Page 17 of Wild Sweet Wilderness (Missouri #1)

Worry and dread had lain like a rock in the pit of Rachel’s stomach since the morning they discovered Berry had left the homestead and Eben had been brutally murdered in his shack by the river. It had sapped her strength and controlled her thoughts, yet it had given energy to her hands. She had chinked the walls of the new room from ceiling to floor with river mud, made the hominy Fain was so fond of, ground corn, and made soap. In spite of protest from Fain, she chopped enough kindling to last for weeks.

She managed to stumble through the days, filling them with hard labor, trying to keep from her mind the nagging fear that she might never see Berry again. After a week, the shock of Berry’s leaving had worn off to some extent. Rachel now feared that Simon would come riding in without her. As long as he was away, there was hope. Thank God for Simon and Fain.

“Faith’s sleepin’.”

Fain’s voice jarred into her thoughts.

She pushed her hair from her face with the back of her hand. It had become a nightly routine for him to rock the baby while she cleaned up after the evening meal. The sight of him holding her child always made her heart lurch. What made some men so full of goodness, she wondered, and others so rotten?

“I’ll put her to bed.”

“I’ll do it.”

Rachel smoothed the sheet over the mattress in the cradle and Fain laid the baby down, turned her over on her stomach, and drew a light cover over her. His big hand gently stroked the head of the sleeping child. Tears started in Rachel’s eyes and she turned away.

Fain carried the cradle to the sleeping room and Rachel followed with the candle. She sat it on the table beside the bed and pulled the pins from her hair.

“Let me do that.”

Fain was behind her, his hands gently pushing hers away so that he could complete the task. His fingers combed through the heavy strands until they hung like a curtain to her waist. Then he pulled her back against him and placed loving kisses along the side of her face.

In an agony of need, she turned and flung her arms around him, blindly seeking comfort. Strong arms wrapped around her, and her face found refuge in the hollow beneath his chin. A fountain of tears erupted and she cried with the pathetic urgency of a small child.

He held her snuggled against him, rocking her in his arms and stroking her hair.

“There, there, darlin’. It’s been a tryin’ time. It purely has. But Simon’ll find her. Shhhh . . . Don’t carry on so. . . .”

Fain sat on the edge of the new double bed he’d made this past week in order to be near her. He had strung the frame with heavy rope, and he and Olson, the freighter Simon had left behind, had cut fresh, sweet grass to lay over them. He had promised Rachel that before the snow fell they would have enough hides to make a mattress and enough feathers to fill it.

When it seemed she had cried herself dry, Rachel found herself cuddled on his lap. She felt weak, as if her tears had washed away her strength.

“I don’t know what got into me.”

She almost choked on the words.

“You’re just ’bout wore out, that’s what.”

Fain’s lips were against her ear.

“You’re not strong, ya cain’t be doin’ all this hard work ’n’ hold up. Ya got to slow down or ya’ll get sick.”

“I’m sorry for cryin’.”

She reached for the hem of her skirt so she could wipe her eyes and nose.

Fain pressed her head back down onto his shoulder and held it there.

“Ya’ve put up with more’n a woman ought to, darlin’. Ya don’t have to be a bit sorry for cryin’, ’n’ ya don’t have to put up with nothin’ by yourself no more. Ya got me now.”

The words were muffled in her hair. His hand traveled down her back, soothing, caressing. A strange, relaxing warmth spread through her.

“Ahhh . . . Fain! I never dreamed there were men like you.”

She burrowed deeper in his arms.

“I can stand all the trouble in the world as long as you’re with me.”

Fain’s gaze wandered over her upturned face, then he found her eyes and held them.

They were teary bright, but full of love for him.

His arms tightened and he slowly lowered his lips to hers.

He kissed her mouth and her wet cheeks.

His hand stroked her in a comforting gesture.

The softness of her body, the warm flush of her skin, and the soft sweetness of her mouth caused his maleness to stir against the soft hips on his lap.

