Indigo Blue (30 page)

Loretta rubbed industriously with the towel, then held up the saucer she was drying to study her reflection in its shining well. “Jake’s a good man—strong and handsome and seems easy to get along with. Many a girl would be thrilled to marry him.”

Indigo stared at the sudsy dishwater. With trembling fingers, she grasped a bubble and popped it. “I’m not any girl, and this marriage has ruined my life.”

Loretta grabbed up another saucer. “What’s done is done, Indigo. Make the best of it. It’s time for you to forget your childhood dreams and face life, not as you wish it to be, but as it is. Stop fighting what you can’t change. It’ll only bring you heartache.”

“Do you think this marriage won’t bring me heartache? You say not to fight what I can’t change, as if I’m behaving immaturely. Well, let me tell you something, Ma. I faced the things I couldn’t change long ago, and I accepted them. Now you’re telling me to be something I can’t be.”

Loretta turned saddened eyes toward her. “You should do your best and start preparing to be a fine wife.”

“I can try till the day I die and never be the kind of wife any white man would want.” Indigo grabbed her mother’s hand. “Look at my skin next to yours.”

Loretta curled her fingers around Indigo’s. “Your skin is beautiful. If you’re concerned because you’re darker than most, try rinsing your face and hands with lemon water. I’ve heard it will bleach the effects of the sun. It might work for you.”

Indigo turned back to the dishes. “Sun didn’t do it.”

“Are you ashamed of that?” Loretta asked.

The question left Indigo feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of her. “I’m proud of what I am—you know that.”

“Then act like it,” Loretta replied firmly. “Be the beautiful girl you are and stop hiding behind stained buckskins and that awful old hat. Your leather skirts and dresses are fine for Wolf’s Landing, but they won’t do where the ladies are decked out in flounces and ruffles.”

Hiding? Her mother thought she was hiding? Feeling oddly disoriented, Indigo reeled her thoughts back into line and attempted to concentrate on the conversation. Flounces and ruffles? In all her vivid imaginings of the world beyond the mountains, she hadn’t considered what sort of clothing she’d be forced to wear.

Somehow, she managed to finish the dishes, listening all the while to her mother prattle about patterns she’d seen in
Harper’s Bazaar
and how nicely this or that bolt of fabric would work up. Indigo headed for home with visions of corsets and petticoats and lemons swimming in her head.

Feeling drained, she knelt by the bed to begin the penance Father O’Grady had given her in confession, three rosaries. She felt that was more than fair, and fully intended to say an extra round of Hail Marys for good measure, just in case her mother’s God was good at division. Sometimes, Father O’Grady was too lenient. Three rosaries went into seventeen lies five times, with two left over. She wanted to make sure there were no taints left on her soul. Lies were mortal sins, and Father claimed lying to her husband was about the worst kind she could do.

Two hours later, the ache in Indigo’s chest was rivaled by a new ache in her knees. Three rosaries required a powerful lot of praying, especially when she kept forgetting where she was and had to start over.
Dresses
.
Ladies decked out in flounces and ruffles. Lemon water.
Indigo’s throat tightened, and tears filled her eyes. She was sorry for lying to Jake, she truly was, and if she didn’t do her penance, she was sure as rain going to be eternally damned. But what difference did it make? Going to hell couldn’t be worse than the punishment her life had become.

The rosary slipped from her fingers, and she dug her fists into the bedding. The soft chenille made her think of Lobo’s fur. She pressed her face against it and wept, tortured by images of a few days past when he had trotted beside her through the woods. She bent her body over the edge of the mattress. She felt as if a hundred little knives were slashing her innards.

A deep yearning filled her, not just for the wolf but for all he had represented. She imagined the shadows of the woods and could almost hear the wind whispering to her. How could she live the rest of her life confined? How would she bear month after month of not hearing her heart’s song, of not feeling the breeze against her skin? Why, oh why, had her father done this to her? He of all people understood her affinity with the wild and her aversion to confinement. Why had he made her marry a white man who would never be able to comprehend how she felt?

She pushed to her feet, driven by a primal need. Jake’s face was a blurred image. His orders that she stay in the house had become meaningless whispers. All that seemed real was her hunger to be embraced by those things familiar and dear to her.

Just this one last time. . . .

