Chapter 20

SWINGING THE AX OVER HIS SHOULDER, Gabe slammed it into the wedge of wood with a grunt of exertion. Thwack! The wedge split wide and fell apart in perfect division, landing with two clunks on the ground.

Despite the cold afternoon air, Gabe wiped away sweat collecting on the back of his neck and grabbed another large chunk of wood.

He couldn’t get the blasted image of Cassie in that dress from his mind. He thought stacking a supply of winter wood for Ardie would help erase the unnerving memory.

It wasn’t working.

He brought the ax down once more, scowling when the blade dug deep into the wood and remained stubbornly steadfast. Placing his foot against the wedge, he yanked the ax from its middle, a grumble lurking in the back of his throat.

“Ax getting dull?”

A soft voice invaded, and his head snapped up to see Cassie standing ten feet away, holding a cup in her outstretched arm.

Was there nowhere he could go to escape her? At least until he sorted out these odd sensations and emotions ricocheting through him? Perhaps he was ill.

“Yes, I think it’s a bit dull.” He reached for the outstretched cup, nearly wincing when his fingers brushed hers. This new awareness wasn’t welcome. He gulped the water and relished the way the cold liquid swept down his parched throat. “Thank you. I was thirsty.”

Her husky laughter filled the air as she studied the mound of wood. “Small wonder. Did you chop down half the forest?”

Irritation swarmed the back of his neck. With her? More likely with himself.

He set down the cup, picked up the ax, and lifted another wedge of wood onto the chopping block. “While we’re here, I might as well as make sure your grandmother is taken care of for the winter.”

“That’s kind of you.”

“It’s nothing.” He brought down the ax again but misjudged the trajectory. The blade slipped, barely clipping the edge. Slivers of wood went flying. With a growl, he threw the ax to the ground.

Her giggle brought his eyes to hers. “Something amusing, Turner?”

She grinned. “I’ve just never seen you this way.”

“What way?”

“Irritated. You’re always so cheerful.” She shrugged. “It’s amusing to see you so flummoxed.”

His frustration siphoned away. It wasn’t her fault he was upended. Actually, it was her fault, but he’d rather be shot than admit such.

“Sorry. I must have awakened in a mood.”

“No matter. Having a sharp ax would help, I’d imagine. Let me see if Granny has a whetstone in the toolshed.”

As she sauntered away, he couldn’t help but notice the sway of her hips, the gentle grace of her movements. All the masculine traits of Thomas Turner had been wiped away, leaving only feminine beauty in their place.

Stop it! He tunneled his fingers through his damp hair. He couldn’t be attracted to Cassie. He couldn’t. She was his friend and nothing more. He could never be with someone like her. She was too independent . . . only a hairsbreadth away from being one of those cursed suffragettes who rankled him so.

And what if he couldn’t tamp down the attraction he felt in her presence? Others would notice, and her careful disguise would disintegrate into smoke.

Scraping his fingers over his face, he sighed but found no relief from the tension. He was only feeling this way because of the shock of seeing her in a dress. Yes, that must be it. After being in a camp full of sweaty, smelly men for months on end, it would be odd if he weren’t drawn to her in some way. And there would be no escaping her presence for the next few days. Wherever he turned, she had been—and would be—there. He was only thinking about her because she was all there was to think about.

He stretched his aching back, groaning. Photography. That’s what he needed. He would escape this afternoon for an hour or two and capture images of the charming cabin and its surroundings. Perhaps Granny would even let him photograph her with her dignified bearing and sweet countenance.

Yes, diversion. Diversion would work. It had to work.

Please, Lord, let it work.

Cassie pushed back a wayward lock of hair falling over her brow and resumed scrubbing the pot. In the corner of the kitchen, Granny sat in her rocker, knitting socks she declared would accompany Cassie back to camp. The creak of the rocker, the soft clicking of her knitting needles soothed Cassie’s torn heart.

“You ought not be washing that potato pot.”

“I don’t mind. I rather enjoy it. The simplicity of it, the normalcy of household chores, is a welcome change.”

“I imagine so.” Granny heaved a thick sigh. “Are you sure you must return?”

Cassie cringed but did not hedge her answer. They had always been honest with each other. “Yes. It’s my duty.”

“I know your father’s temper left you little choice. It’s just that I miss you so.” Her lips trembled. “I wonder if enough time has passed to cool his anger.”

