I WAS UNAWARE HOW MUCH TIME HAD PASSED WHEN A sharp knocking sounded on the door of the train car, about ten paces from where I lay beneath a cerulean satin comforter. I blinked to consciousness, hazy and disoriented, eyes darting in confusion until I recognized Patricia’s personal compartment. I was tucked in her feather bed, wearing nothing more than a borrowed chemise, a long, blouse-like garment Patricia had lent me, fancier by far than anything I possessed, made of soft white cotton and edged in fragile lace. It left my arms, neck, and calves bare.
Earlier I’d bathed in the small washtub Patricia filled with water, kindly taking this task upon herself. The water was cold but her soap was lilac-scented and her monogrammed ivory towels the softest linen imaginable. After cleansing every inch of my skin, I collapsed atop her bed. The tiny sleeping chamber was windowless, allowing no clue as to the time of day, and I wanted to ignore the knocking, praying that whoever was out there would just go away. Where was Patricia? I was groggy and irritable; she’d been here when I went to sleep but had since disappeared.
“Ruthann? Are you there? It’s Marshal Rawley,” he called from right outside.
“Just a second!” My throat was raspy but he must have heard because he quit knocking.
I scrambled from beneath the covers and searched for my blouses, seeing neither in sight. I did spy one of my ragged skirts and hurried to button it over the chemise, my hair swinging loose and tangled. Embarrassed that I was taking too much time to answer, I swept my hair forward to cover my breasts; I was not wearing a corset. As further safeguarding, I crossed my arms and stumbled barefoot through the bedroom and adjacent sitting room, in which the shades were drawn, to answer the door. I opened it and immediately squinted at the brilliant punch of afternoon sunshine. Just as quickly, I re-crossed my arms over my breasts.
“I have awoken you.” Miles sounded apologetic. Right on cue, he added, “I apologize. I was most anxious to see you after hearing you were ordered from Rilla Jaymes’s place this morning. What has happened this day? Rilla would tell me nothing and I did not know where you had disappeared until just minutes ago. I have been deeply worried.”
I found myself unable to do a thing but stare up at him, backlit as he was by the sunlight. He appeared just as concerned as he claimed, studying my face as if to search for any additional signs of harm. He wore a collared shirt, open at the throat, his gray vest with its marshal star, and dark trousers. His sleeves were rolled back, as they had been last night. Again I noticed the black hair on his forearms and the backs of his wrists; I could see evidence of hair on his chest, his shirt open past his collarbones. He held the door with one hand, his hat in the other. His forehead bore a faint sheen of sweat and I felt hot and tight all along my thighs and upward into my belly.
How is that I know you, he’d said last night.
At last I found my voice. “You needn’t worry.”
His eyes were intent upon mine. He was no more than two steps away and my heart was pounding like someone attacking a set of drums. As though thinking aloud, he observed, “Your hair is down.”
My nipples pressed against the backsides of my crossed arms, almost through the thin material of the chemise. I was so confused, so powerfully drawn to him – a man who was, in all truth, a stranger to me – shocked by the urge to move forward the mere inches it would take to tuck my face against his bare neck. I said stupidly, “It is.”
His chest expanded with a slow, deliberate breath, the way someone would inhale in order to decrease tension, to get level. On the exhale, he repeated, “I have been deeply worried this day.”
“I touched your baby,” I whispered, thinking of Celia, alone back at Rilla’s. I would not acknowledge what felt suspiciously like a broiling, burning lump of jealousy wedged behind my breastbone, nor would I think about Miles making love time and again to Celia last spring, enough to get her pregnant. No, I would not think of that…
His eyebrows drew together, creating the horizontal crease above his nose; all I seemed to do was trouble and confuse him. In a tone indicating he demanded understanding, he asked, “What do you mean?”
“The baby moved inside of Celia.” The blazing coals in my chest swelled to encompass my throat. I whispered, “Have you talked to her?”
“I spoke with her this very day, but minutes ago. She asked me never to return to Rilla’s. She was the one who finally told me you had left with Mrs. Yancy.”
“You can’t listen to her. She needs your help. She needs you.”