 

Jake looked up from the sluice to see Father O’Grady. Mud streaked the priest’s cassock, and his plump cheeks were red with exertion from the steep climb. Well aware that a man in Father’s physical condition wouldn’t willingly embark on such a grueling walk, Jake’s first thought was that something awful had happened.

“Is Indigo all right?”

Fighting for breath, the priest nodded.

“Has Hunter taken a bad turn?” Jake peeled off his gloves.

“No one’s come to harm, Jake me man, but there is a matter of some importance I must discuss wit’ ye.” With one hand clamped to his chest, the priest huffed for breath. “I’ll be leavin’ today, ye see, so I’d be appreciative if ye could give me a moment of yer time. In privacy, if ye can arrange it.”

Jake gestured at the surrounding woods. “We’ve got a whole mountain at our disposal.”

Still out of breath, the priest nodded. “Just so long as ye lead me downhill, lad, and not up.”

Jake led Father to a little clearing where he frequently escaped to eat his lunch. Bearing in mind the priest’s penchant for yelling, Jake judged this spot to be far enough away from the mine to afford them some privacy. With a shaky sigh, the priest collapsed onto the fallen log where Jake usually sat. Jake, though concerned about what might be wrong, refrained from pressing for answers until the older man got his breath.

Finally Father spoke. “’Tis not my habit to break a confidence, understand, and I’d never divulge a word said to me by anyone during a confession.”

Jake nodded, growing more perplexed by the moment.

The priest threw Jake a distressed glance. “This is a circumstance, however, where I have become privy to information during a conversation, and though ’tis essentially breakin’ a trust, I feel I can do naught else. Hunter is bedridden. His son and Swift are gone. There’s no one but me to take ye to task.”

“To task?”

The priest swelled his chest and fastened fiery blue eyes on Jake’s. “I’ll admit it’s me hope to avoid unpleasantness, lad, but don’t let me age and this collar of mine fool ye. In me day, I was a fine boxer. And if ye get me dander up, I can still execute a fancy step or two.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Father, are you threatening to kick my ass?”

“What’s that ye say?”

Jake leaned closer and boomed, “Are you threatening to kick my ass?”

The priest reared back a bit. “Ye won’t be intimidatin’ me by gettin’ in me face. If the only way to settle this is with our fists, then so be it. God will surely be my champion.”

Jake couldn’t believe his ears. “What have I done?”

O’Grady narrowed an eye. “That’s what I’m hopin’ to discover. The wee lass came to me in great distress, she did! And I demand ye mend yer ways. ’Tisn’t right for a man of yer stature to be harsh with a girl who’s so defenseless against ye.”

Jake digested that. In a loud voice, he replied, “I can’t agree more. Would you care to divulge how I’ve been harsh?”

The priest jutted his chin. “Bein’ the loyal little miss that she is, she just blushed and wouldna say. But I’m sure ye must know. Ye’re the cause of her fall from grace, after all.”

Jake focused on the revelation that his wife had fallen from grace. In his estimation, it would be a mighty long tumble. “Did she actually say I had been harsh with her?”

“She didn’t have to. I’ve a nose for trouble after all these years. When a lass who’s confessed to lying a half-dozen times in all her life tells me she’s lied to her husband seventeen times in five short days, I start askin’ questions.”

At that, both of Jake’s eyebrows shot up. “Seventeen times? She’s lied to me seventeen times? That’s—”

“Three to four times a day,” the priest finished.

Jake eyed the priest with growing alarm. “Has she been sneaking off into the woods while I’m at work? If she has, Father, you’d better tell me. She could get hurt.”

An angry flush crept up Father O’Grady’s neck. “Do ye truly believe a lass who’s lied six times in all her life would disobey ye?” The priest’s brogue thickened apace with his building anger. “Ye’re a blind, hardhearted man, Jake Rand, if ye don’t be knowin’ what a good sweet girl she is. Sneakin’ off to the woods! Hmph. She’d ne’er do such a thing.”

“What has she lied to me about then?”

“That’s what alarms me!”

“I can see you’re alarmed, Father, and now so am I. Would you mind making your point?”

“I’ll be makin’ it. Just let me do it in my own way. ’Tis no easy thing, ye understand. After our conversation, the lass made her confesson. I’m walking a very fine line here. I must weigh every word carefully. Before I proceed, I’ll have yer word that ye’ll not be punishin’ the girl for what she’s told me.”

Jake slapped his gloves against his jeans. “How in hell can I promise that? It depends on what it is she’s done.”

