Undeniable, Page 3

  “Oh?” He’d hoped his response would prompt her to explain more. She remained silent, her head bowed while concentrating on her work. Nick wasn’t willing to leave her so soon. The woman had to deserve the husband she’d married. He needed to learn something unsavory about her and asked, “How do you like camping so far? Are you looking forward to your first night sleeping outside?”

  Mrs. Bartlett focused on her work, saying, “I was able to sleep outside last night.” She paused, resting her hands on her lap.

  “So soon?” Nick blurted before thinking. “You and Bartlett packed up your wagon faster than most, I’m sure.”

  “My husband and Mr. Henry packed everything.” She swallowed. “I was asked to keep out from underfoot.” Pulling out the sticks, she began winding the string into a ball.

  Nick didn’t think unraveling her work could be a good sign. “Did you make sure they put your things in easy to find places? I know my wife was very particular when we traveled over land.”

  She stopped working for a moment and sniffed. After clearing her throat, she replied, “I didn’t have to be bothered with that. All of my things and my family’s things stay with the farm. That was part of Daggart’s deal with them.”

  Hearing her wavering admission, words failed him. If he’d forced Sally to leave her belongings behind like this, Nick doubted she’d be as calm. At a loss for how to comfort her, he said, “I suppose it’s good to travel light.”

  She scrambled to her feet, dropping everything and glaring at him. “I wanted my garden and flower seeds, wools, linens, and family heirlooms. I had treasures; now I have nothing! None of this is good! None at all!”

  Mrs. Bartlett stared at him and he gawked back, surprised by her temper. “No, ma’am, of course it’s not good.”

  For a few seconds, he gazed into her eyes as she said in a choked voice, “Heavens, you’re handsome! I’d have not recognized you by sight, only by your voice.”

  He tried to smile, but her blackened right eye and swollen cheek stopped him. Nick didn’t know what to say at first, not wanting to embarrass her. As awareness dawned in her face, he knew his expression gave away his thoughts. She bowed her head, hiding her blushing face with her sunbonnet. “Can’t blame you, ma’am, for the surprise. I’ve been told I clean up well, and I had a lot to do.”

  Fumbling, Mrs. Bartlett picked up what she’d dropped in anger. “Um hm, you’re right, you do clean up very nicely.”

  Encouraged by her, he continued, “You probably had to identify me by voice, since my prior bad smell is gone.”

  She snorted before catching herself and put a hand over her mouth. “Pardon me! I’m sorry to be so rude, but it’s true. Your odor did precede you before we met.”

  Nick grinned, pleased at hearing her amusement despite the subject matter of his smell. When she glanced up at him, his breath caught. Even bruised, those dark green eyes of hers affected him in ways he didn’t have the luxury to think about right now. He had the urge to see if he could amuse her again. “Sad to say, the laundress boiled my pants all night before burying them as a last resort.”

  Mrs. Bartlett snickered outright and retorted, “Did she do that so dogs wouldn’t mistake them for dead animals?”

  The tart comment and sly look from her uninjured eye surprised Nick, making him laugh. “No, she had to bury them deeper since wolves joined in on the hunt.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “They lured wolves into town? Good heavens!”

  He worked to keep a straight face. “Absolutely. The dirt flew for days.”

  “What? No! Days?” She smiled at him again, “Oh, you’re horrible!”

  Daggart interrupted, “What’s going on here?”

  So caught up in amusing her, Nick didn’t notice her husband until he stepped between them. Taken aback, he paused before asking, “Hello, Bartlett, how is everything in camp?”

  The other man ignored Nick. “Elizabeth, you’re talking vulgar like.” He stepped closer to her, making Mrs. Bartlett lean against the wagon. “Other women wouldn’t have been so crude. You better say sorry to Mr. Granville for what you said.”

  Afraid for her safety more than his own, Nick interjected, “That’s not necessary; I know she wasn’t serious.”

  Bartlett turned and glared at him. “What you know don’t matter. She wronged you and needs to ask for forgiveness.”

  Mrs. Bartlett’s head was bowed as she spoke. “He’s right, Mr. Granville. I’m very sorry for the insult and won’t let it happen again.”

