A Journey of the Heart Collection (37 page)

The fierce wind whipped Emmie's cloak about as she fought to keep her balance in the gale. She kept a hand on her hat to prevent it from blowing away.
Sometimes she thought she'd go mad from the wind. It never seemed to stop. Not even in the summer, according to Rand.

The fire was almost out as they stepped inside Amelia's quarters.

Emmie knelt by the wood stack. “I'll get the fire going.” The wind blew down the chimney and sent ashes flying all over her and into the room as she opened the stove door. She quickly threw two logs in and shut the door again.

“Let's just have some of last night's stew since we'll be having tea with Frances,” Amelia said. “I'm really not that hungry, are you?”

“Not at all,” Emmie said. “That would be lovely. I'll warm it up.” She opened the back door and lifted the brick off the pan sitting on the ground. There were too many roving dogs to set the pan out without something heavy on the lid. She put the pan on the stove and turned to tie on an apron.

“I feel sorry for poor Frances,” Amelia said.

“Why should you feel sorry for her?” Emmie said. “She seems happy enough.”

“Her husband, Lieutenant Grummond, doesn't seem to give her much thought. He's always out playing
poker at the sutler's store or trying to stir up some of the men to go on some confrontation with the Indians. Mrs. Horton says this is his second marriage. I have a feeling it won't be long before his hot blood puts him in harm's way. And poor little Frances is so loyal and sweet.”

“But aren't most men a lot like that?” Emmie asked as she stirred the stew. “My brothers were and so was Monroe.” She turned back around in time to see Sarah and Amelia share a long look.

“Rand and Jake are different, of course,” Emmie said hastily. “But you two are luckier than most.”

Sarah took her bonnet off and smoothed the fabric of her blue dress. “Actually, Emmie, I'm glad you brought this up. I've wanted to talk to you about your view of men. I've seen the way you shy away from our male callers, even Isaac. I've found most soldiers to be loyal and kind to their wives. And Ben was—Ben was not a good example for you to look to. I hate to see you waste your life because of that distrust you carry around like a shield. I'm sorry to hear Monroe wasn't kind to you.”

Emmie flushed. “It's not that he wasn't kind—” She gulped and sat down. She twisted her hands together in her lap as the other women sat beside her. But did she
have the strength to tell it? She drew a shaky breath. “I've wanted to tell you about this.” She slowly searched the faces of her friends. “But I was afraid you wouldn't care for me anymore when you knew the truth.”

Amelia leaned forward and took her hand. “Nothing you say could possibly change how we feel about you, Emmie dear. You're our friend and we love you. Your husband's character can't change yours. You're sweet and loyal and giving. I'm honored to be your friend, and I know Sarah is too. You can tell us anything, and we won't betray your confidence.”

Tears welled up in Emmie's eyes. “I–I don't really know how to begin,” she choked.

Sarah handed her a hankie. “Begin wherever you want. We have plenty of time.”

Emmie twisted the hankie in her hand. “You have to understand. Monroe was so–so
alive
when I met him. I'd never seen anyone with so much exuberance and energy. I couldn't resist that vitality. When he began to pay attention to me, I couldn't believe it. Me. The slutty daughter of the town drunk.”

“Oh, Emmie, you were never that!” Sarah's voice was indignant.

“I heard Mrs. Lambert call me that once when
I was thirteen. I've never forgotten it. I'd never even talked to a boy besides my brothers when I heard her say that, but I was so ashamed.”

“Back in Wabash when I was a girl, my mother always talked about how sweet you were and what a shame it was you had to grow up with the father you had,” Sarah said.

The words melted something cold and frozen in Emmie's heart. “Did she really?”

“Really. She would see you at Pap's store. When we'd get home, she'd tell me I should be more like you and not such a tomboy.”

A tear trailed down Emmie's cheek. “She wouldn't say that now. Not if she knew the truth.”

“What truth?” Sarah's voice was insistent.

Emmie took another deep breath. “After Monroe's funeral, a lady showed up at my door. Well dressed and pretty with a small boy in her arms.
She
was Monroe's true wife, and the little boy was his son. He'd married me although he was already married to her. That's why I had to leave town.”

Sarah's green eyes widened and a horrified understanding crept into her expression. “You mean . . . your marriage to Monroe wasn't real?”

Emmie nodded. “And the baby I'm carrying is a bastard. I'm sure Mrs. Lambert is saying she was right about me all along.”

The seconds seemed like hours as the shock registered on the faces of her friends. Where would she go if they threw her out? Maybe she should never have told them.

Amelia jumped to her feet and pulled Emmie into an embrace. “You poor dear.”

Sarah took her hand. “It's not your fault, Emmie. You didn't know.”

Hot blood rushed to her cheeks and she bowed her head. “That's not what they're saying back in Wabash, I'm sure. I was beginning to get some strange looks before I left.”

“But we know you too well to believe any lies,” Amelia said. “Why didn't you tell us sooner? Surely you knew we would believe you?”

