"I love you, Emily," he uttered through strident breaths.
"But this is forbidden. We must not do it till we're married."
Surprise wiped his face clean of passion and replaced it with elation. "Then you'll do it? Oh, Emily, you really mean it?" He embraced her fiercely, rocked and hugged her till the breath whooshed from her lungs. "You've made me the happiest man on earth!" He was ecstatic. "And I'll make you the happiest woman."
So she had agreed. Or had she? Perhaps it had been an intentional slip of the tongue, a way to agree without having to agree. Whatever her intention, wrapped in Charles's arms Emily knew there was no reneging. How could she say to this glad man, No, Charles, I didn't mean it that way? And must she not love him to have allowed such a kiss, and to have experienced such a forbidden thrill? And wasn't it almost predestined that she marry him? And to whom else in the world could she talk as she could to Charles? And with whom could she trust her tears?
If that wasn't love, what was?
But rocking in his arms she opened her eyes to a blue sky and a hawk still circling and felt again a ricochet of panic. What am I doing, hawk? She squeezed her eyes closed and willed away her apprehension. Oh, don't be silly, who else would you ever marry but Charles?
He kissed her once more, jubilant, then cupped her face and looked into her eyes with adoration so palpable she felt small for her misgivings.
"I love you so much, Emily, so very, very much."
What else could she say? "I love you too, Charles." And it was true, she told herself, it was!
He placed a light, reverent kiss on her lips, then rested his fingertips on her jaws and looked into her eyes. "I've dreamed of this day for years. I've been dead certain for so long. I even told your father when I was thirteen that I wanted to marry you some day; did he ever tell you that?"
"No." She laughed, but it felt forced.
"Well, I did." He, too, chuckled at the memory, then his face took on a satisfied expression. "Your mother and father are going to be so pleased."
That much she knew indubitably and it was a great reassurance. "Yes, they will."
"Let's go home and tell them."
"All right."
They packed up their picnic gear and made a quick trip across the meadow for golden banner before heading home. Charles chattered all the way, already making plans. Emily held the flowers and replied to his exuberant questions. But long before they reached town she realized she'd been squeezing the flower stems so tightly they'd wilted and stained her palm green.
* * *
Chapter 4
«^»
Fannie Cooper was due to arrive on the 3:00 P.M. stage from Buffalo, thirty miles to the south. Emily had promised to be back by three but at ten minutes before the hour she hadn't returned. Frankie was gone fishing and Edwin tried his best to appear unruffled as he fetched a clean bed jacket for Josie and helped her rebraid her hair.
"You'd better go, Edwin," Josie said.
He pulled his watch from his vest pocket, needlessly flipped open the cover—he already knew the exact time—and agreed, "Yes, I'd better. When those children get back here they're going to get a good talking-to."
"Now, Edwin, you know Fannie isn't one to s…stand on formalities. She would rather have them off enjoying themselves than pay … paying duty calls on their o…old-maid cousin."
He pocketed the watch, patted Josie's shoulder, and asked, "You're sure you'll be all right?"
"Yes. Just help me into b…bed, then you must hur…hurry."
It had been months since he'd seen Josie this excited about anything. It robbed her of breath. Leaning over her, Edwin smiled as he lifted the coverlets to her hips. "If the stage is on time I should have her back here in twenty minutes. Now you rest so you'll have plenty of strength to visit with her."
She nodded, settling back on the pillows stiffly as if to keep her hair undisturbed. He smiled into her eyes and squeezed her hand before turning to leave.
"Edwin?" She spoke anxiously.
"Yes, dear?"
When he turned, she was reaching out a hand. He put his in it and received a squeeze. "I'm so happy Fan…nie is coming."
He bent and touched his lips to her fingers. "So am I."
Once free of the room he paused at the top of the steps, took a deep breath, and, with eyes closed, pressed both palms against his diaphragm. So am I. Did he mean it? Yes. Lord help him, yes. He took the steps at a jog, like a twenty-year old.