“’Tis not what
she’s
done that worries me. And ye can stop with those gloves. Ye look like ye’re warming up to go home and be harsh again. If ye do, I’ll have yer hide, Jake Rand, God is my witness.”

Jake gave an incredulous laugh. “What in God’s name has she told you? I’ve never laid a hand on her!”

“Do I have yer word ye won’t punish her?”

Jake raked a hand through his hair. “Only if I have your word she hasn’t been up to something where she might get hurt.”

“Ye have that.”

“Then I won’t punish her.”

Father straightened his shoulders. “Yes, well . . . now, where was I?”

For the life of him, Jake couldn’t recall.

Father held up a hand. “Oh, yes. I was tellin’ ye she came to me in tears, saying she’d lied to ye. Seventeen is no small number and was indicative to me of a serious problem, so I felt compelled to ask the nature of the lies. She explained she’s told ye seventeen times that she wasn’t afraid of ye, when in truth she was.” He hardened his jaw. “I want to know what ye’ve been doin’ to terrify the poor wee thing.”

For a moment, Jake was so taken aback that he just stood there in stunned amazement. Then he threw back his head and barked with laughter. When his amusement ebbed, he said, “She confessed to that? I can’t believe it!”

“We’ll be leavin’ her confession out of this, thank ye. And I’ll remind ye ’tis no laughing matter. Ye’ve got the lass so intimidated she’s even afraid to admit to ye that she’s afraid! How can ye find that humorous? Ye’ve got a black heart, ye have, and I ne’er woulda guessed it. It’s a first for me, bein’ so far off mark in my assessment of a man’s character.”

Jake sat on the log. “Father, if you’ll just calm down, I think I can explain.”

“So begin.”

Jake grinned and shook his head. He looked over at the priest. “Given the circumstances and the suddenness of our marriage, I haven’t as yet exercised my conjugal rights.”

“What’s that ye say?”

In a roaring voice, Jake repeated himself. Then he cringed, wondering how far his voice had carried. It was one thing to tell a priest he hadn’t yet bedded his wife, but he didn’t want the whole damned world to know. In a slightly lower tone, he added, “Indigo doesn’t really know me that well, and she’s—reluctant. I’ve been giving her time to relax around me.”

Father sniffed. “I can commend ye for that much, at least. I guess there must be some wee bit of good in ye, after all.”

Jake braced his arms on his knees and leaned forward slightly. He couldn’t help but chuckle again. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, Father, the lies Indigo told must have occurred at those times when she thought we were”—he glanced over—“in near occasion. You get my gist?”

“I’m a priest, not a moron. Go on.”

“Well, at those times, when I could see she thought I was going to—well, you know—I could also tell she was uneasy, and I either assured her she didn’t need to feel frightened or I asked if she was. In both situations, she was too proud to let me think she was scared and insisted she wasn’t.”

Father mused on that for a moment. “And that’s the truth?”

Jake nodded. “Do I really look like the kind who’d mistreat a woman, Father?”

O’Grady sighed. “No, Jake me man, ye don’t. I was sore disappointed in ye. Filled with guilt, I was, to think I’d been so fooled by ye and that I sanctioned the marriage.” A twinkle crept into his faded blue eyes. “So that’s how all this came about. I’ve told Hunter a hundred times if I’ve told him once that pride would be his downfall. He canna understand how being prideful leads to sin. Now we have a fine example of it.”

Jake narrowed an eye. “Father, if you think those harmless little fibs Indigo told me are sins, I’m never becoming a Catholic. You’d swallow your teeth during my first confession.”

The priest smiled. “Yes, well, it’s all a matter of conscience, ye see. A man who has ne’er been taught that murder is wrong could kill and go to heaven. But Indigo, believin’ as she does that a wee fib is a black lie, could be eternally damned for the tellin’.”

“Do you truly believe that?”

“No, I think God will throw the gates wide when He sees the wee lass comin’, but ’tis not what I believe that counts. To her, ’tis serious business.” His eyes warmed with affection. “On yer wedding day, she told a lady her ugly dress was pretty. During our conversation she expressed her concern that she may be becoming a compulsive liar.” Father narrowed an eye. “I’m tellin’ ye this only because I think ye ought to know how deep to heart the lass takes the commandments. There’s no such thing to her as a wee white lie, ye understand. Her father has taught her that every word she utters must be the exact truth.”