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Luther rushed into the cabin. The fire had gone out, and the room smelled like burnt embers. He opened the window above the table and allowed the spring breeze to waft in.
“Damn. This ain’t fit for a lady.” He moved a bundle of skins from the table to the floor. A second later, he picked them up again and carried them into the storage room, tossing them on a pile of pelts, scraps of fur, knives, and arrows.
The cabin wasn’t much, but it would have to do. What would Michelle think of living here? “It’s all I got. I hope it’s good enough for her.” He lit the oil lamp and sighed. At least he could honestly tell Michelle how much he needed a woman’s touch to improve the place.
* * *
MICHELLE SOBBED AS she sat on the privy. The tears she had bottled up for so long kept coming. What had she done? All she’d wanted was to escape that wretched town, but now she had to pretend to be Luther’s wife.
She sniffled and wiped her eyes on her dress sleeve. At least Luther had no children for her to take care of, but what if he wanted to be intimate? How could she stop him?
They would be alone all night and she had no intention of letting him touch her. She had reluctantly reclined against his broad chest as they rode home, but only because she had no choice. Luther seemed decent, but he was a man, and men had urges.
An idea came to her. She’d tell Luther she insisted on a church wedding before any touching, and since there was no church in town, she was safe... as long as he agreed.
Her instincts told her that Luther wasn’t a nasty type of man, like Roger or those beasts in town. So far, he had been kind to her, and he’d given her an apple. For some reason she didn’t quite understand, she trusted him.
Michelle dried her eyes on her skirt and opened the door. She had to think of a way to keep moving west. A plan would come to her eventually. After all, how many other women would have made it this far?
* * *
LUTHER WALKED PAST the outhouse as Michelle came out. He could tell from the tear streaks on her face that she’d been crying. His heart sank. This wasn’t how he had hoped to start off with his new wife.
“It’ll be dark in about an hour. Let me show you around in the light. Follow me.” He gestured at the cabin. “Here’s the house.” He pointed to a barren patch of earth under a pine tree. “That’s my spot for skinnin’ and tannin’. The creek’s this way.”
He led Michelle behind the cabin and down a worn path. A hill overlooked a four-foot wide creek. The rushing water poured over large rocks as it tumbled downstream. “This is where I get my water.”
Michelle nodded, but didn’t reply. What could he do to get her mind off her troubles? Why wasn’t she saying anything? He wanted her to be happy here.
“I’ll show you the smokehouse, garden, and the other things tomorrow. There’s no need to rush. You must be tired. I brought your trunks inside.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll light a fire and get supper cooking. You’ll feel better after you eat.” he said, praying he was right.
* * *
MICHELLE ENTERED THE cabin and shivered. The damp room smelled like cold fireplace ashes. A feeble oil lamp cast shadows everywhere.
The room was only as big as the parlor back home. A stone fireplace took up most of the back wall. The wall to her left had a bed shoved against it. Something black and hairy lay across the bed. A wooden table and two chairs stood under the open window. Shelves lined with cans, tins, and household items covered the last wall. This was it?
“What do you think?”
What should she say? She didn’t trust herself to speak.
Luther broke the silence after a minute. “I built it myself when I moved here three years ago. Last autumn I put in a floor.” He stomped his boot on the planks. “Before then, the dirt floor got all muddy.” He paused. “I know it ain’t fancy. I hope you might give me ideas on how to fix it up, add a woman’s touch to it.” He smiled. “Roof’s good. No leaks. Walls are solid. It’s sturdy.”
Michelle folded her arms over her chest. The cabin had a grimy, woodsy feel to it. She imagined there were mice living in the dark corners and bugs hatching in the walls.
“I bet you’re hungry, huh?” Luther tossed a few pieces of wood into the fireplace. “We’ll get some food in ya soon. Go ahead and make yourself accustomed. I’ll show you my workroom later.”
She stood rooted to the spot. She didn’t care about Luther’s cabin. Right now, her main focus was to devise a plan. She had to keep running. But where? West to Oregon? That meant crossing the Plains in the heat of summer. The Plains were filled with Sioux and Apache. If she fell into the hands of an Indian, that would be the end of her.
“Michelle, are you all right?” Luther was leaning against the mantle, staring at her. “I got the fire going.”
She pulled from her thoughts and noticed the room seemed brighter. Long shadows still hid the corners of the cabin, but now she saw the disarray clearly. Bits of leather were scattered on the floor, a dirty spoon lay on a shelf, and a pile of clothes was half-hidden under the bed.