Downstairs he sidetracked into the dining room, where the mahogany sideboard contained the only mirror on the main floor. It was built in at rib height, separating the upper glass from the lower dresser. He ducked down to check his appearance in the beveled glass. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes too bright, his breath fast and shallow. Damn, had Josie noticed? This was insanity, trying to fool her. Why Fannie wasn't even here yet and his hands were shaking as if with chills Abruptly he made two tight fists, but it helped little, so he pressed their butts against the sharp dresser edge and locked his elbows, feeling his heart sledge until it seemed it would rattle the dishes above his head.
His intentions had been good: to have the children with him when he went to collect Fannie, to avoid at all costs their being alone. But it hadn't worked out that way. Emily, I was relying on you! Where the devil are you? You promised you'd be back by now!
Only his thumping heart answered.
He checked his reflection once more, happy it was Sunday, and that he'd been able to leave on his worsted suit after church and hadn't had to worry about how it would look if he changed clothes in the middle of a workday. He reworked his black four-in-hand tie, tugged at his lapels, and ran a hand over the graying hair at his temples. Will she be gray, too? Will I look old to her? Are her hands shaking like mine and her heart pounding as she rides toward me? When our eyes meet for the first time will we see breathlessness and blushes in each other, or will we be lucky and see nothing?
What do you think, Edwin, when your hands are already sweating and your heart is galloping like the leader of a stampede?
He dried his palms on his jacket tails, then spread them wide, studying their backs and their palms. Great, wide, callused hams that had been a young man's hands—soft and narrow and unmarked—when they'd first held Fannie. Hands with three chipped nails, ingrained dirt, and scars meted out by years of hard work; two crooked fingers on the left upon which a horse had stepped; a scar on the back of the right from a run-in with barbed wire; and the ever-present rim of black beneath his nails that he was unable to clear, no matter how hard he scrubbed. He hurried to the kitchen, pumped a basinful of water, and scrubbed them again, but to no avail. All he had done was make himself late for the stage.
Grabbing his black bowler off the hat-tree in the parlor he took the porch steps at a trot. Within half a block he was winded and had to slow down lest he arrive at the stage depot panting.
The Rock Creek Stage—better known as the Jurkey—pulled in at the hotel at the same time as Edwin. It stopped amid a billow of dust, the clatter of sixteen hooves and the roaring of Jake McGiver, an ex-bullwhacker who'd miraculously made it through the Indian Wars and last year's blizzards with neither arrow wound nor frostbite. "Whoa, you sons-o'-bitches," Jack bawled, hauling back on the reins, "before I make saddlebags out o' your mangy, flea-bit hides! Whoa, I said!"
And before the dust had settled, Fannie was peering up at McGiver from an open window, laughing, holding onto her mile-high hat. "Such language, Mr. McGiver! And such driving! Are you sure my bicycle is still on board?"
"Indeed it is, ma'am. Safe and sound!"
McGiver clambered onto the roof to begin untying both the bicycle and the baggage while Fannie opened the door.
Edwin hurried forward and was waiting when she bent to negotiate the small opening.
"Hello, Fannie."
She looked up and her mirthful face sobered. He thought he saw her breath catch, but immediately she brought back the wide smile and stepped down.
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"Edwin. My dear Edwin, you're really here."
He took her gloved hand and helped her down to find himself heartily hugged in the middle of Main Street. "How good it is to see you," she said at his ear, quickly backing away and studying him while continuing to squeeze both his hands. "My, you look wonderful. I worried that you might have gotten fat or bald, but you look superb."
So did she. Smiling, as he always pictured her, her hair faded from its earlier vibrant red to a soft peach color but still with its unruly natural curl that looked as if it were put in with tongs. It was—he knew—part of her own natural sizzle. Her hazel eyes had crow's-feet at the corners but more merriment and sparkle than a gypsy dance. She had retained the tiny waist of her teen years but her breast was fuller. The spare cut of her copper-colored traveling suit pointed out the fact, and Edwin felt a swell of pride that neither had she gotten fat nor lost her teeth or her inimitable spirit.
"I've wondered about you, too, but you're just as I remember you. Ahh, Fannie, what has it been? Twenty years?"
