A Place Called Harmony (4 page)

“Where you from, miss?” He finally broke the silence.

“Nowhere, really.” She put her spoon down and stopped eating as she rocked the baby.

He didn’t want to ask her any more questions, but he hated that she seemed so tense. Maybe if he talked she’d relax. “I grew up on a farm about thirty miles from here. My folks came in the fifties to homestead. My dad wasn’t much of a farmer, but they survived even after my brother and I went to war. My brother didn’t come back. He died at Shiloh.”

She picked up her spoon as he continued, “I still own the land, but I thought I’d sell it. The soil’s good but the house burned. Farmer next door said he’d buy my place anytime I was willing to sell.”

Lightstone looked at him with a raised eyebrow as if he wanted to add that houses usually do burn when a fire is set in the middle of the parlor.

Clint continued when she took another bite. If she’d eat, he’d talk. “I’m thinking of taking a job up north near the panhandle where the Indian Wars are probably still going on.” He’d tell her of their plan. The sheriff would only frighten her. “They say the weather gets cold enough to snow up there, and the sunsets spread out across flat land for a hundred miles.”

The sheriff kept frowning. He probably wasn’t sure if Clint was trying to talk her into going or out of going. Clint just felt like he had to be honest. If either of them was going to think of stepping off this cliff, they had a right to know what the ground looked like below.

“The sheriff’s got a friend up there who wants to build a town, and he’s making an offer that is hard for a man to turn down. Especially one who has nothing to keep him here. I got no family, miss, they’re all dead. Maybe living on the edge of civilization is where I belong.”

The sheriff finally interrupted Clint’s rant. “You got any family to go to, miss? ’Cause if you do, I’ll put you on the train come morning.”

She set down her spoon again and lowered her head. “None that I’d want to see again or who would welcome me.”

“You got any prospects for work or any money that will tide you over?”

She shook her head, making her straight black hair almost brush her shoulders.

“Well then, I might as well tell you what I’ve been thinking. Clint here ain’t a bad man when he’s sober. He’s thinking of taking that job he told you about; problem is, the man building the town wants married men.”

She looked from the sheriff to Clint, not saying a word. He held her gaze for only a moment, but it was long enough. He couldn’t miss the fear in her eyes. Hell, he was surprised she didn’t run.

He saw that as a good sign. She wasn’t the type of woman he’d ever love, but there was something about her that made him want to take care of her. She had nowhere to go, no money, no one who’d look after her. As thin as she was, she’d probably be dead in a week if she didn’t eat. If she wanted to go with him, he’d see she had food and wasn’t cold. She probably wouldn’t be much company and, if she ran off, he wouldn’t miss a mouse of a woman like her. Maybe the idea of taking her along wasn’t as bad as he feared.

“I’ll let you two talk,” the sheriff said as he stood. “I’ll go find some of that buttermilk pie.”

When the big man was gone, Clint just sat staring at her as she held the newborn close. He had no idea if he was making the right decision. He’d made so many wrong ones lately; maybe it was time to try something different.

“It’s a crazy thing to spring on you, you just getting out of prison and all. If you need time, I’d understand. Until you walked out I was against the idea myself, but knowing you might need this new start as badly as I do got me to thinking that maybe it might be worth a try. I wouldn’t be much help with the babe, but I’d do what I could.”

She didn’t move. She held herself so tight, as if she feared she might fall apart if she relaxed even one inch.

Clint tried again. “I’m a hard worker when I work and, until my family died, I’d never had more than a few drinks.”

He hoped she didn’t glance up and give him that look that said she didn’t believe him.

She remained frozen.

“I’ll be honest. I’ll never love you. I haven’t got any left to give. But, if you’ll go along with me I can promise I’ll always try to be kind. My wife, Mary, used to swear there was a kind side of me, though most folks probably wouldn’t agree.”

Slowly her chin rose. “You’ll never ask me about my past or the baby? I’ll tell you when I’m ready or not at all. That has to be up to me.” Her voice was soft.