He shook his head and I hated how my voice had broken on that last word. I felt a sensation of coming undone, of being lost within the expression in his eyes, and further, I felt like a traitor. Miles was not my man, and yet…and yet…
“Is Ruthann awake?” I heard Patricia’s voice from outside, moving closer, and the marshal stepped to the side, passing a hand over his face. He appeared agonized. Patricia hurried up the metal steps, which chimed under her heeled shoes. She swept past Miles and enveloped me in a hug. Over her shoulder, I saw Axton sitting on the seat of his flatbed wagon, drawn by Ranger and my own nameless horse.
Patricia said decorously, “Marshal Rawley, how good of you to call. Mr. Douglas is here to escort us to dinner at his home as soon as I inform Mrs. Mason.” And then, in a scandalized undertone, “Ruthann, you are in a state of undress. Gentlemen, please excuse us!”
So saying, she tugged me inside and closed the door. I felt like a tornado had just blown through the train car. Patricia perused my outfit and decided, “I shall lend you proper clothing.”
Mostly to be contrary, I asked, “Who the hell is Mrs. Mason, anyway?”
Patricia smiled at my cursing. “My ladies’ maid. Dredd hired her for me, back in Chicago. Hers is the other red car. I could not ask for a better chaperone. She refuses to travel without her laudanum supply, which keeps her quite perfectly dazed at all times.”
I thought back to my early days at Rilla’s, and could relate.
Miles waited the few minutes it took for me to braid my hair, locate my corset, and dress in a clean blouse and skirt, both in shades of sky-blue, Patricia’s preferred hue. He was mounted on Blade, chatting with Axton, and both men looked our way when the door opened; Patricia offered a radiant smile while I concentrated on not hooking the toes of my shoes on the metal stairs and therefore falling to my face. Miles dismounted to help us aboard the wagon but I stopped to greet my horse, letting Patricia go first.
“Hi, girl,” I murmured, stroking her jaws, then her neck. She blew a breath from both nostrils, right between my breasts, and I planted a kiss on her velvet nose. “I’ve missed you.”
“She’s been missing you too, Ruthie,” Axton said, taking Patricia’s hand to assist her as she settled beside him on the wagon seat. I saw how pleased he was to extend this courtesy; Ax was a goner for her already, it was obvious.
“I know,” I said, with mild guilt pangs, resting my cheek against the mare’s neck, overcome by everything that had happened in the last twelve hours. My horse smelled familiar and her very presence was a comfort. She was calm, flicking her tail as I lavished a little love on her. Miles, having assisted Patricia, joined me near my horse’s nose. He reached and scratched beneath her chin. I spoke to the mare, murmuring, “I haven’t even named you yet.”
“She already has a name,” Miles said. “Doc Turn always called her Girl.” The horse gave a quiet whicker, as though acknowledging this truth, and Miles patted her neck. “See, that’s right, isn’t it, Girl?”
“But that’s a stupid name,” I said, peering up at the man standing beside me. He had replaced his hat and it created a shadow over his eyes, but I could still detect the hint of good humor in their depths.
“You look as pretty as a prairie spring,” Axton was saying to Patricia.
“You flatter me,” Patricia said, beaming. “But thank you all the same, Mr. Douglas.”
“May I?” Miles asked, offering his arm.
He rested one hand on the small of my back, cupping the other around my right elbow, to help me atop the wagon. I faltered, not having lifted my skirt high enough to compensate for such a big step up, but he kept me steady. His hands were warm and strong, and I tried to pretend I didn’t feel those brief, very proper touches at other points on my body.
Patricia hauled me alongside her, scooting closer to Axton and tucking her hand beneath his right arm. Even with the space between us, I could sense his heated flush of pride at this action; I thought of how Ax and I had been discussing labor during our last talk, the kind which happened when women gave birth. He’d been very concerned about the amount of pain women were expected to suffer through in order to deliver a child. And not long before that conversation he’d asked me, with considerable blushing, how a man made sure a woman enjoyed lovemaking. Or, as Ax referred to it, ‘the marriage act.’
You make it sound like something that has to pass through Congress, I’d teased him.
I’ve heard stories, he confessed, and earnestness replaced his fluster. But I know you’ll tell me true. I want to make sure I know how to please a woman. A woman oughta be pleased during the marriage act.
You are one-hundred percent correct, I’d said.
It was so damn easy to love Axton.
