“I was thinking of the woman I was with in the fort library the last night at Fort Richardson. She was the real you. She’s who I see when I look at you.”
I blushed remembering how eager I was, how much I enjoyed laying with Kindle. How his touch woke something in me, even now, though my mind struggled with visions of other men.
He pulled me closer and tucked his knees into mine. “We fit together nicely.”
“We do.”
“This isn’t the worst bed I’ve slept in on the frontier, but it’s nothing compared to what waits for us in Saint Louis.”
“At the orphanage?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s a feather bed, left over from the plantation days. It’s like what I imagine sleeping on a cloud would be like. You will sleep like a baby.”
“Not with the way you snore.”
“I don’t snore.”
I looked over my shoulder. “Yes, you do.”
“I don’t believe you. But”—he kissed me on the cheek—“to be safe I will leave so you can get some rest.”
I put my hand out to stop him from rising. “Don’t leave. We so rarely get to be truly alone.”
He settled back into the bed, one arm protectively across my waist, the other beneath my head.
I breathed deeply, listening to the distant sounds of the daily activities of the agency. Animals tramping down the street, the ringing of an anvil, the creak and jingle of wagons pulled by mules. Kindle’s chest rose and fell against my back in a steady, comforting rhythm, his arm heavy and secure around me, his legs molded to mine. I was safe. Protected. Loved.
My stomach flipped with nervousness and fear. I moved Kindle’s hand to my breast. His breath caught.
I swallowed and willed my voice to be steady. “Yes. I’m sure.”
Kindle rolled off the bed, went to the door, and wedged a chair beneath the doorknob. I sat on the edge of the bed and watched him check the curtain was closed across the lone window. When he approached the bed, I stood to meet him. With my knees shaking beneath my skirt, I unbuttoned my bodice, and steeled myself to reclaim what had been taken from me.
“Where are you taking me?”
I’d been asleep for hours when Kindle woke me with a kiss on my cheek. I had been trying to wake for a while, dreaming my eyes would not open, even when I tried to pry them open with my fingers. Panic was setting in when Kindle’s soft whiskers and warm breath tickled my cheek. “I have a surprise for you.”
Outside, the late-afternoon sun was low in the sky and a herd of cattle lowed in dismay as they were herded down the middle of the street. Soldiers waved their hands, whistled, and slapped lassos against their legs to keep the stupid beasts moving. Many of the animals, frightened or possibly plain mean, defecated puddles of shit onto the muddy street.
“The allotment arrived,” Kindle said over the noise. He pointed down the street to a long line of wagons waiting to be checked over by an older gentleman with long gray hair flowing from a flat-billed hat. “Brinton Darlington,” Kindle said.
“If you tell me my surprise is lowing cattle, I might hit you.”
His mouth quirked up on one side and his eyes twinkled. My heart flopped around in my chest like a fish on dry land. Kindle looked happier than he’d been since Fort Richardson. Surely, it wasn’t due to the uncomfortable bout of love making from a few hours earlier?
After, when Kindle had left me to rest alone, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling as his seed trickled out of me, and waited for the pain between my legs to subside. Despite Kindle’s gentleness, it was like he’d taken a scalpel to me. I’d pulled my skirt up, found I wasn’t bleeding—thank the Lord—and decided the time had come to assess my injuries as a doctor would. I reset the chair beneath the door handle, removed the mirror from the wall, and steeled myself for the worst.
Dr. Ezra Kline had treated me when Kindle brought me back to Jacksboro after the events on the Canadian and in Palo Duro Canyon. Ezra and my father had been friends since medical school, and since my father’s death, Ezra had been like a father to me. His son James had been a lifelong friend—briefly my lover—and helped me escape New York when the Langtons leveled the murder accusation against me. I am sure Ezra never imagined he would one day have to tend to me the way he did. What would have been going through his mind as he sewed me up and terminated my pregnancy, I have no idea. But, he had done a superb job. Outwardly, I was healed. I wouldn’t know the extent of the internal damage until my menses did or did not come.
Even staring at Kindle during the act didn’t banish the images from the Canadian. Knowing he wanted me despite what had happened didn’t make me want him. There had been no physical connection, no reclamation of the passion I remembered. I’d wanted only for it to be over and for him to leave so I could cry in peace.
Now, though, standing on the porch of the house and seeing the man I fell in love with for the first time in weeks, knowing I could make him happy with little effort, I knew I would give myself to him when he asked and hope over time it would get easier, and more pleasurable.
I touched his cheek. “I am beginning to like your beard.”
“Are you? Because I’m looking forward to the day you shave it off. Come on.” He picked me up off the ground and cradled me in his arms. I squealed in surprise and he marched across the muddy road.
“What are you doing?”
“I am being chivalrous and carrying you across the road.”
“You are going to throw your back out.”
“You’ll have to fatten up considerably for me to throw my back out carrying you, Slim.”
“We’re across the road. You can put me down now.”
“Now I’m proving a point.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“Which is one of the reasons you love me. Admit it.”
“Fine, I admit it. Tell me where you are taking me.”
“And ruin the surprise?”
I sighed dramatically and laid my head on his shoulder.
“And you, my dear, have a penchant for the dramatic.”
“I do not,” I said.
“You do. You dramatize the trivial and downplay the significant.”
“Would you like for me to be dramatic all the time?”
“No. You have the perfect balance. Though I would like it if you would lean on me a bit more.”
“I cannot lean on you any more than I am currently.”
He stopped at the front door of a house and set me down. “You know what I mean, Laura. You aren’t alone anymore. Let me take care of you. Protect you.”
“William, you have been protecting me.”