“Never, if that’s what you want. Seems fair enough. From this night on, if you come along with me, the baby is ours as far as folks know. No questions.”

“You’ll never hit me?”

“If I do, you have my permission to shoot me.” It crossed his mind that maybe she’d already done that to another. If not being hit was so important to her, maybe she’d killed the last man who tried. Only he wasn’t going to ask. They’d already agreed on that point. Talking about his past was too painful, and learning about hers might keep him up at night.

“You’d never force yourself on me?” Her voice sounded a bit stronger.

“I’m not the kind of man who would do that.” In truth, he hadn’t even thought about the bedding part of the marriage. “We can sleep in separate beds. I’m looking for a wife in name, not in bed.”

She didn’t look convinced, or even interested, but he was coming around to the idea. “If you’ll go with me, miss, I’ll keep you and the babe safe. We may be poor and the work will probably be hard, but I promise you’ll have no call to be afraid. While I breathe, no one will hurt you or the baby.”

She looked up at him then, tears bubbling over. “Then I’ll go with you if you’ll offer one more thing.”

He frowned. He didn’t have much to offer.

She straightened. “Sewn into the folds of my traveling clothes are seeds. You’ll give me enough land to plant a few apple trees if I come. You’ll swear that you’ll never cut a single one of my trees down.”

He smiled. “I’ll do that. You’ll have land enough for an orchard if you want.” Of all the things he thought she might ask for, a spot of land never occurred to him, but if that was her price, he’d pay it gladly.

H
UNTSVILLE
, T
EXAS

When the sheriff came back into the hotel’s dining area, he was muttering something about having eaten the last of the pie as he wiped his mouth with his wrinkled bandanna.

Clint Truman slowly stood.

“We’re ready to go, Sheriff. I know a place in town where Karrisa can stay that won’t mind the baby. If you’ll take us there, I’ll get her settled in and ride out to wake up my neighbor. He’ll be happy to know my land will be his as soon as we can do the paperwork.”

Sheriff Lightstone looked surprised. “You two already agreed on everything? That didn’t take long.” He looked at the woman cradling the baby and rocking slightly. “Truman here didn’t talk you into some pie-in-the-sky dream, did he?”

She shook her head. “He said we’d be poor and the work would be hard, but he promised I’d be safe with him.”

The sheriff turned to Clint, but his words were for her. “Some say he’s the best shot they’ve ever seen with a rifle or a handgun. I reckon if he says he’ll keep you safe, he will. If that’s all you want?”

She raised her head, and dull blue eyes as pale as summer clouds showed little sign of caring one way or the other what might happen to her. “That’s all I’ll ever need, Sheriff. I’ll ask for nothing more than he’s offering.”

“Well.” Lightstone shrugged. “I guess being safe is important.”

A thousand words floated unsaid in the air between them. Clint decided if Karrisa wanted to keep her secrets and fears, he’d let her. Digging up memories wouldn’t do either of them any good.

He offered his hand and to his surprise, she took it. He helped her stand, tucking her thin fingers against his elbow as they walked out. When he lifted her into the wagon he couldn’t believe how slender she was. Skin over bones, nothing more.

No one said a word until they got to Quaker House. Martha and James Adams had lived in Huntsville for as long as Clint could remember. They were good people who ran a small boardinghouse for women.

While the sheriff waited with Karrisa, Clint knocked on the door and then explained to Martha that his future wife needed a room.

Martha hadn’t been born with an ounce of curiosity, but the good Lord had doubled her up on kindness. She welcomed the thin woman in and hurried her off to a room.

Clint waited in the parlor until Martha returned. “I’ll pay you for her room when I get back tomorrow, if that’s all right? We’re marrying as soon as possible, then heading north.”

“That’s fine, Mr. Truman. Only don’t come to get her for a few days. That poor dear needs rest.”

He knew all about women birthing babies; he’d helped deliver both his daughters. “How old is the baby?”

