The girl glanced down at the floor. “I try to. Dad taught me how to read. But sometimes I get stuck on the big words.”
Picking up the book, Violet read the passage aloud. “̵';And the Lord said, “It is not good for man to be alone. I will fashion for him a helpmate.’”
The girl’s eyes rounded. “You can read?”
Violet drew her close. “Yes, dear. I love to read.”
“Would you read some more to me?”
Violet sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the space beside her. When Andrew finally turned away to see to his guests, two heads were bent in the lamplight, one reading, one listening raptly.
* * * * *
Andrew McClelland and his children stood in a single line at the door, saying good night to their guests. Once outside, they climbed into the big hay wagon, wrapping blankets about their shoulders to ward off the chill.
As Violet extended her hand, Andrew drew her close. “I’d like to take you back to camp myself,” he murmured.
For a moment, Violet thought her heart would leap clear out of her mouth. Not trusting her voice, she merely nodded. He hurried through the rest of the goodbyes, then went off in search of a warm wrap, calling, “Ian, hitch the rig.”
From the open doorway, Violet watched as the wagon clattered off in the night. A short time later, Andrew led her to a small carriage and wrapped her in a fur throw.
“If you’re not too tired, I’d like to take the long way back to camp,” he said.
“I’m not at all tired,” she assured him.
He flicked the reins, and the horse trotted off, circling the ranch house and the outbuildings.
“Why did you never marry, Violet? Did some man break your heart?”
She gave a soft sigh. “Nothing quite so romantic as that, I’m afraid. I was needed at home. The younger ones left, and one day I discovered that I was an old spinster.”
Old. He was older than her by years, but he never thought of himself as old. “Do you believe in fate?” he asked.
Violet turned to him. “I believe in God,” she said simply. “I believe that He directs our paths.”
“I believe that too,” Andrew said, dropping an arm around her to draw her closer. Letting the reins go slack, he brought his arms around her and turned her to him. “I believe He brought you here so that I could find you.”
“Andrew, we’ve only known each other for a few hours.”
“And I want to spend the rest of my life with you if you’re willing.”
“But you don’t know me.”
“I know that you are a selfless woman, who gave up a life of her own to care for others. I know that you like children, and even more important, they like you. I’ve never before seen Mary Rose take to someone the way she’s taken to you.” As Violet opened her mouth to protest, he added, “I know that you are not afraid of people who are different from you. You treated my Chinese cook and my Indian helpers with the same regard you give everyone else. And most important, I know that the first time I touched you, I felt a blaze of passion that I thought had died many years ago.”
“Oh Andrew.”
The midnight sky was awash with a million stars that looked so close, Violet wondered if she could reach out and touch one. On a night like this, she realized, nothing was impossible. This man, this wonderful, handsome, rugged man wanted her. And, wonder of wonders, she wanted him.
“Would you be willing to give up your dream of California and marry me?”
She knew she was crying, but she couldn’t stop. Burying her face in his neck, she wept as though her heart would break. But it wasn’t breaking. Maybe for the first time in her life, her heart was whole.
Alarmed, he drew her away and wiped her tears with his thumbs. “Violet. My sweet, sweet Violet. Have I said something to hurt you?”
“Andrew.” She was laughing and crying, and then laughing again. The tears ran unchecked down her cheeks, but she ignored them. No longer would she be the silly, dreamy, useless dried-up old prune. How many years had she lived with those ugly labels?
She touched a finger to his furrowed brow, then traced his firm, strong mouth. He watched her, afraid to breathe, afraid to hope. He had lost her. His beautiful butterfly was about to fly away. Seeing his frown, she touched her lips to his.
“I love you, Andrew. I love you, and your family, and your beautiful land.”
He went very still. He hadn’t lost her. Yet. “And you’ll stay? I know it’s a lot to ask.”
“Oh Andrew. I’ll stay for as long as you want me. Until the end of the world, if it’s possible.”
“Violet. Oh God, my beautiful, wonderful Violet.”
