Earthbound: Science Fiction in the Old West (Chronicles of the Maca Book 1) (13 page)

A wide smile lit his face. “Mrs. Lawrence, do ye ken what ye just said? Does that mean we are going to Arles in the morning?”

“Yes, Mr. MacDonald, I will be ready at four o'clock.”

“May I at least hug ye?”

Anna's eyes lit up. “Yes, Mr. MacDonald, and then you may walk me to the door.”

“Mr. MacDonald, you are supposed to let me undress and then return to the room.”

“My love, why twould I leave?”

They were in the newest and biggest hotel in Arles. The hotel boasted of its large rooms and comforts, but MacDonald doubted it. Anna, however, did not wish to spend their wedding night on the ground. To her it would be like the Comanche. That the Comanche had a comfortable bed with coverings never impressed her.

The wedding ceremony had been preformed by the Justice of Peace, Vincent Mallory. The Rolfe family and the Schmidt family attended them. Mr. Jackson and his son Tom were keeping watch over Schmidt's Corner.

MacDonald paid for the meal afterward and listened patiently to all the well-wishes and blessings. He wanted to be alone with Anna and now that they were, he was not going to adhere to the moralistic standards of this Earth. He doubted if all men did that anyway. It did nay sound natural.

She stared at MacDonald in surprise.

“Mr. MacDonald, it is not proper.”

“Bah! I have waited too long for this. The courtship twas yere world's rules, but here we have a room and privacy. We should be able to bed by my world's customs even if there tis nay a proper cleansing room.”

Anna swallowed. She wasn't sure she wanted to know his idea of a proper cleansing room, but he was right. They were in the privacy of their own room. What difference did it make if she were without clothes?

“We have waited for over a year, Anna, and ye should call me Zeb, or Llewellyn, or Maca, anything but Mr. MacDonald.”

Anna was debating in her own mind how to address this issue. If she called him by his given name, she might slip and call him that in public.

He stepped forward and his arms were around her. “Lassie, dinna make me rip the clothes off ye.” He bent his head and found her lips, his huge hands trying to work the buttons of her dress. He almost gnashed his teeth at the delay. Anna pushed at his chest.

“Zeb, I can do that a lot faster.”

“Aye.” He began throwing off his clothes. Anna tried to reach over and put them neatly on the chair.

“Woman, I twill hang them. Ye get out of those horrible, restricting clothes.” The word horrible brought Anna up short.

“I will have you know I am an excellent seamstress. There is nothing horrible about my clothes.”

“Ye Gods, they cover ye completely and there are layers of them. It should be a one or two piece form-fitting suit.”

“Mr. MacDonald!”

He grinned at her. “Remember, I am Zeb.” He sat on the bed and pulled off his boots.

“Yere buttons are too much for me and those buttons on yere shoes look even more frustrating.”

Anna sat in the chair and used the hook to undue her shoe buttons. It wasn't as rapid as MacDonald pulling off his boots, but once she was finished she stood. She still had three petticoats and hose to remove. She turned her back as a last attempt at modesty. It was futile.

Llewellyn was wed and this was to be a Thalian evening. He began slowly, but found the long years had built up both fire and desire. Anna felt his arms around her, his hands on her breasts and then he turned her to him, pulling her close, his tongue licking at her neck, and she felt his hardness against her, pressing, demanding. How could the man be so rock hard? She felt his hands slip down to her back cheeks and fit around them as he lifted her up against him. Then he turned towards the bed and she could feel the independent movement from below. She almost expected him to throw her on the bed, but it was a gentle lowering, his right hand moving down below, touching nerves she didn't know she possessed. A musky smell rose off him, beguiling, heady, yet unlike anything she had ever experienced.

The first time went far too rapidly and she heard his ragged breathing.

“Wait, my darling, I twill be back. I did nay give ye pleasure that time.”

Anna ran the words over in her mind. What was he talking about? Mr. Lawrence never was with her more than once and it would be years in between the next time he exercised his rights as a husband.

Zeb was running his index finger down her face, over her lips, and then he began to touch all the other areas, and Anna found herself responding as he slipped inside of her again. This time it culminated with a loud “aaaAAAHH” coming from deep within Anna's most inner self.

MacDonald clapped his hand over her mouth. “Ye Gods woman, ye twill have people in the entire county thinking I am killing ye.”

Anna was shaking and gasping as he pulled his hand away. He kissed her cheek, then her shoulder, holding her body up against his. At last she quieted and touched his face with wonder.

“Is that the way it is supposed to be?”