“Two days, maybe less. He seems healthy, though small.” She hesitated, then added, “Your woman is still bleeding, Mr. Truman.” Martha whispered her last few words knowing women didn’t talk to men about such things. “If she travels north tomorrow, she won’t make the journey. You’ll pay me for three days and she’ll stay longer if need be. I’ll see she gets the care she should have had the minute the baby was born.”

He nodded. Arguing with Martha would be like disagreeing with a saint. “Tell my future wife that I’ll be by for a visit tomorrow, but it may take a few days to sell the land so she’ll have to stay here. I don’t want her thinking she’s slowing us down.”

Martha seemed to understand. “Come by for supper if you like. You’ll be welcome.”

Clint smiled. “I’ll do that.” It had been a long time since he’d been around kind folks and it felt good. “And I’ll be sober.”

Martha smiled and winked. “I wouldn’t let you in if you weren’t.”

*   *   *

Clint and Karrisa were married by a judge at the courthouse four mornings later. The sheriff and Martha Adams were the only witnesses. Karrisa wore her same gray traveling dress.

She stood beside her new husband, feeling almost alive for the first time in eight months. She’d taken a long hot bath every morning, as though it took several baths to wash away eight months of being unclean. She’d eaten all meals plus the morning breads and the afternoon tea cakes Martha insisted she have every day.

When Karrisa washed the dried blood and afterbirth off the baby that first night at Quaker House, she’d studied him by candlelight, amazed at how perfect he was. One of the women in the prison helped her deliver, but there had been no clean water for either of them to wash afterward, and Karrisa had been afraid to say anything or the warden might not have let her leave.

What brought the baby to her had all been ugly, but he was wonderful. She thought back about the rape, the murder, her arrest, her time in prison. Someone she’d trusted had attacked her, then lied, and somehow she’d lost everything: her friends, her job, the life she’d had. The baby growing inside her had kept her sane through the dark days in prison. Despite all that had happened, she wanted him, needed him, needed to know that he might be the last piece of her family to live on.

This morning, her wedding day, she’d wrapped his bottom in clean strips of cloth, then put him in one of the little gowns Martha gave her. The man who was now her husband brought a blanket and a basket for the baby that she could carry on her arm. He said he would rig up ropes to hang the basket inside the covered wagon they’d buy so the baby would be rocked to sleep during the last part of their journey.

She looked up at Clint Truman as he signed the marriage license. He was trying to act as if they were just a regular couple getting married. After sitting across the table from him for three nights, she didn’t know if he was a good man or not. She’d lost her compass for such things.

Every night since she’d left prison, she’d curled up in a big rocker and held her baby as he slept. She’d spent hours trying to make sense of what she’d agreed to do. Truman’s offer was her only choice. None of her mother’s family had answered her letters, and she doubted her father would open a letter from her. No friend responded. She’d been totally alone when she’d walked out of prison with fears that she’d be dead of starvation or cold within days, but strangely, Truman treated her as if she’d done him a favor by agreeing to marry him.

Silently she promised she’d be as little trouble to him as possible. Maybe she’d even find a way to help him if he was half the man he seemed to be.

“Are you ready to go, dear?” he asked as he lifted his hat from the rack. The endearment hadn’t flowed easy from his tongue, but she understood he was trying.

“Yes,” she said, bundling up her baby as she watched him shake hands with the sheriff. Truman had a strong jaw and broad shoulders beneath his black coat. There was a hardness about him. The scar crossing from his ear to almost his chin and the deep slash of twisted tissue across his right hand spoke of a violent past.

She had a feeling he didn’t care about anyone in the world. Which might make them a good match because no one in the world cared about her.

When he’d slipped the plain gold band on her finger, she thought of her mother and father. They’d seemed happy when she was growing up, though her mother had always cherished her only child to the point that Karrisa often felt her father was jealous. When her mother died six years ago, something died inside her father as well. It was as if all his love washed away in tears of grief. She’d been sixteen, almost an adult, but he’d sent her to live with his half brother, where she’d learned to make a living in the mills. She’d always thought that she looked too much like her mother for her father to bear.

