Captive Heart (22 page)

Chapter 35

The sleigh bells jingled merrily as Thayne guided the horses to a halt in front of a modest cabin a few miles south of Deadwood. With an apron tied around her ample waist, Pearl ran out to greet them, waving a wooden spoon as she came.

“You’re late,” she scolded Thayne, pointing the spoon in his direction. Reaching into the sleigh, she took Joshua from Emma.

“It’s not my fault,” Thayne insisted. “Emma had to finish baking her pies early this morning.”

“Uh oh,” Pearl said, exchanging a knowing glance with Marcus as he and their son, Samuel, walked up, each with an armload of firewood. “You didn’t use more than a pinch of salt in those pies, did you?”

“Of course not.” Emma looked from Thayne to Pearl and Marcus, wondering what in the world they were all grinning about. Thayne helped her down from the sleigh, took her mittened hand in his, and led her inside. Though her cheeks were rosy from hours in the cold, the simple gesture warmed her heart.

The afternoon was pure delight, and Emma decided she could not remember ever having such a tasty Christmas feast. Pearl was as fine a cook as could be found, and Emma begged her to come stay with them again soon.

“There are only so many ways to make hotcakes, stew, and pie,” she said. “And I should love to know how to dress a turkey and make gravy as you do.”

“Oh no,” Pearl said, shaking her head vehemently. “I ain’t letting you do nothing that invovles dressin’. We’ve already tried that, and it just don’t work for you, honey.” Emma laughed along with the others at this good-natured teasing.

After that, she rocked Joshua and listened as Marcus and Pearl took turns telling tales of the old days before the war. Though many of their stories were sad, Emma could see those times were a part of what made them the fine people they were now, and she found herself admiring Thayne’s choice of friends all the more.

Nightfall came all too fast, and Marcus, Pearl, and Samuel, and Thayne, Emma, and Joshua bundled up for the ride into Deadwood for its third annual midnight celebration. Thayne had given no details about their excursion, and Emma imagined a peaceful church service with a singing choir. She was shocked instead to find hundreds of prospectors jammed into the street in front of the city’s largest establishment—the Grand Central Hotel.

“My
real
cousin works in the restaurant,” Marcus said, pointing to the sign. “You should ask Thayne to take you there for supper sometime.”

“I don’t think he likes Deadwood very much,” Emma said, practically yelling in Marcus’s ear so he could hear her above the noise of the crowd. “We almost didn’t come today. He seemed very worried about it.”

Marcus nodded. “That’s understandable.”

Emma was about to ask him why when the crowd around them started to hush. She looked over at Thayne, standing beside Pearl, Joshua bundled tight against his shoulder. He was staring in the same direction as everyone else—at an enormous pine tree set high on a stand some distance from the crowd.

Rising up on her toes, Emma strained to see if there was something—or someone—beside the tree. Perhaps they were going to sing outside, gathered around the tree—as she’d seen nothing resembling a church on their walk through town. A few general supply stores, the post office, and the Grand Central appeared to be the only buildings not dedicated to one vice or another. They’d passed numerous gambling houses, bawdy theaters, and houses of ill repute. There was a saloon on nearly every corner, and judging by the look—and smell—of the men around them, she guessed they did a brisk business.

Instead of outdoor singing, as she’d hoped, the crowd began counting down. Thayne made his way over to her, and she noticed Thayne had one of Joshua’s ears pressed against his chest and a hand firmly over Joshua’s other ear.

“Five, four, three—”

“Look up, Emma,” Thayne said.

“Two, one!” The people roared, and a deafening blast shook the ground as bright lights erupted from the tree. Emma clung to Thayne’s sleeve. Though they were far back in the crowd, a wave of heat washed over them. Joshua cried, and beneath his stocking cap, his eyes peeked out, wide with fright. He leaned over, reaching for Emma. She took him in her arms.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

“They’ve blown the tree is all,” Marcus said.

“Blown it? What do you mean?”

“That’s Christmas, Deadwood style,” Thayne explained. “Every Christmas Eve the town gathers to explode the largest fir tree they can find.” He looked as if he’d enjoyed it about as much as she had.

Around them, the miners were starting to push and shove their way from the square back to the saloons.

“
That
is what we came here for? That’s considered a celebration of Christmas?”

“Yep. Had enough?” Thayne asked.

She nodded and held Joshua close as they were jostled about by the men surging past.

“You sure you don’t want to go over and see the tree burn?” Thayne’s eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Absolutely not,” Emma declared. “This is the most absurd—”

“Watch it,” Thayne growled at a man who bumped her so hard she pitched forward. “Come on.” Wrapping his arm around her, they began walking along with the crowd.