“I didn't know what to do. It hurt too much to talk about or even think about.” She hurried to stir the stew before it burned. She turned around. “I can't tell you how much better it feels now that you know the truth. I've felt badly about deceiving you both. And now you know why I can never trust another man. It
hurts too much when you find out all that sweet talk is a lie.”

Amelia kissed her cheek. “Emmie, dear, God has someone very special in mind for you. You'll see. But your secret is safe with us. Now let's have some of that stew.”

THREE

I
saac tugged his jacket up around his throat and sat back in the saddle. The October wind swept the plains that blended into rolling hills that could hide hostiles.

Rand reined in his horse beside him and squinted at the hills. “See something?”

“No, just looking.” Isaac glanced at his friend from the corner of his eye. Emmie was living in his household. Maybe Rand could offer some advice. “Emmie seemed a little standoffish today at church. Is she feeling all right?”

Wariness crept into Rand's brown eyes. “I think so. The courting isn't going so well?”

“One minute she seems to smile my way and the next she's hiding behind Sarah's skirts and rushing off to help Amelia with something.”

The wind tried to lift Rand's hat from his head, and he settled it more securely. “I think she had a rough time in her first marriage. She's apt to be a little skittish.”

“I can be a patient man.”

A grin lifted Rand's good-natured face. “I can't say as I've noticed.”

Isaac grinned back. “I'd pray for patience but it might make it worse.” He squinted in the sun glinting off the snow but saw nothing move. “I fear it will be years before homesteading is safe here, but I found some land near Sheridan. I think I'm going to buy it. There's a parcel next to the one I have my eye on. You interested?”

Rand's eyes widened. “You bet I am! Adjoining ranches would be better for the women too. Less lonesome.”

“You're assuming I'll be successful in my bid for Emmie's hand. I'm not so sure.”

Rand picked up the reins and started toward the hills. “Emmie will come around. Give her time.”

Isaac stared at his friend's back. Rand knew something he wasn't ready to tell. But at least he knew to give Emmie space. Isaac would back off and see if she showed any distress from it.

The sun shone weakly in a pale-blue sky as Emmie held on to her skirt and hurried across the parade ground with Sarah and Amelia. Frances met them at the door with tears in her eyes and ushered them in out of the cold wind to join her and Mrs. Horton.

“Why, Frances, dear. Whatever is the matter?” Amelia put an arm around the petite young woman, and Frances promptly burst into sobs.

“I was trying to fix some stew for my husband as a surprise. Our cook was late, and I thought I'd try a recipe Mrs. Horton gave me. She said it was foolproof. But she didn't tell me how much of that hateful pressed vegetable cake to put in, so I broke off what I thought was the right amount.” She sobbed and pointed to the
kitchen. “Now look. And I wanted it to be so perfect for my first tea party,” she wailed.

Globs of stew ran over the big pot and lay deposited like a sticky surprise on the floor. The smell of scorched potatoes and carrots burned their noses with an acrid smoke.

Sarah made a strange, strangling noise, and Emmie looked at her in surprise. Was she laughing? She looked closer. Yes, she definitely was, although she was making a valiant attempt to suppress her mirth.

“I'm sorry,” Sarah gasped finally, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes. “I'm just so relieved to find out I'm not the only one who's done something like this. Ask Rand to tell you about my first attempt to cook with those desiccated vegetables.”

Frances sobbed one last time, but a glimmer of smile appeared at the corners of her sweetly curving lips. “You did it too?”

“I did indeed. Only I made a much bigger mess. Don't fret. We'll help you clean it up, and then we'll have tea by the fire.”

“I just knew we were going to be good friends!” Frances clapped in delight, then showed them to her rags and water.

Mrs. Horton rinsed out her rag, then ran her plump hands over her skirt to dry them. “I hear another lady is joining our little band. Major DuBois is bringing his daughter, Jessica.”

“Oh no!” Sarah and Amelia spoke in unison.

“You know her?” Emmie asked.

Amelia colored and lowered her eyes. “I don't like to speak ill of anyone, but Jessica—” She broke off and bit her lip.

Sarah nodded. “Jessica was engaged to Rand when I got out West. And she arranged for Indians to kidnap me to get me away from Rand. I've really tried to get over the way I feel about her, but she makes it hard for any woman to be a real friend to her.”

“Oh my!” Mrs. Horton fanned herself. “I shall want to hear the full story someday.”

“I'm sure she has her good points,” Amelia said. “But Sarah is right—it's hard to find them. But maybe she's changed.”

“You always see the good in people,” Sarah said with a loving look at her friend. “You can never seem to admit that some people are just plain rotten through and through. Like—” She broke off with an apologetic look at Emmie.

“Like Ben,” Emmie finished for her. “You don't have to mince words on my account, Sarah.” She glanced at Mrs. Horton. “When is she coming?”

Mrs. Horton fanned her flushed face. “Any day now. Oh dear, this could be a real conundrum. My husband will report to the major, her father. I must be polite to her.”

“It's going to be a long winter.” Amelia sighed.