"Twenty-two." He knew as well as she but had intentionally miscalculated for the benefit of those looking on. When he would have pulled free she held him anchored with a two-handed grip, as if she had no notion it was as improper as the hug had been. "Imagine that, Edwin, we're middle-aged."
He chuckled and released himself under the pretext of having to close the stage door. "Middle-aged and riding bicycles, are we?"
"Bicycle—oh, my goodness, that's right!" She swung around and looked up, shading her eyes with one hand. "Be careful with that, Mr. McGiver! It's probably the only one for three hundred miles around."
McGiver's head appeared above their heads. "Here it comes, all in one piece!"
She reached up as if to take it herself, asking no help from Edwin.
He suddenly jumped. "Here, let me!"
"I've lived without a man's help for forty years. I'm perfectly capable."
"I'm sure you are, Fannie"—he had to move her bodily aside—"but I'll help just the same."
The contraption was passed into his hands and dropped to the ground with a thud. "Good Lord, Fannie, you can't mean to say you actually ride this thing. Why, it's heavier than a cannon!"
"Of course I ride it. And you will, too, as soon as I can teach you. You'll love it, Edwin. Keeps the legs firm and the blood healthy, and it's great for the lungs. There's nothing like it. I wonder if we could get Josie on it. Might do her wonders. Did I tell you about the trip to Gloucester?"
"Yes, in your last letter." Edwin found himself smiling already. She hadn't changed at all. Unpredictable and unconventional, and spirited as no other woman he'd ever known. He had grown so accustomed to Josie's weakness that Fannie's robust independence was startling. While he stood examining the bicycle she reached up as if to take the luggage Mr. McGiver was handing down.
Again Edwin had to interrupt. "I'll help Mr. McGiver with your luggage. You hold the bicycle!"
"All right, if you insist. But don't get bossy with me, Edwin, or we shan't get along at all. I'm not used to taking orders from men, you know."
As he reached up for the first dusty bag, he glanced over his shoulder to find her smirking like a leprechaun. The first bag was followed by a second, third, fourth and fifth. When her luggage sat in a circle at their feet he pushed back his bowler and, with his hands on his hips, scanned the collection of grips and trunks. "Good Lord, Fannie, all this?"
She arched one of her strawberry-blond eyebrows. "Why, of course, all that. A woman can't traipse out into the middle of no-man's-land with nothing more than the clothes on her back. Who knows when I'll get to a proper toggery again. And even if I did, I doubt that out here I could even find a pair of knicker-bockers."
"Knickerbockers?"
"Kneepants. For riding the bicycle. Whatever would I do with all these bustles and petticoats in those wheels? Why, they'd get tangled in the spokes and I'd break every bone in my body. And I value my bones very highly, Edwin." She held out one arm and assessed it fondly. "They're still very serviceable bones. How are your bones, Edwin?"
He laughed and replied, "I can see Emily is going to love you. Let's get these off the street."
"Emily—I can't wait to meet her." While he transferred her baggage to the boardwalk, Fannie chattered. "What's she like? Is she dark like you? Did she get Josephine's seriousness? I hope not. Josie was always too serious for her own good. I told her so from the time we were ten years old. There's so much in life about which we must be serious that I simply cannot abide being so when it's not necessary, don't you agree, Edwin? Tell me about Emily."
"I can't do Emily justice with words. You'll just have to meet her. I'm sorry she's not here. Both of the children assured me they would be, but Frankie is gone fishing and must have lost track of time, which he does quite frequently, and Emily went off on a picnic with Charles. They're not back yet."
"Charles Bliss?"
"Yes."
"Ah, the young man in her life. I feel as if I've met them both, I've heard so much about them in Josephine's letters. Do you think they'll be married, Edwin?"
"I don't know. If so, they haven't told us yet."
"Do you like him as much as Josie claims you do?"
"The whole family likes him. You will, too."
"I'll reserve my opinions till I've met him, if you please. I'm not a woman whose judgments can be dictated."