When she’d hugged her father good-bye, she’d known that she’d never see him alive again. He hadn’t even noticed that she’d bought a fine gray traveling suit, or that she’d sewn seeds into the padding so that she could take her mother’s apple trees with her wherever she went. Her only contact with him over the years had been a hurried note at Christmas to tell her how busy he was.

No one could have guessed how far Karrisa would fall, not even her in her worst nightmare. She’d long ago given up thinking about how her life would have been so different if her mother had lived. Her mother would have never stopped loving her, and her father wouldn’t have known grief so deep that he gave up his daughter.

You’re a grandmother.
In her mind, Karrisa whispered to her mother as if she were in the room.
You always said that would be a dancing day when it happened.
A tear drifted down Karrisa’s face and landed on the baby’s blanket.
I’m married
, she added,
to a good man, I hope
.

Don’t think of the past
, she reminded herself. Whatever this new road held, it had to be better than prison. Better than New Orleans and living with her half cousins. Better than living in fear.

This strong man before her was promising he would keep her safe, and that meant more to her than anything in the world. She could live without love, but she never wanted to live in total fear again.

Clint cupped her elbow with his long fingers. “It’s time we moved to the train.”

Karrisa blinked away tears, unsure that this marriage wouldn’t be another kind of prison.

“I forgot to say, ‘You may kiss the bride,’” the judge shouted as they walked out of his office.

She froze as her new husband leaned down and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

It wasn’t so bad, she reasoned. The slight kiss was almost polite. If he was polite, then she could handle being married.

“We need to get moving,” the sheriff said. “Train leaves in an hour.”

Clint lifted his suitcase, then glanced at her as if just noticing she had nothing but her bag of ragged clothes. “We’ve time to stop at the general store and pick my wife up a few things she’ll need for the trip. When we get to Dallas I’ll buy a wagon and you can collect what we’ll need to set up housekeeping. The last ten or so days we’ll have to travel by wagon.”

Karrisa nodded. She’d had nothing for so long; anything more than the small broken comb she carried would be a luxury.

When they got to the general store, she was glad the sheriff remained in the wagon, saying he needed a smoke. Truman took the baby in one arm before helping her down. When he handed back her precious bundle, a smile blinked across his stern face for a moment before he turned away.

“Does the boy have a name?” Clint asked as he held the door to the store open for her.

“No,” she answered. “There’s time.”

He nodded, and she realized this hard man, with his claim that he’d never love her, wouldn’t resent her baby. He seemed to accept her child as a part of the bargain, nothing more.

Walking among all the stacks of clothes, she felt overwhelmed. She’d had nothing for so long that all this seemed far too much.

To her surprise, her new husband seemed to understand. “How about we start with a bag?” He pulled a carpetbag from the shelf. “Do you think this one would be big enough?”

She nodded but didn’t reach for it.

He opened the bag and moved to the counter with the clerk following on his heels. “We’ll need a comb, a brush.” Glancing back at her, he added, “And a few combs for her hair.”

The clerk pulled out a card of hair combs and Karrisa pointed at the two cheapest.

Clint frowned but didn’t comment. For a moment they just stood, neither seeming to know what to do or say.

She knew she couldn’t go forever without talking to this man, so she managed, “I’d like to pick out a few underthings and a gown alone.”

“Of course,” he said, and moved to a row of nails holding gun belts and spurs. “If you find a dress you like, you might want to pick it up here. I doubt there will be much selection in the small towns up north, and the train often stops in a town so late the shops are closed.”

When she returned with simple underthings and a gown, he asked about the dress.

“It will be less expensive to buy material and a small sewing box. Then I’ll have something that will fit me.” She’d figured out after looking over the dresses that all would be too wide and too short. She could make two dresses and a few aprons for what one of the store dresses cost.

While the clerk cut material, her husband went back to looking at guns.

Once she returned with material, thread, and a bit of lace, she noticed that he’d picked up lotion and soap.

The clerk put together what he called a train lunch made up of canned peaches, a small loaf of bread, hard-boiled eggs, and cheese. When he started to add it all up, Clint put cookies and a small sack of hard candy atop the pile.