  “That’s my Lizzy. Now fix dinner. I’m hungry.” Bartlett slapped her on the behind and then waited until she was out of earshot. “That woman is as dumb as a sod house. Good thing she’s useful, or I’d have left her on that worthless farm.”

  Unless marrying Bartlett counted, Nick doubted Lizzy matched the man’s assessment of her. Despite his disagreement, he nodded, “You could have. A woman can be a problem out there. Slows down a man.”

  Bartlett laughed and slapped Nick’s back. “Some men are like you and your brother, rich as Midas and can visit every brothel between here and there. Others, like me and most everyone else, have to bring along their own female.”

  Nick, stunned, tried to respond as Bartlett walked away. Had the man compared Mrs. Bartlett to a woman for hire? Mrs. Bartlett deserved the love and respect due a wife, not the sole use as a bed warmer. Disgusted, he got on his horse to find Sam before his temper won out over his common sense.

  Chapter 3

  Rushing from their wagon to the campfire gave Beth no time to dwell on Nick Granville’s appearance. She focused solely on cooking a midday meal that would taste better than the prior horrible breakfast.

  Neither greeted each other as Daggart sat down and took a bite of bacon. “Huh,” he said while chewing. “This ain’t burnt.” After the grudging praise, Dag held up what was meant to be a biscuit. “I can’t eat this,” and threw it in the smoldering fire.

  She nibbled on the bread and frowned. Tough and gummy. Of course they couldn’t eat the food. Even if she’d been experienced in cooking over an open fire, she’d still need her cow and at least one hen. Cooking up an egg with Dag’s bacon and using milk instead of water would have improved his meal. Beth glanced over at him rifling through the back of the wagon for something else to eat. If he’d allowed her to stop by the farm yesterday, she grumbled to herself, he’d eat better today and on down the trail. But no. Like usual, he couldn’t be told or even entertain a suggestion to do something beneficial for the both of them.

  Beth gathered their plates, forks, and tin cups while keeping her motions slow and even. She tried to find a positive about dinner to help diffuse her anger. The coffee had tasted the same as usual, one small mercy. She searched for the calmest part of the Missouri river. Kneeling, she rinsed the dishes in water where it lapped onto a small strip of the sandy bank. The breeze here blew crisp and fresh from the water’s surface. Minnows darted to and fro as she used her fingertips to scrub bacon grease from the plates. She almost enjoyed how the river smelled fishy. Would Dag have thought to bring a fishing pole? Beth shook her head. He’d shown no such foresight so far.

  Last night’s sleep had left her cold and sore. Most of the others slept under oilcloth tents of some sort. They had also used their horses’ blankets as a mattress. She shook droplets from the dishes. Seeing Daggart stiff from sleeping on the ground gave Beth her only comfort after the hours of restlessness. It served him right. They’d had a lot of bedding at home they could’ve slept on here. If he’d thought before selling the farm outright, Daggart’s mood would have been much improved.

  She walked farther up the bank to where the ground wasn’t so squishy wet. She could still hear the wagon party chatter from here, but it wasn’t the overwhelming din. Sitting, Beth placed the clean dishes beside her. She stared out over the blue ribbon as it flowed. Seeing Mr. Granville had been an unexpected treat.

  He’d spoken to her more today than any other person had in a very long
time. Mr. Henry chatted almost as much, but usually stayed too busy to make wisecracks. Drawing up her knees, Beth hugged her legs. Samuel, any woman would agree, was the better looking brother of the two. He possessed buckets more charm, certainly. She wouldn’t have thought of Nicholas as handsome yesterday, but today after cleaning up, he looked ages younger. He even seemed to borrow some of Samuel’s charm along with his soap.

  “Soap? Oh heavens!” she exclaimed before thinking. The dishes hadn’t needed soap after breakfast or at the moment, but almost everything else would sometime soon. Beth released her shins and smacked her palms against the ground in frustration. She needed her own soap. Working with lye was grueling, the job she hated most even as the results made the effort worthwhile. Daggart’s wild idea to chase gold ruined everything. The anger helped fuel her, and Beth finished washing up in record time.