Miles mounted Blade with graceful movements. He held the reins and sat the saddle as though both were second nature to him, and rode on the right side of the wagon, closest to where I was sitting, though maybe I was flattering myself thinking that was why he chose this side versus the other. He rode just enough ahead that I could admire the line of his wide shoulders, my eyes moving shamelessly up and down his back, over his thighs. He must have felt the strength of my gaze, because he looked over his left shoulder and then drew on Blade’s reins so the animal matched the pace of the slower-moving wagon.
I dragged my eyes away.
“Ruthie, I figure it’s a sign you oughta live with Uncle Branch and me, from now on,” Axton said as we rolled across the open foothill prairie, angling away from the railroad tracks which led back to some faraway eastern destination. The sun drooped low in the sky, casting all of us in a crimson glow. Ax leaned forward, driving the team with his forearms on his thighs; he looked my way as he spoke, his warm, smiling gaze flickering over Patricia. She reached and squeezed my hand in hers; her other hand remained tucked around Axton’s bicep and I could sense his bursting joy over this simple fact.
Oh, Ax, I thought, with true sympathy. First crush.
“Ruthann’s dismissal was a sign, to be sure,” Patricia agreed. “Though, not exactly as you have interpreted it, Mr. Douglas. I believe fate led me to Ruthann last night. I feel certain we were meant to know one another.”
“I feel the same,” I admitted.
“You believe in fate?” Miles asked us and I seized this excuse to look at him. The sun gilded his body in scarlet light and for a second, a strange and horrible second, this color seemed ominous; it looked like blood. My heart stuttered in its rhythm, effectively eradicating the flicker of happiness I’d just experienced.
Stop it. It’s nothing but the sun.
“Uncle Branch claims fate saved him from Federal bullets during the War, more than one time,” Axton supplied.
“Fate is surely what drew our paths together,” Patricia agreed.
I knew Miles wanted my response.
“I think I do,” I said quietly, and then wished I could retract the comment. An eerie sense of finality hovered in the air and I knew Miles sensed something wasn’t quite right; I battled the urge to lift my hands and bat away the unpleasant sensation, the same way I would a cloud of mosquitoes.
The sudden approach of galloping hooves sent Axton and Patricia craning their necks, but Miles and I did not look apart from each other.
“Hold up there, you-all!” Cole shouted, racing his horse over the prairie, bent low over the animal’s head. At the same moment the wheels jounced over a large rut and I grabbed the edge of the wagon. Miles reached to steady me and without a thought I curled our fingers together. His black mustache lifted in the half-smile to which I was growing accustomed and he squeezed my fingers before gently releasing my hand.
Patricia and Axton were both occupied watching Cole, whose horse flew past the wagon, its galloping legs a blur of frenzied motion, Cole hollering like someone headed into battle. Show-off, I couldn’t help but think. Meanwhile, Patricia sat straighter and fussily adjusted her skirts and hair, unable to pull her gaze from him.
“Wish I had a brother to race with,” Axton said.
Perhaps a quarter-mile ahead, Cole circled his mount in a wide arc and proceeded to canter back in our direction, as graceful in the saddle as Miles or Axton, men born to ride horses. Patricia’s chin lifted as she watched and I could actually see the increasing pulse at the base of her throat.
Miles remarked, “You are more than welcome to a few of my brothers, young Axton. I have four, and there were plenty of days in my youth when I longed to be an only child.”
“But that would be so lonely,” I said.
“Peaceful,” Miles amended, and caressed me with his eyes, just as I did to him. There was no denying.
Cole was upon us, his horse breathing with exertion; his eyes sought Patricia and though he greeted all of us with equal enthusiasm, he led his mount to flank the wagon on the left, closest to her.
“Ruthann, you poor girl, your day ain’t been any better than your night, has it?” Cole asked. He clarified, “I heard you were asked to leave Rilla’s.”
“I was, but it’s for the best.” I prayed this was true.
“Ruthann shall remain with me,” Patricia said, hooking her arm through mine.
“Or with me and Uncle Branch,” Axton said. He joked, “We’ve got piles of laundry.”
I leaned over Patricia to slap his thigh and connected a little too well. Axton yelped, “I was just fooling!”
“I’m sorry,” I said, even though everyone was laughing. I imagined the tension of the day, all sense of fear, being carried away by the sound, like birds taking wing. I asked Cole, “What’s your horse’s name?”