"Of course," Edwin replied with a crooked smirk. Her quicksilver spunkiness was only one of the attributes to which his parents had objected years ago. Thank heaven she hadn't lost it. She could scold and praise in the same breath, inquire and preach, sympathize and rejoice without breaking rhythm. Life with her would have been a ride on an eccentric wheel instead of a walk on a treadmill.
"I'm afraid I wasn't expecting you to have so much baggage. If you'll wait here I'll go over to the livery and get a wagon for it. It'll only take me—"
"I wouldn't dream of waiting here. I'll come along. You can give me a tour of your place."
He threw a cautious glance along the street, but it was Sunday, people were at home resting. The only ones about seemed to be the stage driver and a pair of cowboys lounging on the hotel step. He reminded himself Fannie was a relative. It was only his own apprehensions leading him to believe people would peek through their lace curtains and raise eyebrows.
"All right. It's only three blocks. Can you make it in those?" He gestured toward her shoes, which sported two-inch heels shaped like rope cleats.
She pulled up her skirt, revealing that her shoe tops were made of golden-brown silk vesting, which shimmered in the sun. "Of course I can make it. What a silly question, Edwin. Which way?" Her skirts fell and she captured his arm, striding in a strong, long step that made her skins sound like flapping sails. He was struck anew by her vitality and lack of guile. Obviously, she was a woman to whom conventionalities came second to naturalness. Everything she did seemed natural, from her strong, loud laugh to her almost masculine stride to her unaffected hold on his arm. She seemed unaware that the side of her breast brushed his sleeve as they moved along Main Street toward Grinnell.
"How was your trip?"
"Ach! Ghastly!" she shot back, and while she amused him with tales of jarred bones and Jake McGiver's ribald language Edwin nearly managed to forget about the proximity of her breast.
They rounded the corner and approached the livery barn. The town seemed as sleepy as the horses who stood on three feet to the west of the building. Edwin rolled back the broad front doors, which hung on a steel track. He opened them to their limits so that anyone passing could freely look inside and see that the only thing happening was an innocent tour of the facilities.
Inside all was quiet, different on Sunday when little commerce was about. A slice of sun fell across the dirt floor, but inside it was cool, shadowed, redolent of horses and hay. Fannie walked ahead, straight up the aisle between the stalls, looking left and right while Edwin stayed in the sun shaft and watch
ed her. When she reached the far end she took it upon herself to roll open one of the north doors three feet and look out back. He watched her silhouette, stark black against the bright rectangle as she leaned over and poked her head out, looking up at the doorsill, then turned. She bracketed her mouth with both hands. When she called, her voice sounded distant and resonant through the giant barn.
"Edwiiiiiiiiiiiin!"—as if she were atop an Alp.
He smiled, cupped his mouth, and returned, "Fannieeeeeee?"
"You have a great place heeeeere!"
"Thank youuuuuuuu!"
"Where did you get all these buggieeeees?"
"In Rockforrrrrrrrrd."
"Where's thaaaaaaat?"
"West of Cheyeeeeeeene."
"Are you riiiiiiiich?"
Edwin dropped his hands and burst out laughing. Fannie, darling Fannie, I will play hell resisting you. He slowly walked the length of the barn and stopped before her, studying her for a long moment before answering quietly, "I've done all right. I've built Josie a fine house with two stories and plenty of windows."
Fannie sobered. "How is she, Edwin? How is she, really?"
For the first time their eyes met with all pretense stripped away and he saw that she cared deeply, still, not only about him but about her cousin.
"She's dying, Fannie."
Fannie moved to him so swiftly he had no chance to evade her. "Oh, Edwin, I'm so sorry." She captured his two hands, folded them between her own, and rested her lips against the tips of his longest fingers. For moments she stood just so, absorbing the truth. Drawing back, she gazed into his eyes with a determination so palpable he could not look away. "I promise you I'll do everything in my power to make it easier on both of you. As long as it takes … whatever it takes … do you understand?"
He could not answer, for his heart seemed to have expanded and filled his throat, where it clamored at her touch. She was near enough that he could smell the dust in her clothing, the scent of her hair, of her skin; could feel her breath upon their aligned hands while a sunprick of light touched her somber hazel eyes.