Lord of Misrule Page 4
"Oh, Lulu, I still do. But one thing I did learn at Seminary was that I'm not the sort to go out and fight to save the world. Some of the others were...are. You'll hear of them someday, I'm sure. But I'm not like that. I'll be happy as a rancher's wife, and in between raising his children and keeping his house, I'll do my small part at making the world a brighter place." She looked at the disappointment on Lulu's face, and took her hands. "I promise you, Lulu. I'll do something worthwhile."
Lulu nodded, but Katie could tell she was still troubled. "What?" she said. "Something else is bothering you."
"Are you pregnant?"
Katie felt a blush turn her cheeks bright red. She looked at her sisters, Regina avidly curious, Iris wide-eyed and expectant. And Lulu, who'd expected great things of her. She was glad she could say, "No, Lulu, I'm not pregnant. That's not why I married Luke. I love him."
"Oh, pooh," Iris said. "I wanted to be an aunt."
Chapter Five
"Well, I don't care how far it is. I'm going to have a bath." Katie pulled on the robe she'd been using. It belonged to Regina, which meant the skirt dragged on the floor about four inches, but she didn't care. It was warm and it meant she didn't have to put on her dress if she wanted to wander around at night. "You can wash in cold water if you want."
"It won't be the first time." Luke unbuttoned his long johns and stepped out of them. "I ain't wandering around in my altogether in a strange house."
As usual, Katie had to just stop and wonder. Clothed he was a good-looking man. Naked he was breathtakingly beautiful. She'd seen Greek sculptures he could have modeled for. His legs were long and lean, his hips were narrow, and his chest was well muscled and smooth, simply begging her to put her hands on him. His shaft, rising from a cluster of brilliant red curls, was...well, the only word she could think of was magnificent. "I see why you wouldn't want to wander around, not in that condition," she teased.
He turned his back. "Go have your bath," he said. "It's late."
For a moment Katie wasn't sure she'd heard right. She watched him pour water into the washbowl. "Luke, what's wrong?" she said at last. "Why are you so...so angry?"
"I ain't angry." A washrag splashed into the bowl and he reached for the soap.
Just then there was a thump on the wall to his left, from the room where her sisters and Lulu were supposed to be sleeping. They weren't. A few minutes ago Katie had heard one of them laugh, and a chorus of giggles had answered. She looked at the wall, then at Luke, whose face was tight and closed.
"That's what's bothering you, isn't it? You're afraid someone will hear us if we...if we make love." If she were to be honest with him, she'd admit that the idea bothered her, too. Somehow having her sisters know what she was doing would spoil it.
"Just go take your bath, Katie. We'll talk tomorrow." Keeping his back to her, he started washing his arms and chest.
"Tomorrow! Why can't we talk tonight?" She realized her voice had risen to a screech on the last words. Taking a breath, she said, "Why don't you just come right out and say it, Luke? You hate being here. You hate my family. And you're sorry you married me." With both hands, Katie gripped the iron bedstead. "Well, I'm not pregnant--" An echo of her earlier words to Lulu.
"I'm not pregnant," she repeated, "so you can leave. I don't need you, or any man, to take care of me, and it's pretty obvious you don't want to do it anyhow. So why don't you just go!"
"Maybe I will." His voice was low, harsh. "Maybe I'm hearin' the truth from you now, Katie." Like a stalking lion, he came toward her, magnificently naked, frightening in his anger.
Katie stumbled back, until she was wedged between the edge of the bed and the night stand.
He loomed over her. "I knew you were trouble when I first saw you, standing there in the depot in Chicago. All slicked up in your fancy clothes, with that foolish little hat perched atop your head. Standing there with all the other rich swells, looking like trouble on the hoof. I should've quit right then, but I'd given my word."
With nowhere else to retreat, Katie scrambled onto the bed. She got halfway across before she turned and stared at him. "Quit? What do you mean, quit?"
"Aw, shit!"
She hardly heard the whispered words, although they verified that there was indeed something she needed to know. "Luke, what should you have quit? Tell me!"