“Charger,” Cole answered, leaning to direct his smile my way. He was magnetic, even if I wasn’t susceptible to it the way I could tell Patricia was; she was all but wringing her hands as she peeked from the corner of her lashes, trying not to seem too aware of him. What’s more, even without having met Dredd Yancy I was certain Cole was about a hundred times more of a man; his smile gained steam as he said, “Tell me, Rawley, how’d we get so damn lucky this evening?”
Miles replied smoothly, “If by ‘lucky’ you mean the privilege of escorting two beautiful women to dinner, I cannot honestly explain how.”
I bit my cheek to restrain a wry smile; I would be a liar if I didn’t admit the compliment affected my composure.
Cole whistled through his teeth. “I couldn’t have said it any better myself.”
Poor Ax was way out of his league among these two; I realized Miles and Cole, as such longtime friends, had probably long ago perfected their repertoire of flattery.
“What kind gentlemen,” Patricia said, with just a little sarcasm in her tone; she had plainly reached the same understanding, and turned her animated attention to Axton. “You said you live with your uncle, Mr. Douglas?”
“Yes, I do. Uncle Branch raised me from a sprout.”
“And if I don’t mistake myself, there is the old coot now,” Cole said, standing in his stirrups to call hello to Branch, who was tending the cookfire, as per usual at day’s end. I hadn’t seen Branch in close to three days and hurried into his open arms once the wagon was halted, not waiting for anyone to help me down; I managed, awkwardly, in my two layers of skirts, and ran straight to him.
“Ruthie, I oughta be skinned alive for not watching out for you.” Branch tucked me close. The smoke overpowered his body odor but I didn’t care either way; I was just grateful to be held securely against his familiar, barrel-shaped chest. He was perhaps the closest I would ever get to a real father, and I loved him.
“I’m so glad to be here.” I clung to his comforting bulk. “Thank you for the horse. I love her.”
Branch planted a noisy kiss on the top of my head.
“Ain’t nothin’. Me and the boy made up a pallet for you here, permanent-like,” Branch said, and then raised his hand to the men. “Spicer, Rawley, good to see you boys again. It was a pleasure to share coffee with you this morning.” He explained, “Them two was out here with the dawn, braggin’ about their many adventures.” Branch gestured at Patricia, still sitting beside Ax on the wagon seat. “Who have we here?”
“Uncle Branch, this is Patricia Yancy,” Axton said. He shifted to help Patricia from the wagon but Cole was already there, lifting her down with both hands around her waist. And although Cole removed his proper touch the moment Patricia was on the ground, I knew it was clear to him that he’d rattled her.
I saw Branch’s eyes crinkle at her surname but he said gallantly, “Welcome, my dear. Ain’t I a lucky old codger, with two fine ladies at my table? But I warn you, it ain’t exactly high-society dining out here.”
“I couldn’t be happier, truly.” Patricia offered her hand. Though she was obviously a woman who could call upon her privileged upbringing and its subsequent understanding of good manners, I believed her words. Her face was wreathed in joy, cheeks blooming, blue eyes full of a light that had nothing to do with the angle of the sinking sun. Branch took her hand and politely kissed her knuckles.
Miles and Cole led the horses to the corral, tugging off their saddles and hanging them over the top-most beam, while Axton unhitched the team with me dogging his movements, anxious to claim my horse for a moment’s time. I wished I was wearing trousers so I could take her for a quick ride; it was the perfect time of night. I wanted to gallop her way out into the foothills. And I wanted Miles with me.
I watched him from the corner of my eye as I patted my horse’s nose, scratching beneath her forelock. He was joking with Cole; Cole shoved at his shoulder and Miles flicked his finger against Cole’s hat brim so that it tipped sideways, nearly falling off. Branch was pointing out something on the western horizon to Patricia; I looked that direction and sighed in pleasure. The clouds had formed slim vertical peaks, variegated in color from cherry to magenta, an optical illusion which made it impossible to discern where earth ended and sky began. The very air seemed tinted the pink of roses. I gathered my horse’s lead line and whispered, “C’mon, sweet girl.”
She followed obediently, her long nose bumping along behind my shoulder. Cole made a show of opening the corral gate so I could lead her inside; there, I purposely stalled over removing her bridle because Miles was the last person within the space, where he stood with hands on hips, watching me struggle to unbuckle a strap.
He came to stand beside me. “May I?”