This woman and her child had made an enormous difference in his life.

They had made this spot in the wilderness a home. He loved her with every breath and would spend his life keeping her safe and happy.

Rachel closed her eyes and lifted trembling lips to meet his suddenly greedy ones.

He kissed her face, her ears, her throat, his lips and tongue making her mouth his own.

She heard his harsh breathing in her ear and the hoarsely whispered words of love.

“Darlin’ lass. Sweet, darlin’ lass, I’d take away the hurt ’n’ worry ’n’ ya’d never shed another tear, if’n I could. I’d go look for Berry, but I can’t leave ya here with only Olson and Israel to protect ya.”

Muttered words of love fell from his lips as he pressed feverish kisses along the soft skin of her throat.

“I know you can’t go. I keep thinking Lardy will come back and tell us that he’s found Light.”

“And he might. He might come in the mornin’.”

He pushed the damp hair back from her face and his heart swelled. He had not dared to hope, to dream, that he might find a woman like this.

“Get outta that dress ’n’ get in bed,”

he whispered.

“I’ll take a look ’round ’n’ be back for some of our special lovin’.”

He lifted her off his lap and stood up. Their eyes locked. Slowly he pulled her to him and his mouth possessed hers with insistent pressure.

Rachel undressed and slipped into bed. She left her hair loose, because Fain liked it that way. Every day she looked forward to this special time they spent together before falling asleep. She had been shy with him at first, but now she felt free to caress and love him in any way that pleased her. He had made her realize it was natural and right.

Fain came back into the room and stooped over the cradle to drop a kiss on the infant’s head.

He was bare chested, and Rachel knew he had been to the wash basin for his nightly wash.

He pinched out the candle, finished undressing, and slipped into bed beside her.

They both sighed and reached for each other.

Rachel’s hand slid around to the corded muscles of his back, trying to pull him closer.

Even after sleeping with him for several weeks, she was still shattered by the sheer pleasure of lying naked beside him.

Free of her fumbling uncertainty, she reached out to explore and caress his warm, hard body, letting her fingertips find his masculine nipples and follow the line of fine gold hair down to his taut, flat stomach and beyond.

She felt the tremor that always shook him when her hand boldly sought and found the rock-hard organ that he pressed against her.

Her hands on his body were like a torch being added to his already flaming desire.

“Ah, sweet lass. Ah . . . sweet, soft woman of mine! I love ya. Truly I do. You’re the sweetness of my life. I’m glad I found ya.”

His voice was husky and rawly disturbed.

Rachel loved the words of love he whispered during their most intimate moments. She placed her lips to his ear.

“So am I, my darlin’. Oh, so am I!”

He kissed her long and leisurely before moving his lips to her ear.

“You’re workin’ too hard, darlin’.”

He caressed her from shoulder to knee.

“I can feel the sharp edge of your hip bone,”

he chided lovingly.

“I don’t want ya to work yourself down to a nubbin. Save yourself for me.”

His tone was anxious.

“Fain, my love, you’ll always come first with me. Faith takes my time now while she’s a babe, but someday she’ll be grown up and will leave us. You and I will be together for as long as we live.”

She wound her fingers in his hair and gave a slow tug, pulling his head to her parted lips. His mouth was on hers, open and caressing, and hers answered it. Her hands were on him, eager and possessive She thought she was going to die of wanting when his hand moved up between her thighs in a gentle stroking motion, causing her to flinch.

“Ya want me now, my love? You’re so warm, so wet. I don’t wanta take ya till you’re ready, my sweet lass . . .”

he whispered and held himself rigidly over her.

“Yes, yes . . .”

She gasped and arched herself against him. Her body opened to him, needing him above all other things, welcoming the solid length of his maleness as if it were a part of her.

Rachel was made to know all the power and need of this big, gentle man she had come to love so passionately. His hands closed over her buttocks and held them while he pressed into her. She felt the thunderous beat of his heart against her naked breast and heard his hoarse, ragged breathing in her ear. He moved slowly at first, as if she were a delicate, precious flower he feared to crush. Then as wild, flooding pleasure shot through her and she became more persistent, he moved faster and faster.

