Heart of a Dove (19 page)

We continued to stare at one another in the faint light of the banked fire; his hair was loose, though he was wearing a shirt. He was wearing all of his clothes, down to his boots, and he had been sleeping just outside of my tent in the darkness. I heard myself whisper, “It’s about to rain.”

He rose to one elbow and said softly, “The awning’s out. I didn’t mean to scare you. We decided to take turns sleeping outside your tent. Gus would have told you, but you were asleep…” His voice trailed away, into silence.

My heart was so loud in my ears I felt certain that he could hear it. As though in response, thunder growled in the heavens, rain scattering over the canvas awning stretched above our heads. That they would all be willing to do such a thing was almost more kindness than I could bear. I whispered, wishing my words had the power to convey even part of what I was feeling, “Thank you. You don’t have to do this.”

He shook his head, as though this act of incredible thought was nothing, and then, deducing why I had been crawling out of my tent in the first place, he whispered, “I’ll walk with you.”

“Thank you,” I whispered again, so confused. I could not seem to conjure the wherewithal to look away from his eyes. I realized, belatedly, that I was wearing only my shift and I crossed my bare arms instantly over my breasts.

He rose gracefully, breaking the contact of our eyes, catching up the blanket he’d been using as a pillow and draping it politely over my shoulders. He whispered, “Here, you’ll freeze,” and then offered me his hand, as I was still kneeling. If he had been Malcolm or Angus, even Boyd, I wouldn’t have hesitated; but it was Sawyer, and I did. I caught the blanket with my left hand, holding it secure between my breasts, and then put my right hand into his, so warm as it closed around mine, strong and hard. I felt stunned by the contact, brief though it was. He lifted me to my feet and then led the way around the side of the tents, towards the river. I followed close behind, the ground unpleasantly wet on my bare feet, rain spattering our heads. He halted abruptly and turned to tell me, “I’ll be right here.”

I nodded, blinking at the rain in my eyelashes. I slipped away and found a tree to crouch behind; he’d turned his back, though I was nearly invisible in the rain and the darkness as it was. Lightning flared in the western sky, backlighting toppling stacks of clouds, and I shivered as I hurried back up to him.

“Come,” he said, as the rain began sheeting over us. Once back under the awning before my tent, we stood staring at one another, this time with wet hair leaching water down our backs. His clothing and the blanket he’d been using were streaked with rain, all on account of me. The ground was damp, even under the awning, and I couldn’t bear to think of him continuing to lie there.

“Thank you very much,” I whispered, meaning to go back to bed, though I found I couldn’t quite make myself look away from his eyes. I said softly, “And please, I’m not frightened. You needn’t sleep here. The ground is so uncomfortable.”

“I’ve slept in plenty worse places,” he said. His eyes held mine as he added, “Truly, Lorie, I don’t mind.”

My name again. His voice was deep and throaty, and it made my toes curl against the damp ground. My heart continued to thrash against my ribs. I tried to draw a breath and forced myself to move towards the entrance of the tent, whispering, “No, you—” but my words were abruptly cut off as I stepped down onto something sharp. I gasped in surprise and bent forward, towards the sudden stinging on the bottom of my foot.

Sawyer caught my upper arms; I was still wrapped in the blanket. He demanded in a whisper, “What’s wrong?”

“My foot,” I whispered, clenching my jaw at the pain.

“Inside,” he decided, low. “I can’t see anything out here.” So saying, he moved swiftly to untie the rest of the entrance to my tent and drew me within.

“Have a seat,” he whispered, before ducking back outside. I did, on the bedding, immediately drawing my right foot onto my lap and feeling cautiously along its length. My fingertips bumped what felt like a long, sharp splinter, sunk deeply into the soft skin just above the heel. It hurt so badly I made a sound; Sawyer re-entered bearing the lantern that had been hanging near the fire pit, now lighted. In its meager glow he knelt without hesitation and set the lantern at an angle to best inspect my foot.

“May I?” he asked quietly.

I was in too much pain to worry about propriety, not to mention my own embarrassment, and let him take my ankle into his hands. Again the warmth of him stunned my senses. Gently he inspected the damage and said, “It’s just the one piece. Hold still.”

He caught it between one finger and thumb and deftly slipped the jagged splinter from my flesh. Blood flowed wetly in its wake. He had the dishtowel from the wash basin, which he pressed immediately to my foot, winding it around and tying a secure knot.

“There,” he murmured softly and I looked away from my wound and to his face.