“If I never see Deadwood again, it shall be too soon,” Emma exclaimed. Her nose wrinkled as a particularly drunk prospector leaned close to her face.

“Good.” Thayne smiled for the first time since they’d climbed in the sleigh that evening. “I’m glad to see we’re of the same opinion. Let’s get out of here and go home.”

* * *

“You sure you can’t stay the night?” Marcus asked as he climbed from the sleigh.

Thayne shook his head. “I’ve got the animals to get home to, and Emma and Joshua are already asleep. I’ve got the lanterns, and I’d just as soon go now. It’s easier while Josh is sleeping.”

“Come inside for just a minute, then,” Marcus said. “Samuel will watch out for them.”

“I will, Mr. Kendrich,” Samuel said, stepping over to the sleigh.

“Only for a minute,” Thayne said, casting a glance back at Emma and Joshua. There’d be no resting easy until they were far from Deadwood, safe at home again. He followed Marcus into the cabin.

Marcus went to the mantel, took a jar down, and pulled a scroll of papers from it. He handed it to Thayne. “This is for you. Open it.”

Expecting the latest documents regarding the mine, Thayne untied the twine holding the sheaf of papers together. He unrolled the top page and scanned the title:
Application for Writ of Divorcement.

He raised his eyes to Marcus. “What’s this?”

“Just returning the favor,” Marcus said, a huge grin spread across his face. “You helped me find Pearl—gave me back my wife and my
life.
Now I’m giving you back yours by helping you get
rid
of your wife.”

Thayne rolled the papers back up. “I appreciate it, Marcus, but I don’t even know where Christina is, so it isn’t likely the state would grant—”

“You ever looked into it?” Marcus prodded.

Thayne shook his head. “I had no reason to.”

“Till you met that fine woman outside.”

Thayne didn’t respond.

“Well, I looked into it for you,” Marcus said. “And you know what I found out? South Dakota has such lax divorce laws, other folks come here to get one. In fact, they call Sioux Falls the divorce mill.”

“Sioux Falls is a long ways off,” Thayne said.

“Good thing you don’t have to go there,” Marcus replied. “All you got to do is fill out them papers, take a little bit of money, and go see a judge in Rapid City. Miss Christina will have a certain amount of time to show up and agree to or argue against your petition. If she don’t show up in the time allowed, you get your divorce straightaway.”

“And if she does show up?”

“She has to answer to the accusations you’re bringing against her. Take a look at the next page,” Marcus urged.

Thayne did his best to flatten the papers and found the second page. “Adultery—”

“We all know she was back working at the saloon after you married. Shouldn’t be too hard to prove that one.”

“Extreme cruelty.”

“To her son, no less,” Marcus said.

“Willful desertion, willful neglect,
habitual intemperance.
” He looked at Marcus. “Well, you’ve about covered it all. That list sums up my entire marriage.”

Marcus’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “I know, and I’m sorry. Good man like you deserves better. That’s why I’m helping you get it.”

Thayne brought a hand to the back of his neck. “I’m not sure this is the way.”

“What’s there not to be sure of?” Marcus asked. “Tell me you ain’t still pining for Christina.”

“No,” Thayne said. “No worries there.”

“No worries anywhere,” Marcus said, walking him to the door. “You go get yourself your freedom, and then you get yourself Miss Emma for a wife.”

Thayne stepped out into the night air, his breath visible in thin wisps before him. “I’ll think on it. Thank you, Marcus.”

“Merry Christmas, Thayne.”

Chapter 36

Emma pulled the chair in her room over to the window and reread the letter from her father for the third time. It was good to hear the news from home—her older sister and her family were well, Father was planning a trip overseas, and Wilford was practically engaged to one of her friends.

Emma could not have been more pleased.

Thayne’s Christmas present to her had been contacting her father—via a telegram Marcus sent—and providing him a return address, a post office box in Deadwood. Now she could get letters from home as often as Marcus and Pearl came to visit. It was a cheering thought.

Not so cheerful was the coming of the new year and the possibility that some time during it, she would be leaving Thayne and Joshua.

Sighing, Emma refolded the letter and placed it in the bottom of her trunk, along with the silver she’d brought from home, her jewelry, and the dresses that were too fine for crawling around the floor with a little boy.

A year ago tonight she’d been at a ball, Wilford lingering annoyingly near as the clock approached midnight. Looking at the moon tonight, Emma knew it must be nearing the same hour, and Thayne had yet to come in from the barn. She wished he would, wished he would take her in his arms and kiss her for luck as the year changed. In her heart, she knew he wouldn’t, though—any more than he had cornered her under the mistletoe placed conspicuously under every eave in Marcus and Pearl’s cabin.