"It's nothing, Katie. My mind was wandering."
"I don't believe you. It's something to do with me, isn't it? Did you know who I was, back in Chicago?"
"No." His mouth twisted. "Well, yeah, I knew who you were, but I didn't know anything about you." With a muttered curse, he whirled and grabbed his pants from the chair. He pulled them on and strode over to the window. After raising the shade, he leaned on the sill, head bent. A circle of fog formed where his breath struck the cold glass. "Your brother-in-law, he was worried about you, about Whitney chasing after you." Luke's voice was barely audible. "He got in touch with the Pinkertons, asked them to send a man to make sure you got to Salt Lake City safely. They didn't have anyone to spare, but my friend Mick, he asked me if I'd be interested. I told him no."
"But he persuaded you, didn't he?" Katie wondered if her heart was actually breaking, or if the pain in her chest was only burgeoning sorrow. "You were my...my bodyguard all along."
No, the pain wasn't sorrow. It was pure rage. "You took my money for doing something you'd already been paid for. And you lied to me. You lied!"
She went the rest of the way across the bed, ripping off the long robe when it caught on the wool comforter and tangled between her legs. Both fists clenched, she pounded on his bowed back. "Cheater! Liar! Bastard! I hate you!" she cried, punctuating each word with a blow, wanting to hurt him. Wanting him to ache the way she did, deep down inside.
He didn't move. After a while the red haze that filled her vision was washed away with tears and Katie collapsed into a puddle of misery.
From somewhere far above her, he spoke. "I'll be leaving in the morning. For tonight, I'll make my bed here on the floor. No sense waking up the whole house just because we can't get along."
She heard him pull the spare quilt from atop the wardrobe, listened to the rustle as he spread it on the hard floor, close to the outside wall and as far from the bed as he could get. Eventually she heard him settle onto his makeshift bed and take a deep, sighing breath.
Part of her wanted to go to him, to tell him that nothing mattered but their love. The rest of her wanted him to be as miserable as she was.
How much of what we had was a sham? Did he pretend to be interested in me because he knew I'd let him stay around? I should have known Charles would do something to make sure I'd be safe. The demented scion of a wealthy Boston family had followed her, as her brother-in-law had feared, and would have caught her--did catch her in Wyoming, but only due to her own stupidity. If Luke hadn't been watching over her, Whitney would have caught her earlier, in Council Bluffs. She'd be Mrs. Hamilton Steens Whitney III now, whether she wanted to be or not.
He tried to resist me. I was the seducer. Luke would have never gone beyond kissing, no matter how he wanted to, if I hadn't seduced him. Shame flooded her as she remembered. From curiosity, not because I loved him.
No, she hadn't loved him that first time. She'd liked him a lot. Respected him. Known he'd die trying to take care of her. A sudden shiver overcame her, and Katie realized she was still huddled on the cold, bare floor, naked as the day she was born. The room had cooled as the chimney that warmed it lost its heat.
Stiffly she rose, her muscles tight and cramped from tension and inactivity. Ignoring the robe that hung half off the bed, she crawled between the now cold sheets and curled into a ball. Across the room, she could see the mound that was her husband, stretched out against the outer wall, where the room was coldest. All he had to cover him was a single quilt, and an old, worn one, at that. She recognized it as one from her childhood, already shabby when she'd gone off to Seminary.
He'd freeze by morning.
Almost.
He had his pride. Damn little else. The money he'd been paid to guard her--your mouth is big enough to put both feet into, you fool!--the money he'd won in the poker game where he'd also acquired the asses and Lafayette, and the money she'd given him to keep Whitney at bay--there wasn't any left. Hadn't been since his enemies had taken it from him as he lay half-alive after they'd beaten the shit out of him. All they'd had between them then was the little left to Katie after she'd paid the livery stable and bought supplies they both hoped would last them to somewhere he could get work.