  She scooped up her belongings and stood to trudge across the grassland to their wagon. Prior generations of her family had worked hard on the farm, all for nothing now but a wagon and two oxen. The sale of the farm, going west ten years too late for the gold rush, and the gambling added to the nightmare. Knowing the Granville brothers pulled her husband out of the card game mortified her. She hated this familiar feeling of burning shame. The men’s sympathetic looks had echoed those from the church members when her husband insulted her in public.

  Beth put her palm on her left cheek and eye to cool the hurt. Keeping her head bowed so no one saw her face, she swapped their dishes at the wagon for her small bag of wool. She’d only brought enough to town to finish the first stocking. A little more remained, but not enough for a second. Unless…. She took out the completed stocking. A snip halfway between knee and toe, and the upper portion could be redone into another stocking. Beth smiled. Perfect, she wouldn’t have to switch a single sock from one foot to the other as needed.

  Some wagon trains, like this one, didn’t allow dogs. Glad no animal might have marked his territory, she sat down comfortably on the shady ground. Her back against the wagon wheel, Beth began work on her knitting. She snipped a thread, unraveled the yarn, sewed the top of the sock, and began knitting its mate.

  With her thinking the word mate, Nicholas sprang to mind. His appearance had surprised her so, she’d said the first thing she’d thought. She marveled at her audacity in calling him handsome. Her sunbonnet not only hid her black eye, it now hid her blushing face and Beth smiled. Thankfully, she’d notice no smell from him, unlike in town. While creating each new round in her stocking, she wondered about Nicholas’s life. What man would let himself become so dirty, but then clean up so completely? Was he really a hermit, or had he traveled from the wilderness to here?

  The thoughts buzzed in her head like telegraph wires at a train depot. First she’d dwell on Daggart and their argument, then on Nicolas and his conversation with her. In an effort to still her mind, she forced herself to concentrate on her work. After a few moments, the focus ended and the reflections began again. Nicolas looked wonderful in a crisp white shirt, impractical for the trail though it may be. She wondered if the suspenders would leave white stripes on a field of dusty brown after a day’s ride. Probably, and he’d have to dry the shirt in the sun to brighten it. His pants looked new, too. Odd, since his boots, while polished, were old and a little scruffy. She didn’t blame him. Beth would much rather have her old shoes than these new ones of her deceased sister.

  Beth had some quiet time to think and reflect on Nicolas’s speech. He didn’t sound as educated as Samuel, who spoke with more of a posh accent. She’d heard similar speech from another person while in the dressmaker’s store. There, a lady with a plumed hat had compared the sweet and quaint town shops to her sophisticated home stores.

  When she looked up at Nicholas this morning, her dress felt much too tight around her chest. Beth smiled, remembering how the rest of his face lacked the slight tan of around his eyes. Such eyes, too. What had looked like steel in town seemed more like the dark blue-gray of storm clouds this morning. She drew in a breath at the memory, thinking he had such handsome lips. She was glad he’d shaved. Like an image in her mind to never forget, she’d hold close the first time he’d smiled at her.

  But then, he’d seen what Dag had done and his expression changed in an instant. Chances were he’d known Beth deserved the hit. Her rude actions had broken the promise she’d made to her father on his deathbed. Even if correct in calling her husband a fool, she felt ashamed of yelling it at him like a curse word. People friendly to them last night now avoided her. Whether it was her loud voice or Daggart’s slap, she didn’t know.

  “Mrs. Bartlett?”

  Immersed in her own musings, Beth nearly jumped out of her dress in surprise at Samuel Granville’s voice. She looked up before remembering her bruised face and then stared down at her lap. Unlike his brother, she noticed Samuel did have new shoes. “Hello, Mr. Granville. I hope you’re well.”

  He sat on his heels, eye level with her. “I’m very fine today, ma’am, and think you’ll be delighted to see what I’ve brought with me.”

  She glanced up, saw the sudden anger in his eyes, and hid her face again. Daggart must have hit her much too hard this time, considering his expression. “I don’t know. I should stay here.”