I managed to release the bridle and lifted it over my horse’s ears, easing the bit from her mouth. “I got it, thanks.”
“You are familiar with horses?”
Instead of replying I nodded, holding the bridle in one hand. My horse, though free of this last restraint, stayed near, twitching her tail and nosing my waist, maybe hoping I had an apple hidden in a pocket. The air smelled like dust and sagebrush; Miles stood facing away from the sunset and I felt blinded by both its light and my proximity to him.
“You and young Axton often ride together?”
I nodded again. A piece of stray hair tickled my face and I tucked it behind my ear with my free hand.
“Will you stay here with Branch, or return with Mrs. Yancy?”
I found my voice. “Probably with Patricia, for now.”I felt like a piece of luggage no one really wanted, and were compelled by decency to claim.
His gaze unwavering, Miles said, “I ordered Aemon Turnbull from the town, though I fear he will attempt to sneak back, especially considering my absence. I am concerned for your safety. I will be at least slightly reassured if I know your whereabouts in my absence.”
Confusion held me prisoner in a tight, sticky web. Miles Rawley was not mine to care about and yet here I stood, caring far more than our brief acquaintance should allow.
“Your eyes are uncommonly lovely.” He spoke quietly and again I was struck by the notion that he was thinking aloud. “There is so much gold within them. The sun sets it off.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. We were suspended in our own private world, far from everyone else. I wanted to tell him I thought of him almost constantly but could not muster the required nerve. I cleared my throat. “I’ll be all right. I don’t want to you to worry. Please, don’t worry about me.”
“That seems at this moment like asking me not to breathe.” His face was stern and imposing despite these tender words.
“When will you be back?” I slid the leather straps of the bridle between my fingers in a tense, repetitive motion. There was a note of anxiety in my tone I could not swallow away.
“Within a week. We are riding out with the dawn and will visit my brother Grantley’s homestead along the way.”
He studied my eyes for answers – I did the same to his, finding no satisfaction which did not involve touching him. Without thinking, the movement as instinctive as anything I’d ever done, I reached up and placed my hand on his cheek. He blinked in surprise but did not move away. My heart throbbed with hard, painful beats. I moved my palm until I cupped his jaw, stroking his skin, feeling the bristle of a day’s growth of whiskers.
My spine twitched, attempting to force me forward and therefore into his full embrace. I was embarrassed to have touched him like this, with no invitation, but when he saw in my eyes that I meant to stop he covered my hand with his and turned his mouth to my palm, in effect kissing me. His mustache was very soft, his lips very warm.
“Marshal,” I whispered, using his title as a lawman instead of his name, and somehow this word had the effect of stabbing my heart, with such force I stifled a gasp.
He enfolded my hand within his so he could kiss my knuckles. I was breathless and afire, unsettled and confused, and so very sad. A gaping hole of sadness tore at my insides.
Oh God, I don’t understand…
Miles, however, had gained a sense of ease; he kept careful hold of my hand as he invited, “I would be immeasurably relieved if you would accompany us west on the morrow. I have considered asking this of you since last night. Perhaps it is improper, but I would like very much for you to meet my brother and his wife. My sister-in-law is much in need of feminine company.”
“But I…” I stumbled to think of a reason not to accept.
“Of course it seems improper,” he rushed on, eyes dancing with a mix of earnestness and good humor. “But only because we are not yet well-acquainted. My mother would tell you I am the least improper of all my brothers. I must admit I am able to think of nothing but becoming familiar to you, Ruthann.” He quickly backpedaled at this statement. “That sounds unseemly, which is not my intent. I wish to spend hours talking with you, ‘familiar’ in that sense I mean, not any other. Not that you would have assumed any other.” I was fairly certain his cheeks had taken on heat. He cleared his throat and concluded, “You said you are knowledgeable regarding horses? You are able to ride?”
“I am,” I whispered.
He grinned then, wide and warm, and I felt my heartbeat everywhere in my body, unable to keep from smiling in response.
“Will you consider this offer?”
“I will.”
“Jesus Christ, Rawley, you about done fawning all over poor Ruthann?” Cole called from the far side of the corral, and Miles shot his friend a dirty look, black eyebrows pulled low, while I laughed, completely due to nerves, not humor.
“Shall we?” Miles asked, allowing me to walk first. I was still holding the bridle.