“Of course, my counselor.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“Tis what we twould call our wedded mate on Thalia.” They were whispering in case other guests were now on this floor or in the other rooms.

“I have been so lonely, the ache inside twas, at times, nay bearable. Thalians need to touch, to bed, and nay could I do that here.”

“What? You are a man. They go…” Anna paused, “to certain places. Are you saying you did not do that?”

“Nay, but the times were few, and most lassies there are too small. In the first years here, I tried to stay away from too many Earth beings. I needed to learn more about the land and the way the beings here live.”

He was stroking her face, her arms, her legs and suddenly, she realized he had revived for yet another time. Anna stared at him in wonder as his hardness plunged into her.

* * *

She was exhausted as he pulled her upward. “Come, sweet one, we must use their idea of soap and water. In the morning I twill get more ere we leave on the stage.”

Both MacDonald and Anna were aching from the bumps and jolts of the stagecoach when they stepped onto the street in Houston. MacDonald was again consumed with wanting, but nothing, absolutely nothing would have induced him to use one of the small rooms at the stage stops. Anna was bleary-eyed from lack of sleep. She did not trust the other passengers and there was so little time to run to the outhouses and eat. The water for washing hands in the basins was none too clean. She had gritted her teeth and used it anyway on the theory that at least the soap was strong.

MacDonald had been to this city before and he hailed a small cart pulled by a black horse that looked like he had been worked too many years. The black man driving the horse looked about the same. His white hair poked out of holes in his hat creating a halo. The man looked at MacDonald, Anna, the steamer trunk, and decided to be honest. He wasn't sure he could lift that trunk or if his horse was capable of pulling such a load. Those two people were not normal size. Giants, his mind told him.

“Sir, y'all best hail another cab or first check into the hotel.”

“We are but going to the waterfront to purchase tickets to St. Louis.”

“Yus, sir.” The man alighted to heave the trunk into the back. MacDonald had already placed it in there.

They had just enough time to go from the stage line in Houston to the waterfront and book passage on a steamer to New Orleans. MacDonald hefted the steamer trunk and guided her up the gangplank to the main deck. She barely noticed the smell of the sea, the piled up bales of cotton and the oil smell coming from them. Once they were in their cabin, Anna revived.

“I've never been on a ship. Does everyone get seasick?”

“Nay, but then this tis nay really the ocean. We are in the Gulf of Mexico and twill go directly to New Orleans. If a storm twere to come in, the waters could be rough, but that does nay happen this time of the year.”

“How did you find that out?”

“Herman and I twould travel to St. Louis with our furs. He and Mrs. Rolfe lived there and the people in St. Louis kenned the way of the Mississippi and the Gulf.”

“Ach, ja, I had even met Mrs. Rolfe at church before they married. I did not know then we would be neighbors.”

A horn blew, then a whistle, and they felt the movement of the ship. “We have some time ere they serve the supper. This tis nay one of the fancy steamers we twill board in New Orleans, but, Mrs. MacDonald, twould ye care to take a turn on the deck or a turn in bed?”

She smiled at him. “Mr. MacDonald, I did not know you were so formal.”

“Formal be damned woman.” His white teeth flashed and he began disrobing. “This shall be a trip we remember.”

Anna could not argue with him. Work would be waiting for them when they returned and his work might take him away for long periods of time. Once they were in New Orleans they would take a riverboat up to St. Louis. There Mr. MacDonald planned to rent a buggy and horses for the drive to Papa's farm. She felt MacDonald was spending too much money, but she wanted to see her father. It would probably be the last time in her life. Letters from Kasper and Gerde to various family members were packed in their trunk. For them it was a trip that would never happen.

That night after the love making, MacDonald had started to roll to the side and Anna rolled with him. She put her head on his chest and hugged. Somehow she had to convey how much she loved him and how safe she felt with him. That in this marriage they were truly one flesh.

His arms tightened around her. “Anna, my love, do ye ken what ye have just given me?”

She raised herself enough to look at him. “What?” I've done nothing different she thought.

“Thalians can transfer emotions between each other by hugging or touching. Just now I felt yere love for me from here,” and one forefinger touched her forehead, “and from here.” This time the forefinger touched the area of her heart. “Tis a sensation denied me all these years.”

* * *

The pier in St. Louis was crammed with goods and laborers scurrying to unload or load. The smells were different as the bales and bales of cotton were absent. The odors of corn, oats, wheat, hops, wood, coal, iron, and hemp predominated. Farms and factories from states in the Midwest and those in the Northeast had sent their merchandise to be distributed southward. The grain, goods, and people were loaded unto all types of river craft to make the trip down the huge river. Once again MacDonald hailed a vehicle to take them to a hotel.