He drew her tightly against his chest and kissed her full on the mouth. For long moments, she held herself rigid, absorbing the shock of his kiss. Then, slowly, slowly, she felt herself opening to him. Bringing her arms around his neck, she allowed her fingers to twine in the thick hair at his nape.
His kiss gentled as he nibbled, then tugged at her lower lip. But as the fire spread, his kiss became more demanding. His hands moved beneath the fur throw, drawing her closer. And as his fingers encountered the warmth of her flesh, he moaned and lowered his mouth to her neck. She was warm. So warm. So soft. And he wanted to be easy and gentle with her.
Violet was a woman who understood life and love, men and women. Hadn’t she encouraged her own sister and niece to follow their hearts? But she had never before experienced anything like this. In fact, she had never before experienced anything at all. Needs pulsed, making her by turn weak, then eager. Somewhere deep inside her was an aching sweetness, driving her to a boldness she had never dreamed of.
She sighed his name and cradled his head in her hands, arching her neck as his warm lips explored her throat, her collarbone, the soft swell of her breast. His lips, his fingertips, explored, aroused, until her body was a mass of nerve endings, begging to be touched.
Stepping from the carriage, he lifted her and held her against his chest. She clung to him, her breathing ragged, her heartbeat unsteady. With great tenderness, he spread the fur throw on a nest of soft boughs, then lay beside her. With reverence, he kissed her eyelids, her cheek, her ear, all the while murmuring words of endearment. And when at last they lay, flesh to flesh, he worshiped her body with kisses, with touches that left her breathless and aching for more. And when they came together, it was she who cried his name and drew him to her. They moved in an ageless rhythm, until needs drove them higher, then higher still.
Her lungs filled with the scent of evergreen and the warm, masculine scents that were alien to her until now. And she knew, with an aching sweetness, that she would love this man even beyond death.
He moaned and called her name, and felt her shudder as she reached the crest. And then he followed her, and felt himself filled with the sweetest fragrance of wildflowers. And he knew that for all time, the woman in his arms was his. She had been made for him alone.
He wrapped the fur around them, and they lay, locked in each other’s arms, feeling themselves drifting above the earth. Wrapped in a cocoon of love, they slept.
Chapter Twenty-six
Abby awoke and shifted in her blankets. The morning chill seeped into the wagon, causing her to draw the blanket higher around her shoulders. In the dim light of near dawn, she glanced toward Violet’s blanket. It was neatly rolled against the side of the wagon. Rubbing her eyes, Abby sat up quickly. Had she overslept? Was her aunt up already, tending to her morning chores?
Drawing on a shawl, Abby stepped down from the wagon and peered through the mist. No fire crackled. No coffee hissed and bubbled. There was no trace of Aunt Vi.
Alarmed, Abby hurried back inside the wagon and began rummaging about. Her aunt’s clothes were all here, her beloved books. Dear God, what had happened to Violet?
Abby’s thoughts slipped back to the night before. She had been alarmed when her aunt had agreed to stay on after the others left. But Rourke had found her fears amusing, sa
ying there was nothing wrong with a woman of Violet’s impeccable reputation being escorted home by a man like Andrew McClelland.
What if they had had an accident? What if their carriage had overturned. They could be lying near death along the trail this very minute.
Flinging aside the shawl, Abby pulled on her boots and ran to the cook wagon. Pounding on the side of the wagon, she cried, “Mordecai. Rourke. Someone. Please get up. Something’s happened to my aunt.”
Rourke’s head appeared in the open flap of canvas, his dark hair mussed, a scraggly stubble of beard darkening his chin. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. My aunt is missing. Something must have happened. Hurry, please. We have to look for her.”
Mordecai stepped down, carrying his rifle, and Abby could see a flurry of activity within the wagon. Soon all the men were moving about, saddling horses, checking weapons, and listening to her go over the night’s activities while they worked.
“. . . and I came back with the rest of you. Aunt Vi said Andrew McClelland would be bringing her home later.”
At that, Mordecai looked up, then cast a sideways glance at Rourke. “Did Miss Violet seem uneasy about staying behind?”