“Everyone, come sit,” Branch encouraged. “I uncorked a jug of bourbon for the boys but I’m s’posing you ladies’ll prefer water.”
“Aw, Branch, you’re a goddamn saint,” Cole said, settling around the fire, watching Patricia as she swept her skirt to the side before claiming a spot adjacent to him. I had the sense Cole was envisioning catching her waist in his hands and hauling her onto his lap; I swore I could almost read his thoughts. Patricia studiously ignored him and instead focused her attention upon the flames.
I ducked inside the small barn, which was really more of a shed, to hang the bridle on the wooden peg intended for that purpose. Upon returning to the fire, I sat between Miles and Axton. The men were hatless now in the fine evening air, their faces sweaty, hair flattened and clothes dusty. I considered the possibility of riding west with Miles and Cole tomorrow. Of being near Miles for hours in a row. Growing familiar with him, as he had said. He sat to my right; no more than eighteen inches separated our bodies. I studied his profile from the corner of my eye and found myself hyperaware of his every movement. The heat and softness of his lips seemed emblazoned on my hand, at both points of contact.
“We got biscuits and bacon,” Branch said, using his two-pronged iron fork to lift the lid from a pan on the grate over the fire, brimming with plump, golden biscuits. Bacon sizzled.
“That looks wonderful,” I told Branch, who grinned.
“Delightful,” agreed Patricia.
“Ladies first,” Cole said, collecting two dented tin plates from the small stack near the fire, holding them out for Branch to load with food.
“Such a gentleman,” I teased as he handed me a plate.
“Always,” Cole said earnestly, inspiring snorts from both Miles and Branch.
The twilight advanced and the fire burned with a merry crackle as we dined on biscuits and rich, greasy bacon – with our fingers, since Branch owned only two spoons, no forks. The men accompanied the conversation with the passing of the whiskey jug, sipping, grimacing, backhanding their mouths, and then exhaling alcohol-scented breaths with hilarious similarity. On the first rotation I’d accepted the jug from Ax and taken a cautious sniff, which seared the hairs on the inside of my nostrils.
“Holy shit, what’s in this?” I asked, looking up in bewilderment when everyone started laughing.
“I can’t believe such a sweet little thing as you has got such a mouth on her,” Cole said through his laughter, shaking his head.
“It’s a Tennessee specialty, Ruthie-honey,” Branch explained, wiping his greasy hands on his leather leggings, already much-stained. His accent grew more pronounced with each sip of the stuff. “Straight outta Cumberland County. Cures all that ails you, ain’t that right, fellas?”
I giggled and Axton observed, “It’s so good to see you happy, Ruthie.”
“It does feel good to be out of Howardsville,” I admitted. “I felt like a prisoner there.”
“I shoulda insisted you live with us when me an’ the boy first found you,” Branch said. “Damn that hussy Rilla Jaymes. I shoulda knowed better. I’m so sorry, darlin’ girl.”
“Branch told us some about finding you,” Cole said. “You have no memories of what came before?”
My shoulders hunched. Disliking being the center of sudden and rapt attention, I said only, “No.”
“Me an’ the boy been searchin’ high an’ low for answers,” Branch said. “But we ain’t found a soul what knows you, honey-love, I am so frightful sorry to say.”
My lips felt wooden. “There isn’t anyone.”
“That first evening we watched the moon rise, you said you had a husband,” Axton gently reminded. I clenched my teeth, the ache of those words as raw as if I’d just made the claim. I knew Axton was only trying to be helpful, not intending to cause pain.
Miles sat straighter, eyes fixed on me.
Patricia set aside her plate and leaned around Axton to rest her hand on my knee. “You have not spoken of this particular detail, dear Ruthann. We shall place an advertisement, as I said earlier. We shall do this the moment we return to Chicago.”
Everyone seemed to speak at once.
Axton said, “You’re going to Chicago?”
Miles asked, “When was this decided?”
Branch said adamantly, “Chicago, nothin’. You’ll stay with us. I’ll provide for you always, darlin’, don’t you worry.”
“Thank you,” I whispered to Branch. “I know, I really do, and I thank you. I haven’t decided anything yet.”
Patricia, observing my discomfort, neatly changed the subject, addressing Cole as she said, “Mr. Douglas tells us you are quite a remarkable musician, Mr. Spicer.”