Rachel yielded to pure feeling, blocking out everything but this. She whispered his name, her fingers biting into his skin, her hips arching to meet his thrusts and take him deep, frenziedly seeking the release she knew was coming.

“My darlin’, my darlin’, my sweetness, my love . . .”

He whispered the love words. The hammering urge to release his passion was acute, but he waited, holding back until he felt the first tremor deep inside her. Then he was free to plunge, to rise, to let go. And he did.

An explosion of ecstasy swept them away from the physical world.

An eternity later, he raised his head to kiss her lips, her nose, her neck, to lick her cheeks with joyous frenzy. He leaned on his forearms to take some of his weight off her body, yet he remained buried deep inside her.

“My purty girl . . .”

He burrowed his face in her hair and waited for his galloping heart to slow to its regular beat.

“I’m too heavy for ya,”

he whispered worriedly. He lifted himself out of her and rolled onto his side. The strong ropes beneath them squeaked in protest as he turned into the grass mattress that cradled them. He put his hand on her hair, feeling its soft, silky texture. It enshrouded his face, caressed his shoulders.

“Oh, sweet lass . . . I couldn’t live without ya now.”

He lay holding her, arms wrapped around her. She fit so perfectly in the nest made by his arms and muscular thighs. She lay warm and soft and infinitely dear against him. Thoughts swarmed his mind. Someday he hoped to make her understand how she had wrapped her sweetness into the very core of his being. She had penetrated his heart with her gentle ways as not even his first love had done. It frightened him. What if he should lose her? She could be killed as Eben had been killed . . . she could die in childbirth . . . even now his seed could have found her fertile valley and she could be growing his child.

Rachel gave a tired little sigh and closed her eyes in sweet exhaustion.

“Tomorrow I’ll do the washin’ if it don’t rain,”

she murmured and fell into deep sleep.

* * *

The sky was alight with a new day when Fain carried the last bucket of water from the spring and poured it into the big iron pot he had hung from a stout pole. Israel had built a fire beneath it and was now bringing the wooden washtub from the shed. A bench, newly made, stood against the wall of the cabin. Rachel had been amazed when she first saw the huge wooden tub. She had expected to lift the clothes from the boiling water, lay them on a smooth half-log, and beat them clean with a paddle as she had always done. Fain had explained that Simon had transported the tub all the way up from New Orleans so that they would be able to bathe in the wintertime. Now it would serve a double purpose.

By the time Faith had been fed and put back to sleep, the breakfast things had been put away, and the meat with cabbage and onions for the noon meal had begun to simmer, the water boiling in the iron pot. Fain carried Faith and the cradle out into the yard. He placed the baby in the shade near where Rachel was working.

Israel came over and hunkered down to look at the babe. A huge smile split his face. Fain lingered beside the cradle, gently stroking the tiny blond head with his fingertips.

“She’s a-growin’, Mistah Fain. She sho is.”

“She’s a beaut—that’s what she is,”

Fain said with affection.

“She knows her pa, too. She c’n be a-whinin’ ’n’ frettin’ ’n’ if I pick her up she hushes up ’n’ goes to sleep.”

“Babes know somethin’ like that when they’s so little?”

Israel asked.

“This one does,”

Fain said proudly.

“Look a-there at her hands. Rachel had to cut her fingernails already ’cause she was scratchin’ her face.”

“They’s mighty little.”

Rachel turned her back and punched the clothes down into the boiling water so that Fain and Israel wouldn’t see her smile. Love for her husband flooded her heart. She pressed her face to his shirt before dropping it into the suds.

Olson came across the yard, his rifle in his hand. He gave her a friendly wave and walked toward the river. Rachel sensed that the men were more concerned about Eben’s murder than they let on to her.