He was regarding me so seriously with those hawk eyes, those golden-green eyes, the glow of the candle flickering over the angles of his face from below, over the hair that hung down his back. His dark lashes were long enough to cast shadows. The blanket had fallen from my shoulders and my foot was cradled between his warm, strong hands. My gaze fell to his lips, which I had never yet witnessed smile. As before, everything inside of me surged with a desperate urgency towards him and he must have seen something in my eyes; the intensity in my blood flowed within his as well, I was certain, and I could sense the distress it was causing him, same as my own.

“Sawyer,” I whispered, just to speak his name, the blood hot and fast in my veins.

For just a split second his hands tightened around my ankle. I wanted to beg him to say what was in his eyes.

Thunder cracked above our heads, vibrating through the ground and into us. He blinked then, seeming to come back to his senses. He looked down immediately, away from my eyes, and gently set my foot on the ground. He said quietly, “Keep that bound until morning and we’ll look at it then.”

Though I had less than no right to feel such, disappointment crushed me as he rose and collected the lantern. To keep him seconds longer I said, “Thank you again.”

He nodded, at the entrance; I’d been correct in assuming that he was tall enough he wasn’t able to stand completely straight within the tent. Just before ducking back outside and into the rain he said, “Sleep if you’re able, there are still hours before dawn.”

Then he was gone.

- 12 -

Though it seemed improbable, I did sleep after Sawyer left my tent, waking again when the sounds of activity from outside met my ears and intruded upon my dream. I rolled to the opposite side and tried to keep the sweetness of the dream in my mind, but it melted away as butter on a griddle, irretrievable. I wrapped into my own arms, looking up at the central beam of the tent, which was glowing with morning sun.

“Tarnation, Lorie, you awake yet?” Malcolm demanded, just outside the tent, and I smiled.

“I am, good morning,” I said.

“Sawyer said you-all had a right adventure last night,” the boy said. “Now maybe you’ll wear your boots, huh, Lorie? Are you coming or what?”

“I’ll be out directly,” I told him, hurrying to brush and braid my hair.

“Good,” he said.

When I emerged I saw that it was well into morning; surely Angus had decided we should camp an additional night here. I was more than happy to do so, not eager to reach the presence of other people. No one but Malcolm was in sight; he sat on his heels at the fire, which was no more than a pile of glowing embers, the coffee pot and a covered pan occupying all the space on the grate.

“Hurry an’ eat,” he urged.

“Where is everyone?” I asked.

He shrugged as though unconcerned. “Gus rode out an hour ago, as we saw cookfire smoke on the horizon. He ain’t yet back, and the boys are shaving, probably. They just lit out a bit ago to swim an’ such. You got a splinter, huh?”

I sat as gracefully as I could manage and inspected the towel knotted around my foot. My heart stuttered as I imagined Sawyer’s hands tying it into place just a few hours ago. I said, “I stepped on a splinter, yes. After all the scolding that I’ve given you, too.” I looked over at the boy and smiled.

“Here, let’s see,” he said, moving to crouch near. “Did it bleed bad?”

I unwound the linen, smeared with my blood, though the wound was reasonably scabbed over by morning’s light. “Aw, that ain’t so bad. Now hurry, Lorie, an’ eat up an’ then let’s swim a bit! Gus said we could stay another night here, as it’s so pleasant, an’ then our tents’ll dry out.”

I felt an unexpected joy at the prospect of swimming. Not long after, Malcolm and I made our way down the river bank. All of the horses, with the exception of Admiral, were grazing in the sun just beyond camp. I walked with careful, deliberate steps, clutching another linen and a cake of soap; if nothing else, I meant to wash out my hair. Malcolm led the way along a small, natural path; perhaps fifty yards from our camp, the river curved to the right and widened even more, the bank sloping gracefully and creating a flat, rocky beach, shaded by willows and cottonwoods. I was admiring the view when I realized Malcolm had stripped bare, and I squeaked in surprise. Naked, unconcerned, he splashed into the water and swam to the middle, his dark head sleek as an otter.

“Come on!” he called to me.

“Malcolm! I can’t…I haven’t…”

“You needn’t undress,” he called, as though to reassure me. “Your clothes’ll dry!”

That was true enough; after last night’s storm, the air felt washed clean, the sky softly blue with only a few thin, fair-weather clouds floating high above us. I couldn’t reckon swimming in a full-length skirt; I looked back towards camp, but no one was in sight. A minute later I had shucked my blouse and skirt, leaving my knee-length shift. I waded to mid-thigh; the water was cold, flowing over a sandy bottom. I stood still, gathering courage to submerge myself, watching as minnows swarmed my ankles. Perhaps we could fish here; the prospect of fried fish was almost too wonderful to contemplate. Dalton and Jesse had taught me to handle a fishing pole when I was only a little girl.