“He tells you true. And many thanks.”
“Shall you play for us?” Patricia asked.
“Oh, I shall,” Cole said, echoing her very-proper speech.
I busied myself gathering plates the second everyone finished eating, letting the conversation carry on without me. Only Miles remained quiet; I felt his gaze as I carried the stack of dirty plates into the cabin, depositing them on the table shoved beneath the window. There, in the shadow of four walls and away from direct view, I pressed the base of both hands to my face, grinding at my eye sockets, willing myself to remember.
Anything at all. Any clue to remind me who I am. Who the fuck I actually am.
I was happy once, I know it. Where did it go? I’m so scared.
This can’t be all I know…
I bent forward over the table and rested my cheek against the cold, rough wood. My eyes adjusted to the dimness and I stared at the view before my nose – the edge of the table and the wall, just beyond. The chatter from outside seemed muted, distant. I couldn’t move until I was certain I wasn’t about to lose control; at the moment, I could hardly stand upright.
Branch entered the cabin and found me, gathering me close the same way a worried father would. “Aw, honey, c’mon back out. You’s in for a real treat. The boys are gonna make music like you never done heard.”
“No kidding?” I whispered against his chest.
“No foolin’.” Branch cupped a gentle hand over the back of my head, petting my hair. “I come to fetch my fiddle for Miles. Young fool forgot his back in town.”
Cole retrieved his fiddle case, which he’d strapped to Charger’s back; Branch handed Miles the instrument from the cabin. Patricia and Axton remained seated around the fire while Cole stood to tune his instrument with the easy movements afforded by years of practice. Patricia shifted closer and caught my elbow, squeezing with excitement. Cole glided his bow over the strings with a couple quick skips and I shivered in anticipation. Miles brought the fiddle to his chin, plucking at the strings with his right thumb while adjusting a small peg on the neck.
Ax smoothed his knuckles between my shoulder blades; sweet, considerate Axton. He murmured, “You all right?”
I nodded.
“Are you ready to sing?”
“I don’t know any of the songs.” I was still watching Miles.
“You will. Songs ain’t so easy to forget.”
Branch settled atop an overturned tin bucket and polished a harmonica with his sleeve. The men looked to one another in the momentary lull between tuning their instruments and the first notes; even the twilight seemed to be holding an expectant breath. They all nodded the tempo almost unconsciously before Cole counted off under his breath, “A one, two, a one two three…”
Miles bent slightly forward, eyelids lowering in concentration. In the gathering darkness, with only the firelight to cast its flickering glow, I was emboldened and studied him without letup; his hands, with their long, capable fingers, curved around the instrument and its bow, wielding one to make the other sing. Though his mouth remained unsmiling he played with an expression of what struck me as pure rapture. It was the feeling created by the sum total of their music – Miles and Cole on the fiddles, Branch with the wailing harmonica.
I could not help but shiver, so absorbed that my shoulders jerked when Axton and Patricia began singing along. Patricia giggled at my jumpiness and I realized Axton had been right; I knew this song. I’d heard it before at some point in my past and to my amazement the melody rose in my throat, fully formed. I joined Patricia and Axton as they sang “Red River Valley.” That I could recall the chorus of a song and not the names or faces of my own parents was beyond my ability to comprehend; it was maddening.
“We’re good. We should go on the road,” I teased my fellow singers when the song was over, the three of us applauding and cheering while Cole and Branch bowed with all the gusto of showmen; Miles simply nodded.
Axton said, “They’ll be traveling the road tomorrow.”
“No, I mean…” But I trailed off, uncertain exactly what I meant.
The men began the next song, another tune I recognized. An hour passed, marked by the rising silver moon; it was close to full again. They moved between fast-paced numbers and slower, sweeter ones, ballads and waltzes, as the moon climbed ever higher and tears swelled in my eyes time and again at their collective talent. The sweetness of the music dusted my skin and flowed into my ears like warm honey, inducing an almost dreamlike state; my exhausted eyelids grew heavy and at last I rested my cheek against Axton’s upper arm, lulled into a state of security, tucked as I was between him and Patricia.
Axton hooked his arm around my waist, resituating so I would be more comfortable, and I tried to pretend I didn’t feel the heat of Miles’s gaze upon us as he continued playing, letting my eyes sink closed.