“Shouldn't we just rent a buggy and go to my father's home?”

“Nay, first I wish to show ye some of St. Louis, and mayhap, ye can order that sewing machine ye want.” He smiled at her. “And I wish to be someplace where it tis nay so crowded. Dinna ye say yere fither had five children?”

“Ja, but they are expecting us.” Anna was already calculating the cost in her mind. There was no controlling this man.

“We twill go tomorrow or the next day.”

The steamer was placed in the back of the buggy. “Once we are checked into the hotel, we shall go by the American Fur Company's mart. It tis something I wish to show ye. There are cobblers located in that area to make decent boots and shoes for the two of us. They twill be ready for us when we leave.”

The room was much larger than the cabin and MacDonald gave a huge sigh. “The bed tis nay large enough, but at least we twill nay be twisted up like a coiled rope.”

Anna realized that he meant the beds were small for her also. They had ordered a special bed frame for their bedroom in Texas. She planned to make the mattress with heavy cotton batting. Until then, a straw tick would do.

For MacDonald the fur trading market was a disappointment. The smells of oil and tanned furs, woolen blankets, gear of all kinds made from leather, cotton, twine, iron, wool clothing, bolts of cheap cotton were there, but he no longer knew any of the clerks running to and fro and somehow they did not seem as frantic as a few years ago.

“Come, we twill visit a cobbler, find a place to order a sewing machine, and dine before retiring. That way we shall be able to leave early in the morning.” He paused.

“I forgot that ye lived here too. Is there ought that ye wish to see?”

“No, nothing except the church, but we'll attend that Sunday.”

They passed out into the bright sunshine. A drunken man reeling down the street stopped in front of them.

Tasker Thomas had been on the sidelines of the fur trade. When it ended he had become a laborer on the docks and continued to blow any pay on booze. His pate was bald and his teeth few. His clothes showed that he spent far more on drink than on them. He took one look at MacDonald and bellowed.

“Hey, Mac, where yu been? Aint seen yu in a coon's age.” He swayed back and forth grinning at them. “Hell, beggin' yore pardon, ma'am,” for he had seen the annoyance cross MacDonald's face, “I heered yu and Rolfe either got killed off by the Injuns or were still huntin' fur in Mexico. It's me, Tasker Thomas. Used to do some packin' on mules into the rendezvous. Yu couldn't spare a few coins for the old days, now could yu?”

MacDonald didn't remember the man and the rum smell was almost overpowering, but he smiled and pulled out a couple of coins to drop in the man's hand.

“Aye, that I do for an acquaintance from the eld days. Friend Rolfe and I are now ranchers. Good day to ye.” With that he grasped Anna's arm and they marched to the nearest cobblers shop.

Thomas stared after them and shrugged. Damn trappers. They always did have a high and mighty opinion of themselves. He stared at his bottle. Damn, almost empty. He stared at his hand holding two half dimes. Just enough for another drink. He staggered down the street in the other direction and almost ran into a woman charging out of a store with a bundle wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. Only someone this big couldn't be a woman, could it? But it wore skirts.

He stepped down into the street to take a better look. For a moment his eyes cleared and it was like looking at Mac. Straight dark hair, 'course hers was covered by some hat that didn't fit right, the same square face with the straight nose, the upper lip thin, but the bottom lip full. Her upper body was outlined by the tight blouse. The woman had biceps on her like a man. Hell, bigger than a man's.

“Hey, lady, I just saw somebody who looks just like yu, but he had on trousers. Bet if yu had 'em on, yu'd look just like a man.” This was so funny he began laughing and slapping his knee.

The woman brought up her free left arm in a huge sweeping arc and swatted him to the side like he was an annoying insect. He landed in the mud rutted street, scrambling for his lost bottle, hiccupping and cursing.

For her part, she stepped to the wagon, placed her foot on the board, and boosted herself up on the seat with the driver.

“To home, Charles.”

“Yes, Missus Gordon.”

This was the finest job he and his wife Ruth had ever had. It didn't matter that his name was Charlie and not Charles and that Mrs. Gordon referred to a house as home or rolled her r's. She could use any words she wanted. She paid decent wages and provided a house to live in. He and Ruth had saved enough to buy a small home and rent it out. If Mrs. Gordon ever quit running a fancy place for men to bring women, he and Ruth would still have a house to live in. Mrs. Gordon could talk as strange as she liked.