Malcolm dove under and swam my way; when he surfaced his dark eyes were wicked and he kicked his toes violently, sending arcs of water over me. I shrieked, laughing, and ducked under instantly. The water was icy-cold but I grew rapidly accustomed, keeping my body modestly submerged to my shoulders, my shift swirling under the water like weeds, clinging to my thighs. I would not even consider the notion of swimming bare, as I had as a child. I ducked my head and let the water flow over my face, my hair. It felt so good; when I surfaced, Malcolm was floating on his back, arms extended. When he saw me, he executed a roll and his bare bottom flashed like two slim loaves of white bread.

“Boy! I know you ain’t naked in the presence of a lady!” Boyd hollered then, and I whipped around to spy him on the far bank, shirtless and damp, a towel around his neck, cup of coffee in hand. He called cheerfully, “Morning, you two!”

“Aw, Boyd, I ain’t getting my clothes wet!” Malcolm justified, and his brother laughed heartily.

“I hope your sensibilities ain’t easily offended!” Boyd called to me. “You wouldn’t think it, but back in the War we’d find time to swim now an’ again. What a sight, fifty of us soldier boys, all naked as jaybirds under the sun.” He chuckled and drank from his cup.

Sawyer walked along the path behind Boyd; he was fully clothed. His hair was damp, tied back and hanging down his spine. All of the blood within me suddenly lit as though with a striking match; I sank to the tip of my nose, watching him, my stomach weightless. He paused by Boyd, also holding his coffee cup, and braced himself with one arm on a branch above his head. His eyes came to rest on me, lingering, before he looked at Malcolm and called, “Kid, you are something else.”

Malcolm giggled, splashing at the two of them. He hollered again, “I ain’t getting my clothes wet!”

“Gus is riding in,” Boyd said. “An’ Lorie-girl, don’t you be stepping on no more sharp things!”

I flushed and ducked fully under; when I surfaced they were headed back to camp, though as I watched, Sawyer looked briefly over his shoulder.

Malcolm and I swam for another quarter hour, until his lips were blue and trembling and I could hardly feel my fingers.

“You get out first,” I instructed. “And would you be so kind as to fetch my dry shift?” I only had two and would hang the one I was wearing on the line to dry.

“Surely will,” he said, and splashed to the shore, gave himself a cursory drying and then scrambled into his abandoned clothes. After he’d darted back to camp I swam over and fetched the soap cake, using it to wash my face, my neck, scrubbing under my shift and then rinsing. I was washing my hair when he returned, calling, “Lorie, hurry! Gus met another family!”

My heart plummeted at this news; though I could not expect for us to continue traveling without human contact for any great length of time. I called, “I’ll be along shortly!”

I stalled, unwilling to hear about the proximity of strangers. I dried and dressed, then finger-combed my hair before braiding its length. It did feel marvelous to be clean. Barefoot, I walked with care, hearing them talking excitedly as I neared. I could smell coffee and, surprisingly, frying bacon.

“Lorie! We’ve neighbors,” Malcolm heralded as I joined them. All four were sprawled in their usual places around the fire, under the awning before my tent.

“Good morning,” Angus said, smiling at me as he poured a cup of coffee and held it out for me.

“Good morning,” I returned, accepting the cup and then smoothing my skirt to sit near Malcolm, in my usual spot. I found I couldn’t quite look at Sawyer, though I was vividly aware of him, just to the left. He was drinking coffee, his left forearm resting on his bent knees. He didn’t quite look my way either; though it had been clamoring for attention in my mind since it happened, I was struck with the thought of crawling over him and the way he’d caught me against his chest.

“Lorie, there’s a family just a half-mile or so from here. They have a boy my age,” Malcolm said gaily, and I focused upon him.

“Their name is Spicer,” Angus informed, setting down his cup to stretch.

“Lorie, you want some?” Boyd asked, opposite me, nodding at the sizzling meat.

“Where did we get bacon?” I asked.

“The Spicers sent it along,” Angus said. “They are bound for Independence, out of Illinois. They’ve five children. They invited us to visit later this evening, and they need help today, repairing an axle. Boyd, I thought you and I might ride over. I know you’ve a good hand with such.”

“Sure thing,” he said, helping himself to the meat and then nodding at my plate.

I lifted it towards him before asking Angus, “Have we a fishing pole?”

He said, “Not as such, but all we’d need is a sapling. I’ve hooks and line, both.”

“You plannin’ to catch us some dinner?” Boyd teased me, loading my plate.

“Lorie, would you care to join us? Mrs. Spicer said she would relish talking with a woman,” Angus asked, and my heart sank with dismay. Angus saw it in my eyes, as his own became instantly concerned, and I decided I must be honest.