“Me ’n’ Israel are goin’ to dig us a cellar. Where’d’ya want it?”

Fain came up behind her and nuzzled her neck.

“Oh . . . you scared me, Fain!”

She lifted her shoulder, giving his face a brief hug between it and her cheek.

“A cellar? Goodness! Are you sure you want to work on it now? I thought you were anxious to work on your guns.”

“I got all winter to work on the guns. If’n my woman wants a cellar—I’ll dig her one.”

“You’ll not get it done this summer if you don’t quit huggin’ me, and I’ll not get the washin’ done either,”

she chided, but turned her face for his kiss, not knowing or caring if Israel was watching.

“You’re a-spoilin’ me,”

she cautioned.

“Whatta ya think about next to the house there?”

He turned her so that she could see where he was pointing.

“It’d be handy. We could get into it from the outside, and we c’n put a trap door in our sleepin’ room. We could get in if a cyclone come.”

“I can’t think of a better place. We can keep the milk and garden stuff down there where it’s cool.”

“It’s settled, then?”

“It’s settled. Now, Fain . . .”

He was nuzzling her neck again.

“I’ve got to get the washin’ done before Faith wakes up,”

she protested lovingly.

“I cain’t get enough of ya. I think I’ll carry ya off to the woods,”

he teased, and his fingers worked at the front of her dress while his eyes twinkled at her. He waited until she smiled.

“That’s what I wanted—a big smile on my woman’s face.”

He patted her on the backside and left her.

When the washing was done and spread out on the bushes in the full sun, Rachel took her suds into the eating room and scrubbed the floor and everything in it, including the thick fireplace mantel, the work shelf, and the big trestle table. When she finished, the room was soap-smelling clean. She poured out the water well away from the cabin so that the men wouldn’t track mud onto her clean floor. It was still an hour before noon, so she sat in the rocker with her knitting needles and the wool she’d unraveled from an old shawl. Fain had gaping holes in his socks and she had vowed to knit him a pair as soon as possible.

* * *

Fain heaved himself up and out of the hole he and Israel were digging. It was hot, hard work, but he welcomed it. It gave him a chance to think of other things while putting his foot on the spade and sinking it into the ground.

It had been a week since Simon had left to look for Berry. Lardy should have been back days ago, if only to report that Light was not in the area. Fain was puzzled about not hearing from him. He was worried about Berry and about Simon, who should have been back by now unless he was trailing Berry deep into the wilderness. He’d heard of roving bands of Indians who stole women for slaves; the women had disappeared, never to be heard from again. How would Rachel bear the uncertainty of not knowing if Berry was dead or alive? He tried to push the thought aside and concentrate on the problem at hand.

“Pound out that broken handle on the shovel, Israel. I’ve got another in the shed. I’ll fetch it. I always used ash for helves, but Simon told me hickory had more stayin’ power. I made up some last winter when I had time on my hands. We’ll give ’em a try.”

Fain watched Israel walk toward the shed. He knew that the slave had been mighty shaken up about Eben’s murder. The two men had become friends, not only because of their color but because of Eben’s compassionate nature. He had taken Israel in tow, and in just a few short weeks Fain had seen a world of difference in the man: he became more confident and lost much of his hangdog look. But in the past week he’d reverted to his former cowed, frightened attitude. The words he had spoken this morning when he stood over the cradle and looked at Faith were the first he had volunteered in a week.

Fain stepped around the corner of the house and headed for the shed. He stopped short. Two men were coming into the house yard from the south. They were less than a hundred feet away. His first thought was that he’d left his rifle leaning against the cabin wall. His second thought was—why hadn’t Olson warned him of the strangers’ approach?

One of the men walked slightly ahead of the other. He was dressed in a white silk shirt with flowing sleeves cuffed at the wrist. His tan breeches were fashionably tight, and the legs were tucked into shiny black boots. He wore a broad blue ascot looped beneath his chin and a feathered, three-cornered hat. The musket in his belt looked to be silver plated. Fain instinctively noted the gun. It was second nature for him to notice firearms.