  “I know accidents happen, my dear. It can’t be your fault. Please, come with me for a moment.” Samuel held out his hand to help Beth to her feet. As she stood, he continued, “It seems my brother and I were remiss in helping your husband with his travel list. There are things we assumed he’d bring from your home that aren’t here.” Samuel led her around the wagon to a buggy. “I’ve taken the liberty of packing a few things forgotten in your haste to travel west.” He unloaded a trunk covered with a few blankets and quilts.

  “Oh my goodness gracious!” Beth ran over and hugged the fabrics. “I cannot begin to tell you my thanks, sir. This is marvelous.” She rushed to put the blankets in their wagon and went to the trunk. Afraid of the answer, she asked, “Is anything inside?”

  “I certainly hope so. It was filled over the top before I left.”

  She tried undoing the latch, but her hands trembled too much. Beth wanted to cry with joy. Samuel helped her, and she opened the trunk. Everything she’d missed lay inside. Some items had been wrapped in scrap material, including a large jar she earlier wished they’d had for drinking water. Right off, she recognized and removed it from the trunk. “This is wonderful, Mr. Granville. We can have water or tea whenever we choose.” She smiled at him, hugging the jar close.

  “I’m glad to have been of service.” He reached in the buggy one more time. “You two will need this for protection from the elements.” Samuel held a large oilcloth Beth had stored in the barn. “Looks like the mice found this unappetizing, and Bartlett can make a sturdy tent from it.”

  “I’m so pleased with everything you’ve brought.” She pointed out various things. “Here are my herbs, some seeds I’d saved from last year’s garden, and oh! The family Bible! Thank you so!” Beth held the book to her chest. “You can’t know how much this means to me. My family brought this from Britain. I’d considered it lost forever.”

  “Your pleasure makes the effort worthwhile, my dear.” He turned and nodded to the east. “In a moment, Nicholas will be in your good graces as well.”

  She saw the elder Granville on horseback, leading her and Daggart’s cow to them. “Erleen!” Beth ran up and hugged the animal’s neck. “I’ll bet you need milking,” she said. Holding out her hand for the cow’s lead rope, Beth smiled at Nicholas. “I can stake her in some grass. You two have done so much for me today; I’m sure you have chores of your own to complete.”

  “I’m sure, too,” he replied, dismounting. “But right at the moment, I can’t imagine anything more important than helping you load up your trunk.”

  She glanced at their wagon, unsure of what to do. Daggart told her last night the wagon held almost more than the oxen could easily pull. So much so that he insisted Beth wal
k to California. “There may not be room.”

  He strode over to the wagon, “Has to be. I can’t let you go on the trail without anything of yours.” Nicholas peered at the foodstuffs. “Bartlett agreed, and I’m making all this fit.”

  Samuel spoke up, “Nick, let me get Erleen situated and then see if we can figure out a solution.”

  Beth heard the warning in the older brother’s voice. It caught Nicholas’s attention, too. She began trembling from seeing their anger. Her voice more shaky than Beth intended, she said, “If my husband has approved, then we can carry everything. There’s no need to fuss.”

  Both men stared at her for an instant at her interruption, mouths agape, then laughed. Samuel responded first, with a bow, “But, my dear, fighting each other is our favorite past time.”

  She glanced from one to the other, gauging Samuel’s seriousness. Nicholas, she noticed, squinted at his brother in the same manner as when first seeing her black eye. Beth bit her lip and chewed a little. Pushing their banter aside, there may be a fight between them after all.

  Dag strode over to them. “Looks like your cow is making the trip with us.”

  “Thank you for allowing this.” She watched as he twisted the animal’s ear in an attempt at affection towards her. “I’m sure you’ll like our meals much more, now.”

  He scratched under Erleen’s chin. The cow lifted her head, closing her eyes, and leaned into Daggart. “Speaking of dinner, were there any fishhooks in your rubbish?”

  “I can look.” She smiled at her animal’s enjoyment, adding, “If not, I might be able to trade for one.”

  He gave her a withering look. “You don’t have anything someone would want in that trunk of yours.” Dag turned to the two Granvilles. “Well then, gentlemen, I say let’s head into town and give the saloon one last visit.”

  Samuel shook his head. “As much as I’d like to, there are maps to study and plans to make.”

  Daggart narrowed his eyes. “What plans are there to make that you two don’t already know? Didn’t you say you’d traveled this route already?”