Cassie shook her head. “You know as well as I do that when he’s been in his cups, he has no conscience. No memory. Only rage.”

Granny brooded. “Any chance Gabe would stick around? Put a ring on your finger and settle into wedded bliss?”

She scrubbed the pot with renewed vigor. “Don’t be absurd. He has no feelings for me of that sort.” Something about the admission stung.

Granny harrumphed and mumbled under her breath. Cassie ignored her. Entertaining such a fancy was futile.

“I would never ask him to do such a thing anyway. And even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. He’s duty bound to finish the work Mr. Brady has begun.”

Granny frowned. “But I—”

They both stopped as the rattle and jingle of an approaching wagon drifted through the air. Cassie abandoned the pot, hastening to the window. She gasped as the wagon emerged from the trees.

It was her sister.

“Eliza,” she breathed. “She’s here.”

Granny’s eyes widened as she bolted upright in her rocker. “Go outside and into the cellar.”

With a nod, she slipped out the back door, picking her way across the dead grass. She shivered. Why hadn’t she stopped to grab a shawl?

As she rounded the corner, Gabe stepped from the woods, a smile lighting his face. “You’ll never believe what I saw. The most brilliant-crimson cardinal God ever made! It was—”

“Hush!” She grabbed his hand and pulled, dragging him to the cellar door.

His brows rose high. “Where are we going?”

“Into the cellar.” She stooped, clutched the grubby latch, and yanked it open. The cool, damp scent of earth swirled around her as she stepped into the dark hole, thankful for the stairs to guide them as they descended.

“Why?”

With a huff of exasperation, she grabbed his shirt and yanked him in behind her, nearly toppling his muscular weight into her own. His warm breath fanned across her neck as they fumbled down the rickety steps.

She looked up to see the yawning expanse of gray sky overhead. “Botheration. I forgot to close the door.”

His voice was low and far too close to her ear in the near darkness. “I’ll get it.”

He crept back up the stairs and pulled the door shut, plunging them into utter darkness. Scraping sounds and footfalls against the stairs. Fingers brushed earth. She could hear his steady breathing but could not see anything but inky black.

“Tell me again why we’re down here?” The amused sound of his voice only a foot or two away startled her.

“My sister Eliza arrived. Quite unexpectedly.”

“I see.”

She rubbed her arms. “Eliza was always the one who could never keep a secret.” Old barbs and betrayals rose afresh in her heart. “Took delight in sharing them.”

Gabe was quiet as she furiously tried to warm herself. How long would Eliza stay? An hour? Two? The thought of hunkering in the damp, cold space all night nearly made her groan.

Gabe’s soft voice intruded. “Well, I would attempt to see what food treasures your grandmother has stored down here, but I’m afraid I would only discover a rodent or cobweb instead.”

“Wise decision,” she said dryly.

He leaned against the earthen wall, but when his shoulder brushed hers, he stepped away as if stung. He cleared his throat. “I like your grandmother. She’s a dear old soul. Vibrant and understanding.”

“She is that.” She couldn’t hold back the smile that formed. “And a terrible flirt, I’m afraid. At least when it comes to you.”

His low chuckle at her side caused shivers to travel down her arms. “She just knows it’s easier to catch flies with honey than with vinegar.”

“And why would she need to catch you?”

He shifted his weight in the darkness. “She’s merely judging my character. Wanting to know if I’m trustworthy where her granddaughter is concerned.” She heard rather than saw the grin curving his lips. “She adores you.”

“She and I have always had a special bond.”

She felt him shift to cross his arms. “I can see why. You’re both lively, both spiritually minded, both intelligent, and,” he teased, “both full of surprises.” He rubbed his own arms absently. “Do you think she’ll let me capture her image?”

An irrepressible giggle bubbled over. “You flash that handsome smile she’s so fond of, and she’ll agree to anything you say.”

His voice took on a teasing tone as he leaned in. “Why, Cassie Kendrick, do you think I have a handsome smile?”

Never was she so thankful for a lack of light. Her tongue turned to cotton. She opened her mouth to offer a peevish retort, but her brain stalled, unable to conjure up a rebuttal.

A long beat and she hissed, “Oh, hush up.”

His infectious laughter chased away her embarrassment, and they both fell silent.

