Colorado Dawn (8 page)

Before he could answer, the train began to slow. A shutter fell over his face, cutting off whatever he had been going to say. His lips formed into a taut line.

She began gathering things and placed David’s hat and coat in his hands. “I’ll see to a cab and getting our luggage aboard,” she said. “Do you want to wait here or in the station?”

“I’ll wait here.”

A heavy weight sat on her shoulders. He’d been relaxed, almost as if he enjoyed her company, and then he’d reverted to the hurting man hunkering in his shell.

She stepped from the train and scanned the platform. A row of cabs stood lined up at the end of the depot in spite of the late hour. She hailed a driver, and when he’d trotted over to her, beckoned him to retrieve the bags. The conductor walked by, and she gave him the directions Jesse had given her about seeing to parking the private railcar in a siding. Then she turned to get David.

He stood on the railcar platform, hat on his head just so, his coat buttoned. He held the handrail and eased his way down the steps.

She walked over to him and, instead of taking his arm, slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow as she would have if he could see. “This way,” she whispered, guiding without being too obvious, she hoped.

David mocked himself for his uselessness when the cabbie asked Karen for the destination. Shame licked at him that Karen had to see to everything—the cab, the luggage, and the instructions for siding the private car.

Her hand came to rest on his arm, and her body moved against him as she turned in her seat. “David, I don’t know the house address.”

Realizing now just how much he had disrupted her life, yanking her out of all that was familiar, marrying her in haste, tying her to a blind man who couldn’t even walk from the train to a cab alone, he hated himself. He gave the address and sank back into the corner of the cab, inching away from her to cocoon himself in solitude.

The horse’s hooves clopped on the hard-packed dirt street. A hurdy-gurdy’s tinny melody washed over them as they passed a dance hall, and a tinge of smoke hung in the air. Somewhere someone was cooking cabbage. He tried to envision just where in the city they were and surprised himself when the cab turned when he thought it should. The hooves plopping changed to a clatter as they crossed a wooden bridge. Then the cab rocked to a stop.

“There’s a light burning in one of the lower floor windows.”

He noticed the relief in her voice. “Father said he sent a telegram to Mrs. Webber to inform her of our arrival.”

“Mrs. Webber?”

“The housekeeper.” He realized anew how little he’d prepared her for this abrupt uprooting. The house they had planned to build in Martin City this spring would forever stay unbuilt. How could he orchestrate the building when he couldn’t see? Yet another piece of his future to throw into the bottom drawer of his mind to molder and decay.

The doorknob rattled. “Is that you, Mr. Mackenzie? Bless me, but come away in. The night’s too damp to be standing on the doorstep. And this must be your lovely bride. You could’ve knocked me down with a gesture when I got your father’s telegram.”

He pictured the housekeeper as he’d last seen her, gray haired, deep bosomed, motherly, and chatty. “Good evening, Mrs. Webber.” His hand hit the iron railing, and he made his way up the steps.

She latched on to his arm and tugged him into the house.

The sounds of footsteps on the walk and the thunk of bags hitting the parquet floor informed him that the baggage had been deposited. Coins clinked, and the cabbie muttered, “Thank ya, ma’am.”

Once more his wife had to do tasks that should be his, leaving him sidelined like a toddler in a world of adults.

Karen sighed, as if grateful to have arrived, and the fabric of her dress rustled. He pictured her removing her hat and gloves.

Mrs. Webber’s familiar lemon verbena scent surrounded him as she bustled past. “I’ll take the bags upstairs.” The housekeeper patted his arm again, and he just refrained from brushing her away. “Here you go, missus. You take the lamp and I’ll follow you up.”

Karen linked her arm through David’s. The faint odor of burning kerosene reached him. She stopped him when they reached the upstairs hall and directed him aside.

Mrs. Webber lumbered by with the baggage and deposited it on the carpet.

“Thank you, Mrs. Webber. That’s all for tonight.”

“Very good, sir. I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well.” The housekeeper chortled and coughed, then padded down the stairs humming Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.”

Karen’s heart lodged somewhere in her throat and beat painfully, making it hard to draw a controlled breath. Her wedding night. She set the lamp on the bureau beside the door and stooped to move the bags so David wouldn’t trip on them. “What a lovely room.” Did her voice sound as nervous as she felt? “I suppose we can leave most of the unpacking for the morning, don’t you?” She crossed to close the navy velvet drapes.

David stood in the doorway. “You can leave my things.” He leaned his shoulder on the doorjamb. “Your room is next door. The water closet and bath are across the hall.”

She looked at him over her shoulder, her hands gripping the fabric. “My room? But, I thought I would sleep in here. After all, we did get married today.”

“That’s right. I married you. But this will be a marriage in name only. I have no intention of consummating our union. When the time comes that you realize your mistake in marrying me, you can apply for an annulment.”

The air rushed out of her lungs and her head spun. An annulment? “When are you going to understand that I have no intention of leaving you? Did you not hear me today? I promised to love, honor, and obey you until death parted us.”