He'd been intending to pay her back as soon as he could find work, but her pa had found them first. Once they were married, he'd figured the less said about his assignment the better, because he just knew she'd be furious if she'd known he had been watching over her all along. She was so consarned sure she could take care of herself.
Well, she could. She didn't need him, and the sooner he got out of her life, the better off they'd both be. Good thing she wasn't pregnant, else they'd have no choice but to stay together.
What a hell on earth that would be, as they slowly grew to hate each other.
The bedclothes rustled, and Luke heard a small sniffle. He turned toward the wall and laid his forearm across his ear.
It didn't shut out her soft voice when she called his name.
For a moment, he thought about pretending to be asleep. "What?" he said, knowing she'd keep after him until he answered.
"Tomorrow's Christmas Eve. Will you...will you wait until after Christmas to go. Please?" Her voice broke on the last word, as if rent by a sob.
Christmas! He hadn't celebrated Christmas since...since when? Since before Melanie had been killed in a Bushwacker raid on their farm. That had been...must have been 1858 when he'd last celebrated the birth of the Prince of Peace. Before he'd learned the terror of war.
His ma had set a right store by Christmas, he remembered. Even in the soddy, she'd decorated, using ribbons and dried berries and strung popcorn to decorate a dry branch so that it looked festive. She'd talked Pa into planting some pines in the woodlot. "We'll have a real Christmas tree someday, Luke," she'd promised the day they'd all gone out to put the spindly little seedlings in the ground. And she'd wept when the grasshoppers had eaten all but one.
That one had still been standing, taller than he was, the day he'd gone home to a farm inhabited only by bitter memories.
Memories that still haunted him.
"Yeah," he said, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'll stay 'til after Christmas."
"Thank you." More rustling, then a sigh.
After a while he slept, shivering.
* * * *
Luke had gone out to the barn without his breakfast. When Ma asked about him, Katie admitted they'd had a disagreement. "We fight all the time," she said, forcing a smile, "like a couple of kids. Then we stomp off and simmer down and everything's fine."
This time everything wouldn't be fine, though. They'd both gone beyond childish bickering.
"Are you sure that's the pattern you want for your life, Katie? One fight after another."
She almost went into her mother's arms then, to be comforted as she had when her childish dreams failed to come true. But she didn't. If old enough to marry, she was old enough to shoulder her own troubles.
"They're never serious," she fibbed. "We sort of enjoy them." And they had, for the most part, at least the ones that didn't matter. The others, well, all married folks had to learn to adjust, didn't they?
And some failed.
"Don't worry, Ma. We'll be fine. Now, where do you want me to put these goblets?"
"On the sideboard in the dining room, I think. Silas brought a case of champagne, all the way from France." She frowned. "Aren't we supposed to have special glasses for champagne?"
"Some say you need special glasses for just about every kind of wine, but I never heard there was a law about it. Trust me. Champagne tastes just as good out of a tin cup as out of a fancy glass." Katie set the last of the tall crystal goblets on the tray. "These are beautiful. Are they the ones Ellen sent you?"
"Last Christmas," Ma agreed. "She says we need to set an elegant table if we're to live in an elegant house. She should know. Her new house sounds almost like a palace."
"It's nice," Katie said, pausing at the door, "but the best thing about it is that she's made it a home. Just like here." She went on to the dining room, where her younger sister was unfolding a long linen cloth on the table.
Regina chattered away about school and her friends and her hopes to go Back East as Katie and Ellen had. Her words flowed over Katie like so much wind, registering, but quickly forgotten. They'd just finished folding the napkins into fans when Merlin and Gabe came along the hall, puffing under the weight of a--
"My trunk! It's here! Oh, good, good, good! Take it upstairs. The room on the left at the end of the hall. Oh, heavens Regina, I won't have to borrow a dress for tonight after all." She followed the boys all the way up the stairs and into her room. "I've got something in here for everyone. And clothes. Oh! Did a crate come too? Ellen was going to send it."
"No crate," Gabe said as he dusted off his hands. "There's a trunk for your husband, too. From Chicago. I'll bring it up next." He grinned widely. "I'm glad to see you, Katie."