Ten minutes passed. Twenty. She squirmed, eager to generate whatever heat she could muster in the earthen tomb. At least, it was beginning to feel like a tomb. She lost feeling in her toes, her fingers. Even her nose. A slow ache of cold started in her stomach and radiated out in tremors. Her teeth chattered.

“Cold?”

She blew a warm breath of air onto her stiff fingers. “V-v-very.”

“No sense suffering alone. Here. I’ll wrap my arms around you so we can share some heat.”

Her throat suddenly grew dry as his fingers groped for her, capturing her arms with a hesitant touch before slipping around her torso. He rubbed his hands up and down her back to impart his warmth into her trembling form.

Against his chest, she couldn’t help but notice the tight pull of muscles through his torso. The strength. She resisted the urge to bury her face in his shirt. He smelled of fresh air and woodsmoke.

He sucked in a gasp. “What was I thinking? Here.” He released her and wiggled out of his coat, then draped it across her shoulders, tucking her back into his arms before she could protest.

“No, I don’t want you to lose your coat. You—”

With a clang and a squeak the cellar door overhead swung open. Light flooded the space, making Cassie wince against the onslaught.

A feminine gasp sounded as Eliza’s face appeared overhead, her features slack in shock.

“Cassandra! What do you think you’re doing?”

Gabe sat next to Cassie in her grandmother’s cabin, feeling as if he were being inspected on the auction block.

He met Eliza’s amber eyes from across the room. He would not flinch, though she studied him with a calculating gleam. Ardie sat in the rocker, watching the visit with amusement. Cassie squirmed next to him on the couch.

“Believe me, Eliza, I didn’t mean to give you such a fright.”

Eliza offered a small smirk in her narrow face . . . a face not unpleasing but severe, likely shaped by hard circumstances more than anything else. “Of that, I’m sure. You seemed just as surprised to see me as I was you. Imagine my astonishment when I went to retrieve some potatoes from the cellar, only to discover you carrying on your indiscretions with—” she sneered—“this man.”

Cassie stiffened at his side and he smiled.

Eliza swung her scolding glare to him. “And what, pray tell, is so amusing about your shameful display?”

“There’s not much shame in it if you’re married.” Could she see the lie that spilled far too easily? If he kept his wits about him, she would be none the wiser, and perhaps Cassie could escape her father’s rage when he heard she had returned. Studying the pinched woman staring at him in shock, he was positive she would indeed tell him.

Play the part. Protect Cassie. He couldn’t very well claim there was no tryst inside the cellar, although they’d only been trying to keep from freezing to death. He reached out and covered Cassie’s trembling fingers with his own.

“Married?” Eliza cried as Granny burst into laughter.

“Surprised, aren’t you? Imagine my delight when they showed up at my door, bursting with pride.”

Bless that woman.

Eliza’s gaze swung between Gabe and her grandmother as if unsure how to proceed. “And just when were you going to inform me, Granny?”

Ardie sighed in an irritated fashion. “Now how am I supposed to do that? Hop on old Barnaby and ride bareback to your place?” She shot Eliza a withering look. “You know as well as I do I can’t leave here. Not anymore. I’m an old woman and can barely get up out of bed without throwing my back out of kilter.” She shifted in her seat. “If you want to know something, Eliza Ann Murphy, you need to hightail it up here to see me more often.”

Eliza flushed, and it was all Gabe could do to keep from laughing. Ardie was a shrewd old woman. She had shifted the blame to Eliza and left her floundering. He squeezed Cassie’s slim fingers, but they stayed unmoving beneath his touch.

“Well.” Eliza tightened her grip on the shawl she’d refused to relinquish when they’d entered the cabin. “This is quite a shock, but a relief, I must admit. When you abandoned Mother, I feared the worst.”

Gabe heard Cassie’s sharp intake of breath, and a hot anger burned in his chest. What right did Eliza have to come in and fling her accusations? Cassie was the bravest, most selfless woman he’d ever known.

Before he could spill the heated words threatening release, Ardie cast Eliza a reproving look. “Now, dear, you know your father left Cassie little choice. He was soused when he made the arrangement with Erastus, soused when he informed Cassie, and was likely soused when he realized she’d left.”

Eliza lifted her chin, though her shoulders relaxed a degree. “That’s true enough, but Father can’t help it.”

Cassie muttered, “He can. He just doesn’t want to.”

“Nonsense.” Eliza shook her head sadly. “Ever since our brother died, he’s looked for any way he can to drown his sorrow.”