The other man wore the loose breeches and heavy boots of a riverman. A knife hung from his belt and he carried a long gun.

These observations took only a few seconds; then recognition, followed by relief so great that he let loose with a bellow of welcome.

“Fish! Damned if I didn’t think the governor’d come to call!”

He strode forward and held out his hand.

“Hello, Fain. I take it you’re surprised to see me.”

“Surprised to see ya so all gussied up, boy. How be ya?”

“I couldn’t be better. Is Simon around?”

“No, lad. We’ve had a heap of trouble since ya left. Berry took off to try ’n’ find the land her pa filed on the same mornin’ ya took off down the river. Simon’s gone a-lookin’ for her. He’s been gone more’n a week. I’m afeared the girl’s come to grief.”

“It’s possible he found her and they’re spending some time upriver at his homestead.”

Fish didn’t seem surprised or concerned about Berry, but that fact didn’t register with Fain until later.

“Could be they did that,”

Fain agreed.

“But it’s not like the girl to not c’mon back and set Rachel’s mind to rest.”

Fain’s eyes honed in on the man who stood behind and to the side of Fish. His feet were spread, he held a rifle up and under his arm, and his eyes roamed. He was a big man, almost as big as Fain. The two of them dwarfed Fish.

“Who’s your friend?”

“Emil Harrison,”

Fish said without looking at the man, pointedly refusing to introduce him.

“Have you got the kinks worked out of the breechloader yet?”

“I’ve not worked on it since ya left.”

“You made some progress on it before I left.”

His tone caused Fain’s eyes to narrow and gave him a stab of irritation.

“Nothin’ much come of it,”

he said and shrugged. Then, wanting to change the subject, he said, “Ya look fine, boy. Ya look quality.”

“I am quality.”

Hearing the hardness in the voice, Fain jerked his eyes to meet the cold blue ones of the man who had enjoyed his hospitality for the past several months. There was an aloof look of superiority on Fish’s face that made Fain angry, then a quiver of apprehension traveled the length of his spine. However, he allowed none of it to show in his face, and was about to make a laughing apology, but Fish cut him off.

“Is Berry’s nigger here?”

“He’s over back of the cabin. We’re diggin’ a cellar.”

Something in Fish’s face and the other man’s attitude prompted Fain to add, “One of Simon’s freighters is here, and I’m a-lookin’ for Lardy anytime.”

There was a frozen moment of silence. Fain broke it by saying, “C’mon and see Rachel, Fish. She’ll be glad to see ya.”

“My name is Edmund Aston Carwild.”

Fain’s eyes flicked from Fish’s suddenly flushed face to the other man. When had the rifle barrel tilted in his direction? He looked back at Fish, searching for some glimmer of the lad whom Eben had fished out of the river and who had stayed on wanting to learn gunsmithing. The face was not the same. It no longer looked boyish. The face of this man was etched in uncompromising lines. The body was the same, but it was held stiffly, arrogantly. Fain’s mind was in an uproar. Something was going to happen, and he was powerless to stop it.

“I knowed about the Edmund Aston part. Ya never let on the other name riled ya.”

“It did and it does,”

Fish said flatly.

“But a man learns to swallow his pride . . . when necessary.”

“Is that right?”

Fain said sarcastically. He made no pretense now of being amicable. He felt a tightening in his chest. There was something deadly here. There was no doubt that Fish was going to turn aside every effort to be friendly. It would be best to get it all out in the open, so that Fain would know what he was facing. His eyes shifted to the man with the rifle. He’d seen his type roaming the river: a man who would slit his own mother’s throat for a gold coin.

“It’s plain you’re not friendly, Mister Carwild. Spit it out. What’s eatin’ atcha?”

“You’ve got something I want, Mister MacCartney—the breechloader.”

“The hell you do!”