Luther reached out and tapped her arm. “Michelle, are you—”
“Don’t touch me.”
“I won’t. I’m makin’ sure you ain’t gonna faint from hunger or nothing.”
“I’m fine.” She flopped into a wooden chair and cradled her head in her hands.
“All right. If you say you’re fine, then I’ll believe ya.” Luther went into the adjacent room and came out carrying a wooden bucket. “I’m gonna fetch water. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
As soon as Luther left, Michelle rose and scrutinized the cabin’s contents. The canned goods on the shelves had a layer of soot on them. There were three plates, a few pieces of silverware, a ladle, and a silver serving spoon stacked on a shelf. Three tin cups hung off pegs in the wall. Linens were folded next to four bottles of whiskey on the bottom shelf.
A small wooden crate covered with scraps of leather stood next to the narrow bed. A thin-bladed bone-handled knife lay on top of the crate. She picked it up and hid it under one of the feather pillows. As she did, her hand touched the black bedcover. She grimaced. It was a coarse animal hide. Why did Luther live like this?
She sat at the table and tried to think. She had to plan her next step and keep going. Six months ago, she had fled to Philadelphia, then to Baltimore. After that, she had gone all the way to New Orleans. Everything was fine until she had to leave in the middle of the night.
After a few weeks on the run, she had discovered that the western half of the country was filled with people running from their pasts and not wanting to be found. She had fit right in. Her lies had grown more complex as she traveled. When asked, she said she was visiting relatives, attending a funeral, or looking for a lost sister.
Each time she stopped, she consulted maps and kept going with no destination, no goal in mind, only “away.” She had ignored the warnings of the ticket sellers, coach drivers, and other travelers. They had tried to make her afraid of plagues, Indians, and rustlers, but she knew of worse things in the world.
Maybe she should have gotten off the coach a few towns back. Granton was large enough to have work for her. Work meant money, and money meant she could keep going. Perhaps her new “husband” would take her to Granton in the morning.
She stifled a yawn and glanced at the bed again. She was so tired, it almost looked inviting. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined she would end up alone on a mountain impersonating a stranger’s wife. “You sure got yourself into it this time,” she muttered.
Her parents had always chastised her for being too stubborn, too opinionated, and not as docile as a woman should be. They warned her that her headstrong attitude would get her into serious trouble one day, and by God it had. She looked around the shabby cabin again and started to cry.
* * *
LUTHER RESTED HIS HAND on the door handle and stopped. Michelle was crying again. His new wife was unhappy. He frowned. If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never understand women.
He crossed the yard and sat on an oak stump. Although he was glad to have a wife, something didn’t feel right about this. From the start, he couldn’t help but think they had sent him the wrong girl. Michelle didn’t match up with the type of woman he had requested, but it would be nice to have someone other than Redfeather to talk to. Did Michelle have opinions about things? He’d hate it if she was a mindless lump.
He gazed at the evening sky. The stars were coming out and a quarter moon rose on the horizon. He breathed in the night air. Adjusting to the new situation with Michelle would take a while, but how could he comfort her if she wouldn’t let him near her?
Michelle might be acting tough, but deep down, he knew she was scared. Her actions and words were strong, but her eyes showed her fear. His heart went out to her. She was all alone in a strange place, and probably homesick, but he had given her enough time to cry.
He carried the water bucket across the yard, rapped on the door once, then entered the cabin. Michelle wiped her eyes on her sleeve. This girl’s got a well of tears. He poured the water into the iron cook pot hanging over the fire. “Any preference for dinner?”
“Anything’s fine.”
“Warm enough in here for you? Nights get chilly. Frost is about done with, but I noticed you don’t have a coat.” He stoked the fire and tried to think of a way to ease the tension in the room. “You wanna unpack while I cook?”
“No, not now.”
“Anything you do want, Michelle? Anything at all?”
She was quiet for a moment, then answered. “A hot bath would be nice.”
“I got a washtub, but I’m storin’ skins in it. Tomorrow I’ll clean it out for you. In the summer, you might wanna wash at the creek. I do. I got soap and towels here, but I suspect you brought your own fineries.”
“Yes, I have what I need.”
“I know it’s been a long day for you. A hot meal and a good night’s sleep will probably do you wonders. Things will be better tomorrow, you’ll see,” he said, trying to sound cheerful as he busied himself in front of the fireplace.
What could he do to make Michelle like him? She seemed so distant. Why wasn’t she happy to have a husband? After all, she knew what she was getting into when she signed up to be his mail-order bride.
He frowned. He had hoped that finding a wife would make him happy—but he might have hoped wrong.