Cassie stiffened yet again, but her trembling increased. “At everyone else’s expense.” Her voice was strained and thin.

Eliza sniffed. “Not all of us are as unhappy as you claim.” Her expression melted from audacity to smugness thinly veiled as pity. “Maybe you had a more difficult time of it because of your temper. You and Father never got along. Or perhaps it was because he’d so hoped you would be a boy to replace baby John. A blessing from Providence, like Job was given after his trial. But then you were born and his hopes were dashed.”

Gabe saw it all in Cassie’s expression. The pain. The stark rawness of rejection. The way each word sank deep inside, tearing up her worth. Just like a minié ball . . . only much more cruel.

He clenched his jaw and glared at Cassie’s sister, more enraged than he’d ever been in his life. Eliza Murphy needed a thrashing.

She directed her attention toward Gabe. Amber eyes should be warm, but hers weren’t. They were cold, like butterscotch drops void of sugar. “So, Mr. Avery, how did you meet my sister?”

“Our paths crossed while I was engaged with my occupation.”

“And what is your occupation?”

He stared at her until she shifted. “I’m a photographer, Mrs. Murphy.”

Her brows rose. “Odd occupation, I must say.”

“A rewarding one. With the wet plate process now entrenched in the photographic world—and the precision of the Harrison lens—there is no limit to what lies ahead. And Alexander Gardner has all but perfected a new kind of capturing system so effective, the viewer feels he can almost touch the photographed person’s warm skin.”

Her mouth went slack. Throw out enough jargon and she would change course.

“My, you do appear well versed in the process. I’ve not heard of this Gardner fellow. Only a fellow named Mathew Brady. Perhaps you’ve read about him.”

Gabe tried to keep himself civil. He felt like a cat playing with a mouse but didn’t want to feel that way. If only this woman weren’t so condescending. “Indeed. He is my employer.”

Eliza offered a thin smile and turned back to Cassie. “How blessed you are, Cassandra. I’m sure your life is just one grand adventure now, isn’t it?” Her smile dimmed slightly, even as her chin rose a notch. “I can’t say things here have changed overly much. The boys have grown like ivy during the summer and little Clara is top speller in her studies.” She arched a smug brow. “What with another child on the way, I find myself quite content.”

Cassie kept her voice carefully modulated. “I’m so glad, Eliza.” She offered no snide remarks, only silence. Gabe’s estimation of her rose even higher, if that were possible. This time when he squeezed her hand, she responded in kind.

Eliza’s mouth pinched. “Still mousy, aren’t you? Never would say much, even as a child. That is, unless Father riled you, and then you mouthed plenty.”

Gabe felt Cassie’s muscles tighten. He patted her hand and shook his head ever so slightly. “Far from mousy, Mrs. Murphy. Still waters run deep, and all that. My Cassie is the single most clever, self-sacrificing, and kind woman I have ever known.” He took a moment to gaze at her. “Beautiful, too.”

Her cheeks dusted pink, and he winked at her grandmother. “Second only to Granny Ardie, of course.”

Ardie beamed. “See why I like him so, Eliza? The man has sense. Good eyesight too.” Cackling, she rose with a soft cracking of joints. “Would you care to dine with us, Liza? I’ve got a bully salmon smoked and hanging out back.”

Eliza stood. “Thank you, no. I was just stopping in to check on my favorite grandmother.” She turned to Gabe and Cassie. “Mr. Avery, so nice to meet you. And, Sister—” she leaned forward to brush Cassie’s cheek with a peck—“don’t forget about us here in Michigan when your husband is famous.” She very nearly sneered. “If you can see fit to lower yourself to our humble level, that is.”

With a flurry of skirts, she hastened from the cabin, no doubt intending to spread the gossip far and wide.

Gabe bolted the door behind her and scowled. “Vexing woman.” He gestured toward Ardie with an apologetic cringe. “Forgive me.”

Ardie waved a hand. “Eliza has always been that way. High-strung. Always jealous of Cassie.” Granny spoke to her with a twinkle. “Don’t let her poison rankle you. She’s unhappy.”

“I know. But it does hurt. She hates me.”

“She doesn’t. She did give you a kiss, after all.”

Cassie wrinkled her nose. “Yes, as Judas gave Jesus.”

Despite the pall left behind by Eliza’s sourness, Gabe chuckled.