Indigo (5 page)

He asked, sounding a bit amused. "If I drink it, will you go away?"

"Hastily," she replied.

To her surprise he took the cup from her hand, but he didn't drink. Instead he placed it firmly upon the small table beside the bed. "We need to talk about this traitor."

Hester could not believe this man. "We have nothing to discuss until you are in a better condition. Look at you, a simple meal makes you break out in a fit of sweat."

Hester reached down and picked up the cup. In a calm voice she said, "Fine. Don't drink it. I shall simply put it in your food like one would for a stubborn child."

As she headed to the concealed door he growled, "You wouldn't dare."

She turned back. "If only that were true."

"Hester Wyatt!"

"I'll be back later."

Galen was still bellowing her name when the wall swung closed.

***

Hester entered with his dinner later that evening. He viewed the plate of yams and chicken suspiciously. "Is the draught in here somewhere?"

Hester did not lie. "Yes, it's in the yams if you must know."

"You're truthful, if nothing else," he stated grudgingly. He set the plate aside.

Hester wanted to rail at him when he set the plate aside, but she held her tongue. He'd eat eventually—not even the mighty Black Daniel could survive without sustenance, and with the volume of food he'd been consuming lately, she doubted he'd hold out for long. His appetite had improved markedly in the last day and a half, shockingly so to a woman who'd never had to feed a grown man of his size. He'd eaten everything she'd put before him, two helpings in most cases. She thought it too bad his personality hadn't improved as well.

"Will you be needing anything else?" Hester asked.

There would be no passengers arriving tonight, not with Shoe sniffing around. She planned on using the free evening to catch up on her correspondence with Foster, her fiance.

"You can get me some shears and get this needlework out of my side." Since this morning the stitching had been itching something awful.

"The threads will come out when it's time, not before."

"Shears, Hester Wyatt."

"Has it ever occurred to you to say please?"

"It has."

Hester thought him to be the most exasperating individual she'd ever had the misfortune to meet, and so she told him calmly, "I've seen children who've taken to the sick bed with better manners than you. Haven't you ever been laid low before?"

"No."

"Surely when you were a child?"

"I've never been sick or injured a day in my life. I've led a very charmed existence up until now, but thanks to one of your neighbors, that appears to have changed."

Hester still found his accusations offensive. "You malign us without reason, sir."

"Near death is reason enough."

She had no desire to prolong this discussion. "I will leave you to your meal."

"Running from the truth won't change matters. There's a traitor here, and the longer you deny the possibility, the more lives you place in jeopardy. Sleep well, Miss Wyatt."

Hester did not sleep well. She spent a restless night dreaming of slave catchers, dogs, and the one-eyed Black Daniel.

After returning from his predawn trek to the privy, Galen, mindful of the previous fit his hostess had thrown upon finding his shirt wet with sweat, donned a clean dry shirt from the big chest by the wall. He was now seated on the cot, breathing heavily from the exertion. He'd awakened this morning determined that today would be his last full day in bed, but his body didn't seem to cooperate. He could move around a bit better, but the ankle was still too tender to bear his full weight. The swelling in his face seemed to have lessened and he could see more clearly than he had in days. However, the threads in his side itched so fiercely he was tempted to go out and rub the spot against a tree as a bear would. Admittedly, the forced confinement had him surly as a bear. He'd been there six days. Six days too many. Snow would arrive soon, effectively shutting down his runs south until spring. If Ezra Shoe hung around for the winter, the chance to leave might never come.

Galen looked up as his hostess came into the room carrying the tray which held his breakfast.

"Good morning, Galen," she said cheerily.

He nodded, not sure if he were up to such animation so early in the day. "Good morning," he murmured.

Breakfast this morning consisted of piping hot hominy, a mound of eggs, cooked maple sugar apples spiced with cinnamon, and three fat biscuits running with melted butter. He surveyed it all and knew that when he did leave he'd sorely miss her cooking.

Hester saw him eyeing the mound of food and said, "I hope I didn't give you too much." She had awakened this morning determined not to let his dark moods sully her day. She would be pleasant no matter what.

"No, the portion is fine."

"Good, then I will return later."

"What about the shears?" he asked, looking up at her.

Hester did not want to begin the day with an argument. She said calmly, "We've already discussed that. The stitching stays until Bea says differently. If it's uncomfortable, it means you're healing."

"I know that," he replied testily, "but the damn itching is driving me mad."

Hester fished around in the pocket of her black skirt. "Bea sent this unguent. She says it will help."

He took the small silver tin from her hand, pried off the top, then sniffed at the stuff inside. "Smells female."

"Cures all," Hester replied, thinking of how he would try a saint. "Bea said to rub the salve into the skin by the stitches. Can you do it alone or do you need assistance?"

He handed her the tin without a word.

"Are you always so rude?" Hester asked.

His one good eye bore into her, but she didn't flinch. He said, "Normally, no."

"That's something," she stated, though she tended to believe he was lying.

After he unbuttoned his shirt, she put a bit of Bea's unguent on her fingertips, then sat beside him on the small cot. Forcing herself to concentrate on the wound and not on the nearness of their bodies, Hester very gently rubbed the ointment into the long line of stitches that ran below his ribs. His skin was warm, and as she added more ointment to her fingertips and continued, it became next to impossible to ignore the soft heat rising from his golden chest. That heat, in tandem with the feel of her hands gliding slowly over his firm flesh, made her acutely aware that she'd never touched a man's body with such intimacy before. She hazarded a glance up to his face and found herself being watched. She quickly lowered her eyes back to the job at hand.