* * *
MICHELLE YAWNED AND leaned back in the hard wooden chair. For the first time in weeks, she was full. Dinner had consisted of some kind of meat, wild rice, and a corn cake with maple syrup. It was strange food, but filling. She had devoured three helpings.
“I’m glad you liked my cooking. I never made a meal for a pretty lady before,” Luther said as he rose from his chair. “I know traveling gives a person an appetite.”
She watched as Luther sat cross-legged in front of the fire and started sewing a piece of deer hide with a needle made of bone. He had gone out of his way to cook for her, and she felt guilty about deceiving him. Maybe she’d be able to make amends when she got far away and settled. She could send him money for his hospitality.
After a few minutes, he caught her staring at him.
“You tired?”
“Yes, I am.”
He gestured at the bed. “Then crawl in. I’ll be along shortly.”
Her blood chilled and she sat straight up in the chair. “You’ll be along?”
“Yeah. In a few minutes. I wanna finish this row of stitches. I’m tired myself.”
“I’m not getting into bed with you.” She pushed her chair away from the table and stood. What should she do? Luther thought he was entitled to...
“What?”
“You heard what I said. I’m not getting into bed with you.”
Luther scowled. “Then you can sleep on the floor. It took me most of the winter to make that bed and I ain’t being put out of it.” Luther set the sewing down and approached her. “I’m not gonna mess with you. I—”
“Don’t come near me. I’ll scream.” She had to get away from him, tonight, before it was too late. Her heart raced faster and a wave of panic overtook her. Before she knew what she was doing, she ran to the door, yanked it open, and bolted from the cabin.
“Michelle, stop!”
She darted up the shadowy trail toward the privy as Luther chased after her.
“Come back here. Don’t run!”
Michelle glanced over her shoulder to see where Luther was and stumbled in a rut. She yelped as she tumbled to the ground.
Luther was at her side in an instant. “Are you hurt?” He clasped her hand and pulled her to her feet. “What’s gotten into you?”
“You can’t make me stay here. I hate your stupid, dirty cabin. I want to go back to town.”
Luther clutched her shoulders and spun her to face the dark woods. “Which way’s town, Michelle? There?”
She squirmed, trying to break free from him as he spun her the other way.
“Or what about there? If you wanna go running down the mountain in the dark, good luck to ya. If the wolves don’t get you, the bobcats or bears will. You might look down your nose at me because I ain’t got the things you expected, but that don’t mean you gotta run off and get yourself killed.”
She stopped struggling. There was no sense fighting. She was at Luther’s mercy. It was pitch black out and she would never find the way to town on her own.
Luther released her and let out a long breath. “Come inside and stop actin’ like you lost your mind. I’ll sleep on the floor tonight and you can have the bed to yourself. But only for tonight.”
Michelle winced as she limped down the trail in front of Luther. She had twisted her ankle when she fell. It wasn’t hurt too bad, but she wouldn’t be able to run on it if she had to.
She entered the cabin and sat at the table. Although she hadn’t meant to, she had made Luther angry, and that was not good. Angry men got violent and mean. Luther could hurt her and she’d be helpless to stop him.
Luther snatched a pillow off the bed and tossed it on the floor in front of the fireplace. “I never said I was gonna touch you.” His voice sounded bitter. “I only wanted to—What the hell?”
She brushed her hair away from her face to see what Luther was looking at. The small knife she had hidden earlier gleamed in the firelight.
Luther held up the knife. “What’s this?”
Dear Lord, what will he do to me now? “I don’t know.”
Luther crossed the room and slammed the knife on the table. “Now do you know?”
She averted her gaze from the glistening blade.
“It sure as hell didn’t walk there. I hate liars, Michelle. If I ask you something, I expect the truth. I want honesty, even if it’s hurtful, you understand? Now, are you gonna tell me about it?”
She pursed her lips and braced herself for whatever punishment Luther would give her.
“Fine. If you wanna cut my throat or kill yourself in the middle of the night, come and get the knife when you’re ready to use it.”
Luther stomped to the fireplace and tossed the knife on the mantle. He stormed into the storage room and returned carrying a gray wool blanket. “You might wanna climb into bed. I’m putting the lamp out.”
“Leave it lit. I—”
“No. This is my stupid, dirty cabin and what I say goes.” He rested his hands on his hips. “Unless you wanna go outside and finish fighting.”
She shook her head.
“Fine, then. Good night.” Luther blew out the lamp.
Michelle sat in the glow of the fireplace, willing herself not to cry.