“Uneasy?” Abby considered for a moment. “She seemed a bit—agitated. And I noticed high color about her cheeks. You remember, Rourke? I thought she might be coming down with a fever.”
Rourke shot Mordecai a knowing look, then said softly, “I still say your aunt was just fine, Abby.”
“But she may have taken sick at the McClelland ranch. Oh, dear God,” she cried, clapping a hand to her mouth. “The cholera. What if she’s ...”
“Abby. You’re making too much of this. I think you should wait until we’ve taken the time to look into this before giving your aunt up for dead.”
“Why else would she stay away?”
The men glanced from one to another without a word. Whatever thoughts they had were kept secret from the worried young woman who paced impatiently before them.
“I want to go after Aunt Vi now,” Abby said firmly.
“Aye, lass,” Mordecai said softly. “As soon as you have your team hitched and ready to go, you and Rourke can go in search of Miss Violet.”
“The team hitched?”
“We’ve lingered too long here,” Mordecai said, glancing at the sky. “There’s no time to waste. We must get moving if we’re to beat the snows. No matter what, we leave in one hour.”
“One hour?” Abby clutched Rourke’s arm. “I’ll have the team hitched and ready in half that time. Will you go with me to find my aunt?”
He nodded, and she spun away, nearly running in her haste to be ready.
The other members of the wagon train were up and loading their wagons as she ran through the camp. Ignoring the need for food, she harnessed the mules and hitched the team to the wagon. Just as she had finished loading the wagon, she looked up at the sound of carriage wheels clattering over the rocky trail.
Many of the travelers paused in their morning chores to look up at the approaching carriage. From the cook wagon, Rourke and the others left their duties to hurry to the Market wagon.
A wave of relief washed over Abby at the sight of her aunt, bundled in a robe of fur.
“Aunt Vi. Oh I was so worried. Rourke and I were just going out to look for you.”
“I’m sorry, child, to have caused you even a moment’s worry.” Abby noted her aunt’s high color and glowing features, as she turned toward Andrew McClelland. As their gazes met, Violet’s eyes seemed bluer, more intense. Then she turned once more to her niece. “Andrew and I had hoped to be here the moment you awoke. But we . . . were detained.”
“Were you ill?”
“Ill?” Violet laughed, soft and low in her throat, and Abby was reminded of Carrie’s youthful laughter. “Heavens no, child. I’ve never felt more wonderful, more alive.”
Andrew McClelland stepped down from the carriage, then held out his hand for Violet. Flinging aside the fur throw, she allowed him to help her alight. For long moments he held her hand, then slowly released it. Spanning the short distance between them, Violet embraced her niece. Then, holding her a little away, Violet gripped Abby’s shoulders and said softly, “Andrew and I have something to tell you.”
Abby waited, staring into her aunt’s eyes.
“He has asked me to stay here and be his wife.”
“Wife? He ... wants to marry you?” Shocked, Abby glanced beyond her aunt to the tall, handsome man who was hungrily staring at Violet as if she were a beautiful apparition who might at any moment evaporate into thin air.
“And I have agreed.”
Abby’s mouth dropped open. She was so stunned, no words came out. When at last she found her voice, she stammered, “But you don’t know anything about him. He has children. Grown children. How do they feel about this?”
“We just came from his ranch, where we shared our news with them. They were delighted.”
Abby’s voice nearly broke. “Why, Aunt Vi? Why now? We’re almost there. California. Pa’s dream. How can you take this unknown stranger and his children; this barren land over Pa’s dream?”
Very simply, Violet said, “Because it was never my dream. This was my dream, Abby. I always clung to the hope that someday a man like Andrew would walk into my life. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted. Family. A home of my own.” As Abby’s mouth opened to protest, Violet said softly, “Child, he loves me. Imagine. Me. To him I’m beautiful, capable. Perfect. That’s why I’m staying. I must. And someday, a man will make you forget everyone, everything that’s gone before. When he does, Abby, don’t let him walk away from you.”