Before closing the trunk, Emma reached in and pulled out her mother’s portrait. Once Thayne had told her she looked just like the photo, but Emma could not see the similarities. Her mother had been beautiful,
striking
even
,
capturing her father’s heart and settling into marriage at the age of seventeen.

“I’m not like you at all,” Emma said, regret in her voice. “I don’t care for parties or fancy dresses. I’m not beautiful.” She laid the portrait on top of her gowns. “I’ll be twenty-three this year, and I’ve no prospects for marriage. I’ll never capture someone’s heart as you did. I can’t even garner a little interest from the man I’ve spent the past five months with.”

Emma closed the trunk, set the candle atop it, and blew it out. Rising, she went to the window and looked out again. The snow-covered hills painted a magnificent backdrop for the evergreens topping them. Moonlight illuminated the farmyard and silent fields. Peace emanated through the small valley. It was a beauty that made her heart ache because she knew it was not hers to keep.

Taking the heavy shawl Pearl had crocheted for her, Emma crept down the stairs, rationalizing that if Thayne could leave them alone at the house so long, she could certainly sit for a spell on the porch. She opened the front door, stepped outside, and jumped, surprised to see him sitting in one of the rockers.

“Goodness, Thayne.” Emma brought a hand to her chest. “You scared me. I thought you were still in the barn.”

“I’ve been here awhile. Care to join me?”

“I’d love to.”
I really must
stop
using that word.
She sat in the vacant chair and started rocking, her chair moving in the opposite direction as his.

She went forward. He rocked back. The rhythmic sound was soothing, the silence between them comfortable.

“You remember that first day we got home?” Thayne asked.

“I do. I’d been worried you lived in a tent, and instead you had this fine home tucked away in this beautiful valley. I was enchanted the moment I saw it.”

“I didn’t know that.” Thayne glanced at her, an appreciative smile on his face. “I was rather enchanted myself that day.”

“Oh? Had the cows grown bigger than you’d hoped in your absence?”

He chuckled. “Actually, they had, though fat cows aren’t what I’d consider
enchanting.
” His chair stopped rocking. “I remember coming back from the barn, and you were sitting here in that rocker, Joshua snuggled on your lap. It was the most perfect thing I’d ever seen.”

Emma’s heart seemed to skip a beat. “It was?”

He nodded. “You completed the picture of this place, filling in what we’d been missing. I didn’t want to go inside. I just wanted to stand there, watching the two of you.”

Slowly, Emma let out the breath she’d been holding.
What is he trying to say? Don’t read too much into it,
she warned herself.

Thayne leaned back in his chair, legs sprawled out in front of him. Emma looked down and caught a glimpse of fraying blue yarn poking up above his right boot.

“Oh, dear.”

“What’s wrong?” Thayne followed her gaze.

“Those socks I made are just awful.” She reached down to tuck the stray yarn back inside. “I don’t know why you’re wearing them.”

“’Cause Pearl said she’d turn me upside down over her knee if I didn’t,” Thayne confessed.

Emma laughed. “And I’ll do the same if you wear them anymore after this.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Of course not.” She blushed and turned away. “I guess I can’t get away with saying things like Pearl does.”

“No, you can’t,” Thayne agreed. “That’s not who you are.”

Who
am
I then?
Emma wanted to ask.
I’m not Wilford’s fiancé anymore. My father is still displeased with me—I can read between the lines of his letters. I’m not really your cousin . . .

“Do you remember when we made a toast that first day we got home?” Thayne asked suddenly, pulling Emma from her thoughts.

“I do. Though I don’t know if it really qualified since we weren’t having anything to drink—or using glasses for that matter.”

“It qualified,” Thayne assured her. “And it’s worked fine. We’ve kept up the ruse that you’re my cousin all these months.”

“Since the dance, there hasn’t been anyone to come around and question it,” she reminded him.

“That doesn’t matter. What does is that I’m proposing a new toast, seeing how it is New Year’s Eve.”

“Do we have something to drink and real glasses this time?” Emma asked, looking around the porch.

“Nope. Don’t need them.” Thayne turned to her and reached for her hand. “I propose a toast to a happy new year—one filled with the truth.”

His fingers were warm over her chilled ones. Emma was taken aback, uncertain what he’d intended with such bold words. Did she dare hope another time?

He lifted her hand close to his mouth and blew on it, trying to warm her. She closed her eyes; his simple touch filled her with yearning.

Inside, the parlor clock struck twelve.

“Happy new year, Thayne.”

He kissed the back of her hand. “Here’s to a
very
happy new year, Emma.”