I swallowed, the succulent bacon suddenly as dust in my throat. Gathering my courage, I said, “I…” How best to phrase what so concerned me? They were all watching me expectantly. I lifted my chin and said, “I won’t have anyone judging any of you because you’re traveling with me.”

I looked at Angus as I spoke, but I sensed the collective surprise that my words occasioned. Angus’s eyes changed as understanding dawned. He didn’t speak at first, as though considering a suitable response, at last saying gently, “You are far too quick to worry yourself. Though I’ll admit that I have given our circumstances some thought, for I won’t have anyone judging you, my dear. We talked a bit last night, when you were sleeping, and if you are willing—”

“Then you’ll be my sister!” Malcolm crowed, his eyes dancing. “I wanted to tell you first thing, but I promised I’d wait!”

“We agreed that perhaps it would make the most sense if we claim that Boyd and Malcolm are your brothers,” Angus concluded.

Boyd was grinning, and he said, “Aw, Mama would be so happy. She did long for a daughter something fierce.”

That they would be so willing to take my reputation into consideration was a blessing I could hardly comprehend. It was almost too much to bear, this gift of a family, even one not related by blood.

“Sister! I have a sister!” Malcolm yelped, his dark eyes twinkling.

I told him, “I
have
missed having brothers,” and set my plate aside just in time, as Malcolm lunged and hugged me.

We finished breakfast; it was my turn for dishes, and so I lingered behind as Angus and Boyd walked to the river’s edge, chatting, and Malcolm ducked into his tent for something. Sawyer rose and spoke directly to me for the first time since early this morning in my tent. He asked quietly, “How is your foot?”

I had just knelt to pick up the wash basin, about to walk to the water to fill it, but at his words looked up; as always, when confronted directly with those eyes, my heart absolutely pulsated. I stared shamelessly, absorbing every last detail of him in the day’s light: his incredibly wide shoulders and powerful arms, his long-legged and effortlessly graceful stance, his face with its high cheekbones and the hollows beneath, his dark lashes and steady eyes. And his unsmiling mouth, with a sensual lower lip, slightly fuller than the upper.

“Much better,” I said, somewhat surprised that I was even able to speak coherently.

“Good,” he said softly. He continued studying me, until I was afraid that my heart might beat free of my ribs.

“Lorie, you’ll join us today, won’t you?” Malcolm called, bursting out of his tent, and Sawyer and I drew our gazes away from one another.

“Here, let me,” Sawyer said, leaning to scoop up the basin in one hand. I watched him carry it towards the river before I realized that Malcolm was anxiously awaiting a response.

I said, “I think I might stay here and see if I can catch us some fish.”

His bottom lip protruded in a pout. “Aw, that sounds right fun.”

“You can join me,” I said, focusing on keeping my eyes on Malcolm and not Sawyer as he returned up the bank with the wash basin full of water.

“I would, just, but I aim to meet the new folks,” Malcolm told me, hopping from one foot to the other, unable to remain still for more than seconds at a time.

“Thank you,” I told Sawyer as he deposited the basin near me.

He nodded and then moved to join the men, settling his hat atop his head. I scrubbed at the dishes as they talked near the river and Malcolm danced around me, excited at the prospect of company. I listened with half an ear, trying to concentrate on the mindless task of washing cups and plates, finding myself utterly unable. Instead, I heard Mama’s low, clear voice dictating, “Desire
,
Lorie,” absurdly, as she would never have chosen such an unseemly word from the thesaurus. Still, my mind dutifully dictated,
Desire. Synonyms include: longing, wishing, craving, yearning, wanting.

Before Ginny’s, all I knew of desire came from reading the poetry in my school primers. I’d had no real idea what it meant, despite the flowery language of such poets as Coleridge or Shakespeare. After, as a prostitute, I had playacted it countless times, as though upon some fictitious stage, my bed and occasionally the ladder-backed chair in my room as the central props. I knew, with no false modesty, that I had been good at my job, simply because I learned to act. Long ago I had assumed desire was simply dead inside of me; more likely, it had never existed. I could not claim the death of it within my body, my heart, because that would suggest I had once known it and could therefore mourn its passing. Perhaps, I had reasoned years ago, it wasn’t something that a whore deserved to know, let alone experience. Presumably, this was related to her survival.

But now, as I worked just a few yards from where Sawyer was standing in the sun, his back to me, I was blindsided by the force of it, shocked by its seemingly fathomless depths within me, in my body and soul that I had assumed incapable, utterly void of such feelings.

You are a whore
, I reminded myself then.
You may not work as one any longer, but none of these men deserves even a former whore. You will never acknowledge that you feel this way, ever. Do you hear me?

I pulled my eyes from Sawyer and bit my bottom lip, hard. They were kind to me, provided for me for now, and that was certainly more than I should even hope for.