Galen thought her hands held magic; her every touch brought soothing relief. He closed his eyes at one point, unable to do anything other than savor the balm flowing from her indigo hands. He knew most of the relief could be attributed to Bea's unguent, but Hester's touch seemed to have a healing effect all its own. "You're very good at this, Hester Wyatt..."

Hester continued to gently work the unguent into his skin, telling herself she was not affected by his soft pronouncement.

"I'm done now, Galen."

He'd been lying back with his eyes closed. In response to her words, the one good eye opened and held her. Her heart began to beat so fast, she felt compelled to say something, anything. "Bea says the ointment should be put on three times a day."

"Good, because I was wondering how I might bribe you into agreeing to do it again...later..." His voice was thick; the air filled with tension. Hester could feel herself becoming warm also. "I have apples to pick in the yard—"

He nodded.

She pocketed the tin of ointment and fled.

Outside, Hester ventured into the wild apple orchard behind the house.

At one time, the orchard had been her father's pride and joy and encompassed nearly two hundred well-manicured trees. When he sold himself, Katherine had no choice but to let the orchard go wild because she was unable to afford the expense of hiring a caretaker. Over the years, the branches had been pruned and nurtured only by nature. In the late fall, like now, the one hundred or so trees which remained continued to bear tart, red fruit.

Hester had picked nearly a basketful of the apples downed by the last rain, but she halted upon seeing Galen, aided by Bea's cane, come slowly hobbling in her direction. Her first instinct was to quickly scan the countryside for possible witnesses. It was not uncommon for slave catchers to be lurking amongst the trees outside houses on the Road. However, she saw nothing but the open fields of her land and the brilliant leaves of the autumn-kissed trees off in the distance. She wondered what Galen found so pressing he could not wait for her to return to the house. At least he'd had sense enough to put on the old fisherman's sweater from the chest, she noted approvingly. The air of the sunny mid-October day held the chilly warning of the winter soon to come.

He was breathing harshly when he came abreast of where she stood amongst the trees. The short walk from the house had cost him much in the way of strength.

Wondering if he had any sense at all, she told him, "I'm going to assume there's a sound reason for you to be out?"

He found a cleared stump and eased himself down. "Yes. If I stay locked in that room for one more minute, I'll go insane."

Their eyes held and Hester found herself remembering how warm his skin had felt under her fingertips. She looked away.

"Is it time for a second helping of that ointment?"

She chuckled inwardly and wondered if he possessed mind-reading capabilities. "No," she answered. "After luncheon. Then again after supper."

"Pity," he stated, looking up at her.

When he spoke again his voice was serious. "Hester, I'd like to apologize for my behavior since my arrival. You've been patient and gracious. I was raised better, even if I haven't shown it."

Hester studied his bruised face, sensing his sincerity. "Apology accepted," she replied more softly than she'd intended. Pulling herself away from the dangerous undertow she sensed in him, she busied herself with looking for more of the downed apples littering the ground. She was only interested in the ones still in relatively good shape. Most of the best fruit had been shaken down by hired hands less than two weeks ago, then taken to market to be sold, or, sold by the barrel to her neighbors who put them up for winter, turned them into pies or cooked them down to apple sauce. Hester had her own supply stashed away in barrels in her cellar, but she checked every day anyway in hopes of rescuing any fruit which might be salvageable.

As she walked around, stooping here and there to add an apple to her basket, she was very conscious of Galen. She knew he was watching her, and because he did she felt the return of that heart-racing nervousness. She told herself she was being silly, why in the world should she be as skittish as a young girl with her first beau? At twenty-four years of age, she was past the days of being rendered breathless by a man, even one as intriguing and mercurial as Galen. Yes, he was the Black Daniel, the most famous conductor on the Road, but he could also be rude, foul-tempered, and arrogant to a fault, not to mention his face, which still looked as if it had been run over by a wagon wheel. She couldn't possibly be affected by such a man.

Galen's voice interrupted her thoughts when he asked, "Who's the biggest land owner around here?"

"Jacob Aray. He settled here in '28 and has about one hundred and eighty acres." She came back and took a seat on a nearby stump then looked out over the land. "In my great-grandparents' day, the biggest land owners in the area were the Montgomery families. According to my aunt Katherine, they owned over a thousand acres on this end of the county."

"Do they still have descendants in the area?"

"No, the Montgomerys were Tories. When the Crown lost the war, the Montgomerys lost everything. They eventually emigrated to Canada with the other fleeing Tory supporters and my great-grandfather purchased some of the land."

Galen looked out over the unplowed fields and asked, "How many acres do you own?"

"About one hundred and ten."

"You don't farm?"

"No, but Mr. Hubble does on the land I lease him. At harvest time he gives me a portion of the profit. He lives about five miles east."

"Anyone nearby selling land?"

"Why? Are you looking to live amongst us traitors?"

"Maybe."

"You're jesting, surely?"

"Maybe."

He struggled up off the stump. Aided by the cane, he stood, then said, "I think I've had enough outdoors for one day."

Hester was still stunned by the possibility of him buying land somewhere nearby. She wanted to badger him with questions.

Galen sensed this, and unable to resist teasing her, asked, "Have I piqued your curiosity, Miss Wyatt?"

Hester was surprised by the smile on his battered face. "Yes, Galen, you have."

"Good," he said, chuckling softly. "Good."

Hester watched him hobble away back to the house, her questions unanswered.