Now Fain looked like a different person. The amiable man was replaced by a deadly sober one with a tight mouth and hard, fierce eyes. Anger was stamped on his face and in every line of his body.

Fish raised his brows into a haughty, contemptuous line.

“Why do you think I hung around here these past few months? It certainly wasn’t because I enjoyed living in a hovel. It wasn’t because I was stimulated by your brilliant conversation, and it wasn’t because I wanted to earn a miserly living as a gunsmith. Think, Fain. Your little secret found its way all the way downriver to Natchez.”

“Ya’ll get that breechloader over my dead body!”

Fain roared.

“If that’s what it takes, Fain. I’ll get it, and over your wife’s, too.”

He tipped his head toward the cabin.

Fain’s eyes followed the gesture. A thin, rangy man with a black beard and black hair stood in the doorway. He was armed with a rifle and a musket. Fain froze as fear gripped him, but his rage came boiling out.

“Ya stinkin’ low-lifed fop! Ya cowardly sonofabitch! If’n a one of ya lays a hand on my wife I’ll snuff ya out like ya was a chicken!”

His huge fist clenched and unclenched. The rifle that nudged his belly was the only thing that kept him from grabbing Fish by the throat.

“Calm yourself. You’re one against three, soon to be four. Don’t do anything foolish. You and the nigger can’t stand against us.”

“You’re forgettin’ Olson and Lardy!”

“Don’t count on Olson and Lardy.”

Fain opened his mouth, then snapped it shut when the import of the words sank into the turmoil in his mind.

“God Almighty! Ya murderin’ sonofabitch!”

“Don’t think to rile me by calling my mother a bitch. She was one. Now, are you going to cooperate, or will I have to send Jackson in there to have a little sport with Rachel?”

Somehow Fain managed to fill his lungs with air.

“Ya can have the goddamn rifle, but I warn ya, Fish . . .”

“Mister Carwild. Don’t insult me by calling me that name again.”

“Ya killed Eben!”

The words burst from Fain’s lips as the thought invaded his mind.

“The man saved your miserable life!”

Fish laughed.

“He thought he did. I swim like a . . . fish. He was useful for a while, but he was only a nigger. Eben was sly. He did a lot of snooping. I shouldn’t have been so quick. I should have taught him a lesson before I killed him.”

Fain was speechless. He shook his head numbly.

“I just wouldn’t-a thought it of ya.”

Fish laughed again.

“I’m a good actor. I should be, I’ve had the best training London has to offer,”

he added dryly.

Fain examined the smirking face with its belligerent blue eyes.

“Jesus Christ! I admit I was fooled. Take the gun and go.”

“Thank you, but I’ll wait until you finish it. I’ll give you two days. Meanwhile, one of my men will keep Rachel company in the cabin.”

Fain started forward but was stopped by the hard probe of the rifle barrel in his stomach.

“If’n you scum touch ’er, I’ll . . .”

“That’ll depend on you. Oh, Israel,”

Fish called.

“Come here, boy.”

Israel hadn’t heard what the white men were talking about, but he saw the rifle barrel against Fain’s stomach. Something was wrong, he knew, and Fish was part of it.

“Yassuh.”

Israel hid his fear behind the mask of a simpleton.

“My men and I will be here for a few days. I’ll need you to stay close in case I need you. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yassuh.”

“Do you know what will happen to you if you disobey me?”

“Nawsuh.”

“You must have helped Fain bury Eben. I cut his throat from ear to ear.”

Fish whipped out a small dirk and held it against Israel’s windpipe.

“Ah . . . ah . . .”

He rolled his eyes helplessly toward Fain.

“I know,”

Fish said as if talking to a child. He removed the dirk.

“You’ll mind me, won’t you? Now go tell Rachel she can serve the noon meal.”

“I wanta talk to my wife.”

Fain angrily thrust the rifle away from him.

“Of course. We’ll both talk to her.”

Fish walked beside him toward the cabin, and the man with the rifle fell in behind.