Abby shook her head, refusing to listen. “You can’t mean this. Come with me, Aunt Vi. To California.”
“I cannot. Stay here with me. With us. With Andrew’s children. Andrew and I would both like that very much. We’ll be a real family at last.”
Abby looked stricken. “No. I have to go. The dream.”
“It wasn’t your dream, Abby. It was James’s, after all. And he wasn’t even your father.”
Not her father? Rourke had a revelation of another piece of the puzzle that was Abby Market. He stowed it away for another time.
“It’s my dream now.” Abby couldn’t even remember when the dream had become hers. At first, she had only come along because she’d been given no choice. But now the dream of California had become her own. She began to cry, softly, the tears running down her cheeks. “If you stay here with Andrew, I’ll be alone.”
“I’ve been alone all my life,” Violet cried. “Surrounded by people, yet always alone. I never fit in anywhere, until now. With Andrew, I’ll never feel alone again.”
They were both crying now, and Rourke watched them cling, their tears dampening each other’s shoulders. Then, at the wagon master’s sharp command to head up the train, they slowly, slowly, peeled apart. He could almost see the blood spilling from their torn hearts.
“Know that I have always loved you, Abby. You seemed as much my child as Lily’s.”
“I know.” Abby wiped her tears on the sleeve of her old shirt. “I love you too, Aunt Vi. I guess more than I loved anyone, except maybe Carrie.”
Seeing the shocked, curious stares of the travelers, Mordecai shouted once more for them to mount up and pull out. Reluctantly, the people moved away. Whips cracked, men swore at their teams, and the sound of wagon wheels crunched over the rocky ground.
When Violet’s meager belongings had been removed, Abby climbed aboard the wagon and picked up the reins. “Be happy, Aunt Vi.” Looking beyond her, she said very distinctly, “See that she’s always happy, Andrew. My aunt deserves to be happy.”
“I will, Abby. I love her more than my own life.”
Abby straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. She cracked the whip, and the team lurched forward.
Violet turned into Andrew’s shoulder and began sobbing. Abby turned once, then, seeing her aunt’s body shaking with
sobs, twisted back and faced the trail ahead of her. The tears ran unchecked down her cheeks. She would not look back again. Never. Only forward.
From his position at the rear of the train, Rourke watched the scene play out and felt his own heart ache for Abby. How many people did she have to lose before she felt completely abandoned? How old was she? Seventeen? And on her own. What drove her? he wondered.
Urging his horse into a trot, he kept pace with the wagons. Tonight, he would have to take great pains to find some time to be with her. Especially on this first night. She shouldn’t be alone.
* * * * *
All day Abby threw herself into the backbreaking labor of the trail. Whistling up teams, hitching and unhitching them as one wagon after another was hauled up one mountain trail and down another, she worked alongside the men. When they stopped for a meal, she ate without tasting. When someone handed her a cup of coffee, she drank without noticing that it scalded her tongue. And when at last they stopped for the day, having progressed more than four miles, she stared at the fading twilight, waiting for the darkness. Then she would allow the tears to spill, unclogging the lump in her throat. When no one was around to witness her weakness, she would give in to the grief that threatened to strangle her.
Mordecai kept a worried eye on the girl. From the beginning of this trip, she had been special to him. He took a kind of fierce pride in her accomplishments. Like a father watching over a daughter, he admired her independence while still wishing she would bend and accept his help.
It would be so easy to position her wagon directly behind the cook wagon. That way he would be able to keep an eye on her safety and see to it that she had enough to eat. But the girl was too intelligent for that. She would know that he was singling her out, and would resent it.
While he ate one of Parker’s hurriedly concocted meals of dried meat and cold beans, he pondered a way to help Abby without hurting her pride. In the end, he decided that there was no clever way around it. He would have to risk offending her by offering his assistance.
Stopping by her wagon, he found her on her hands and knees, viciously scrubbing.
“Housecleaning, lass?”
She looked up and wiped a damp strand of hair from her eyes. “I thought, since it’s my wagon now, I ought to begin by cleaning it.”