"Oh, Gabe, I missed you, all of you. It's so good to be home." Once again Katie realized what a handsome man he was. He looked like neither Flower nor William, yet he had something of both of them in his lean face. He did have William's height and breadth of shoulder, though, and his mother's gray eyes.
When she had been about nine and he eight, they'd vowed to marry someday. Now, seeing his gentle smile, hearing his soft voice, she almost regretted... No, he's too nice. He'd have let me walk all over him, and I'd hate that.
She dug out the key that, wonder of wonders, she hadn't lost through all her adventures, and unlocked the trunk. "The real Christmas gifts are in the crate, but here, take this package down to the parlor. There's a little something for everyone. I'm going to get my dress ready for tomorrow."
The rich purple velvet was creased, despite the tissue she'd packed it with, but most of the creases would hang out if she put it in the bathroom until she was ready to dress for dinner. Unfortunately her petticoats were in the crate, but Ma had already offered one of hers and some hoops. She doubted anyone would notice that her trail was longer than it should be, and her skirts brushed the floor. Packed under the gown were dainty lavender satin slippers, a fan of ivory and lace, and a cluster of silk violets for her hair.
Tomorrow she'd show Luke what he'd be walking away from.
Chapter Six
"Emmet says they begun havin' their feast the night before Christmas when the big 'uns was babes, so's Hattie could have a day off. She'd cook up dinner enough for a crowd, then they'd all piece on Christmas Day." Abel bit off a chaw and offered the plug to Luke.
"No, thanks." He forked another bunch of hay into the horses' feed trough. They were feeding early, because Mrs. Lachlan was serving Christmas Dinner tonight. "My folks always read us that poem about Saint Nick the night before. On Christmas morning, there were candy sticks and oranges in our stockings, no matter how tight money was. Then dinner was in the afternoon."
"That's a right nice piece of writin'," Abel said, as he held the gate for Luke. "Emmet, he read it last year. I never heard of a deer flyin' through the air, though."
They racked the pitchforks and hung the buckets on their hooks. "Ah, Abel, about tonight...well, I was wondering..." He scraped his toe across the floor, leaving a muddy trail on the splintery wood. "Do folks dress up much?"
"Dress up? Well, I guess they do. Year afore last Hattie gave me a white shirt, all wrapped up in red pap
er and tied with a bow. Gave it to me early, so's I'd look as purty as the rest of 'em." He nudged Luke with his elbow. "I even took a bath."
"I guess I ought to do that, too. Should've done it last night." He'd intended to, once the house was quiet and everybody else was through with the bathroom. Then he and Katie had started brangling, and... "You used the bathroom in the house?"
"Hell no! Got me a tub in my place. It ain't one of them fine ones like up at the big house, but I get just as clean."
Lafayette stuck his head over the end of his stall and whuffled. Luke stopped to scratch behind his ears. "Hey, boy. You getting' all fattened up? Yes, you're a fine mule. You've earned your rest." He hadn't the heart to tell Lafe that come Saturday, they'd be moving on. "Abel, could I use that tub of yours? There's just so consarned many folks in the house, and only the two bathrooms."
"Sure, but you'll have to take your turn, maybe haul in more wood for the fire. The boys are already down there scrubbin' themselves clean." With a slap to Luke's back, he said, "Let's go. If I know those younkers, they'll have my porch knee deep in water afore they're done. And Gabe's probably got his nose stuck in a book, not noticin' a thing."
They turned down the path toward Abel's cottage. "Gabe's about the same age as Katie, isn't he? Seems like a fine lad."
Abel didn't answer immediately. That was when Luke realized Abel might be even more unsure of himself around the Kings than he himself was. At least he'd come from a state where Negroes were free men, not livestock.
"I reckon he is, at that," Abel said, after they'd walked ten or twelve feet along the path. "I don't hold with mixin' of the races myself, but that Flower, she ain't all white nohow, so I guess it don't matter."