“I heard your promise. Now obey me and take your things to the next room. I’m tired and I’d like to go to bed. It’s been a long day.” He stepped farther into the room and waited.

Numb at this turn of events, Karen gathered her valise and straightened. “David, can’t we talk about this?”

“This is not a matter for discussion. Go to bed.”

She gathered the lamp and stepped into the hall. He closed the door behind her, shutting her out as effectively as putting out a cat for the night. The final humiliation came when he turned the key in the lock.

Tears blurred the flame in the lamp she held and smudged the shadowy outline of the carpet runner and the doorways that gaped open like eyeless sockets along the hallway. She went into the bedroom David said was hers and placed the lamp on the dressing table. With chilly fingers she turned up the wick. The furnishings and décor matched the master bedroom exactly.

Her feet sank into the carpet when she crossed to the bed. Cold satin pillowed her body as she lay back across the coverlet. Rejected and humiliated, she tried to make sense of why he would do this to her. Was he punishing her for pushing him into this marriage? And why mention an annulment?

The sobs burning in her throat clamored for release and she gave in, rolling to her side, curling into a ball, and letting go. Nothing had been right between them in such a long time, and now everything was very, very wrong. She had won a victory in forcing him to go through with the wedding, but it was a Pyrrhic victory, indeed.

David rolled over and shucked the blankets twisted about his legs. Karen’s sobs had quieted, but that didn’t make him feel less a heel. In a moment of weakness he’d let himself be goaded into this marriage against his better judgment. Now he was stuck.

He couldn’t,
wouldn’t
be her husband in every sense of the word. The possible consequences were too great. Not only might he father a child who might grow to despise his crippled parent, but David knew he would not be able to get that close to Karen, to love her in that way, and then survive when she left him. Better not to give her the chance to hurt him that utterly. Better to keep her at arm’s length.

His face flamed at the thought of how inept his attempts at loving would be. He couldn’t have borne it if she’d laughed at him or, even worse, pitied his attempts. He would not take that chance, no matter how much he loved her.

She said she loved him right now, but what about later? What about when reality didn’t meet up with her fairy-tale expectations and she realized she’d made a mistake? What about when she realized how hard life would be with a cripple who couldn’t do the simplest tasks for himself anymore?

His profession was lost to him. Every last shred of who he was and why he existed had vanished. He was dead weight, contributing nothing to the marriage but his name and family fortune. How could he be a husband to her? How could he be the leader in his home, the head of his household?

L
ight footsteps sounded on the stairs.

The fist of anxiety resting under David’s breastbone since Karen left the house early that morning loosened a bit. He hated the idea of his wife roaming the streets of Denver alone, but what could he have done? He was in no position to stop her, nor did he relish the idea of trailing after her through the city as if she were the governess and he the charge to be watched over. At least she’d had the sense to take the carriage.

Fingers tapped on the door.

“Come in.” He straightened in his chair and crossed his legs, lacing his fingers in his lap.

When she entered, he schooled his features to appear disinterested and calm. Then her perfume assailed him—light, sweet, beautiful. Just like Karen.

He swallowed. “You were gone a long time.”

“Yes, I had lots to do.”

“Shopping, I suppose.”

“No, actually, I didn’t do a bit of shopping, though that’s on the list for tomorrow.” The fabric of her dress whispered, and her footsteps sounded on the rug.

“What are you doing? Are you pacing?”

“I’m making the bed and tidying your clothes. You didn’t go downstairs today, and you didn’t let Mrs. Webber in, so the room could use a little looking after.” The bedcovers rustled and pillows thumped. The armoire door opened, and the latches on his cases jingled. “You didn’t unpack last night, so I’ll help you while we talk.”

“You sound cheerful.” He fisted his hands. Why did it bother him that she did these simple things for him, things the housekeeper would’ve done?

A drawer slid open. “I am, though I’m tired clear through. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I had to go clear across town today.”

“What for?” He turned his face toward the sounds of her movement. “And will you stop fussing with my belongings?”

She laughed, and a shaft of pain sliced through him at the musical sound. “Actually, I’m nervous, and I hoped by straightening the room I could buy myself some time to gather my courage before the vials of your wrath fell upon me again.”

Though she kept her tone light, he sensed her worry. He timed the sound of her movement, and when she passed close, he reached for her, grasping her wrist. Though a sense of dread at her words formed in his chest, guilt pushed to the forefront of his mind. He didn’t want Karen afraid of him, no matter what had happened. “What did you do?”

Her arm twitched, and he realized she had taken a deep breath. “First, I had a chat with Mrs. Webber, and she mentioned the new school for the blind they’ve just built across town. That’s when it hit me. They would be a wealth of information for us. I went straight to the school to find a tutor. A tutor can help us in so many ways. We can make the house easier to navigate and devise some organizational tactics for your wardrobe and office. So many things to make all of this better.” Her words rushed out, as if once she started, she wanted to finish without giving him a chance to interrupt.