Rachel stood silently waiting in the doorway, her face white, her hands clenched together in front of her. Israel passed her without looking at her and disappeared around the corner of the house. She backed away from the doorway as the men approached.

“Stand over the kid, Jackson. If either of them makes a bad move, bash its head with your rifle butt.”

“Nooooo . . . !”

Rachel screamed and ran toward the cradle. Emil grabbed her arm and jerked her to a halt.

“Get your hands off her!”

Fain roared and lunged forward.

Moving swiftly, Jackson stepped between them and clubbed Fain on the side of the head with his rifle barrel. Fain staggered but didn’t fall. He swore viciously and shook his head like a maddened bull, spattering blood from his wound over the rest of his face.

“Rachel,”

Fish said evenly, “unless you want me to hurt Fain or the baby, do as I say. We will be here until Fain gives me the breechloader. One of my men will stay here with you, just to make sure Fain works swiftly and diligently. And, Fain, if you had worked steadily on that rifle and completed it, I’d have taken it off your hands and none of this would be happening. Tut . . . tut . . .”

He shook his head in mock dismay.

“You’ve developed some sloppy work habits since you took a wife.”

“I don’t understand you,”

Rachel said.

“You were always such a . . . gentleman.”

“I am a gentleman, Rachel.”

Fish grinned, picked up a cloth that lay on the work counter, and tossed it to her.

“Bind up Fain’s head. I don’t want him to bleed to death. Then put the meal on the table and we’ll sit down and eat like civilized folk.”

Rachel poured water into the washbasin and wet the cloth. Her frightened heart was throbbing so violently that she was having a hard time breathing. She passed the cradle on her way to Fain and glanced down at the sleeping child. Jackson swung a chair over beside the cradle and sat down. He placed his rifle across his knees, the barrel pointed at Fain. Rachel looked into his hard black eyes and saw no mercy there.

She knew that the wound on Fain’s forehead should be stitched, and she told him so. He shook his head numbly, his eyes holding hers, trying to tell her how sorry he was that he had allowed them to get into this fix. Rachel didn’t speak. She stopped the bleeding with wet compresses and bound a strip of cloth around his head to hold them in place. Before she left him she pressed his shoulder reassuringly. Her features were composed, her hands steady. She’d not shame him by breaking down. She walked calmly to the door and threw the bloody water out into the yard.

Swiftly and efficiently she dished up the meat and cabbage from the kettle and took corn pone from the griddle. Not a word was spoken until she looked at her husband and nodded.

Fain made no move toward the table.

“You’d better eat, Fain,”

Fish said.

“You’ll be working until that gun is finished.”

He carefully removed his hat and hung it on the peg beside the door, then smoothed his blond hair and straightened his ascot.

“I wanta talk to my wife.”

“That’s a reasonable request—but eat first.”

Fish seemed to delight in having the upper hand.

Fain sat in his customary place at the head of the table. Fish and Emil sat on the same side. Rachel stood beside the fireplace and spooned more corn pone onto the griddle. Jackson remained sitting beside the cradle. To add to Rachel’s irritation, he spat on her clean floor.

Emil filled his bowl and slurped noisily. When he pounded his mug against the table to demand more, Rachel grabbed it angrily out of his hand. Fain scarcely touched his meal, and Fish ate his daintily.

“I take my tea with milk, Rachel,”

he said as if speaking to a serving girl.

Always before it had been Miss Rachel or Mrs. MacCartney. Rachel prayed that Fain wouldn’t notice the lack of respect and make a fuss. Fish looked at her now as if he despised her. Why? It was as if he had never eaten at her table, laughed, visited, and politely offered to fetch water or firewood. But she didn’t have time to ponder this. Fain pushed back his chair and rose to his feet.

“I’ll speak to my wife . . . now!”

“Go ahead,”

Fish said pleasantly.

“We’ll not wake the child. Stay in the dogtrot where I can see you. Remember”—his voice hardened—“it wouldn’t bother me at all to bust the little bastard’s head.”