He looked away and pressed his lips together. “Not well enough.”
I touched his chin and forced him to face me. “So many have died in your efforts to protect me.”
His eyes narrowed and his voice was harsh. “I don’t care about the fucking bounty hunters, Laura. Or Bell’s gang.”
I dropped my hand and looked away. Grime-covered soldiers and cowboys walked down the wide thoroughfare searching for a bath and a shave most like. They seemed harmless enough, but I wondered if faced with a situation such as Washita or Sand Creek or the whisky traders’ camp, would they take advantage of a weaker, helpless woman? Would I ever be able to look at a man without fear that if given the chance they would do me harm?
“What happened to me,” I said, voice thick, “wasn’t your fault.” I forced myself to meet Kindle’s eyes and to give strength to my statement, one I almost believed.
Kindle grabbed my upper arms. “Do not absolve me. You begged me to stay with you and I refused. I will never forgive myself.”
“If you would have stayed, you would have been killed like all the other men. And I would be God knows where at the mercy of your brother.”
“I’ve been a weak man for a long time. No more. I will do whatever I need to do to protect you. If that means killing a hundred more bounty hunters, then so be it.” He knocked on the door.
I pulled back, horrified. “I don’t want you to kill a hundred men for me.”
The door opened and a petite old woman dressed in the plain attire of a Quaker opened the door. Her hair was wet at the temples and her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows.
“John Oscar, I was beginning to wonder if you were coming. And this must be Charlotte. I’m Isabel Darlington. Come in, come in.”
Kindle motioned for me to enter and followed.
The house was simply built, with a center hall running the length of the building to a kitchen, and two rooms off each side of the hall. The front left room was an office, the right front a parlor, and the two rear rooms were bedrooms. Each room was sparsely decorated in the Quaker way. Small bottles of wildflowers set about on tables were the only nod to extravagance.
The old woman motioned for us to follow her to one of the bedrooms. “This way, this way. Now, I have one more pail of water to bring.”
“Mrs. Darlington, I asked you to not do that. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“Mr. Oscar, you are so kind, but I have been hauling water my entire life.”
“You will not haul water today. Allow me.” Kindle rolled his sleeves up as he went into the kitchen.
Mrs. Darlington pursed her lips, but there was a twinkle in her eyes. “That is a fine young man. Come on, then. Let me show you what he has arranged.”
I walked into the bedroom behind Mrs. Darlington, dazed, and gasped when I saw steam wafting up from a large metal tub.
“Now, you are probably wondering what a Friend is doing with an extravagance like a sit-down tub, and it’s a fair question. The answer is this: I love a soak now and then. Brinton allows it for medicinal purposes, old bones and all. And between us, he’s known to soak in it every now and then himself. Ah, here he is.”
Kindle held two buckets of water in his hands. He poured one, then the other into the tub, straightened, and smiled. “We’ve been on the road too long. You deserve a real bath.”
“I have soap and a washcloth for you, and an egg, honey, and oil mixture for your hair. Mr. Oscar said your hair is a lamentation to you. This will make it feel fine, trust me. Now we will leave you to it. There are clothes for you on the bed. When you’re done, dinner’ll be ready.” She shooed Kindle out in front of her and I was left alone with the bath of steaming water. After staring at the bath in astonishment for a minute, I undressed quickly, leaving my clothes in a pile on the floor, and settled into the tub with a contented sigh.
I leaned my head back against the edge of the tub, and let the water envelop me in its warm embrace. The only sound was the slap of water against metal, and eventually, that too stopped. I estimated I had ten minutes before the water began cooling and had intended to think of nothing at all and would have if the door hadn’t opened.
I expected Mrs. Darlington, but instead saw Kindle sneaking in and closing the door softly.
“Mr. Oscar, whatever would our Friend think?”
“She’s across the way at her daughter’s house.” He leaned against the door. “How is your bath?”
“Exquisite. Thank you. What is the matter? It looks as if the door is holding you up.”
“It may be.”
“Why? Are you sick? I never checked your shoulder and thigh.”
“No, I am fine. I …” He sighed, and stepped forward. “We will be in Saint Louis in a week. There is a church there. I know a man who will marry us under our real names. We can be whoever we want after, but our pasts are as bound together as our future.”
“Did you come in here to ask me to marry you?”
Kindle chuckled. “No. I came because the thought of you feet away in a warm tub was too enticing to pass up.” His eyes settled on the water covering me. “I told you I was a weak man.”
“What you consider weak, I consider honorable.”
Kindle laughed. “Honorable?”
“A weak man wouldn’t be standing by the door.”
“My view is better than you think.” Kindle moved forward, his eyes resolutely on mine. “Laura, will you marry me when we arrive in Saint Louis?”
“I would marry you tonight if everyone didn’t already think I was married.”
Kindle grinned and stepped back toward the door. “Better hurry. The concoction Mrs. Darlington gave you should sit on your hair for a few minutes. Don’t want to rinse it in cold water, do you?” He winked at me, opened the door, and left.
I dunked under the water. Despite all I’d been through Kindle loved me, wanted to marry me. His bastard of a brother had been wrong about everything. I grinned and sat up, water sloshing over the side of the tub. Happiness bubbled up within me and burst forth in a peal of laughter. I reached for the soap and shampooed my hair, wondering what our wedding would be like, thinking about our wedding bed—our real wedding bed—and was determined to do whatever I could to enjoy it. I supposed I needed to filch some vegetable oil from Mrs. Darlington.
I rinsed my hair and put the honey-and-egg mixture on, the question of how Kindle knew so much about a woman’s hair treatment flitting through my mind and back out, chased away by images of a happy future.