Caress of Fire (33 page)

Maisie finished off a slice of cherry pie. “Would it be time t' be thinking about plans for our trip to Texas?”

“I've got it all figured out.” Gil pulled a cigar from his pocket. “Looks like we'll be here in Abilene for several months. I've decided the best course for us is . . .” He smiled at his wife. “Soon as Hermann is big enough, we're going to take a train to Chicago. My wife and I have honeymoon plans.”

“I'll take care of the wee one. You two can enjoy yourselves that way.”

“Maisie, you are a jewel,” Lisette said.

“Now listen closely, ladies. We're going to take a paddlewheeler down the Mississippi, then catch a ship for Corpus Christi. Which means we'll have the least amount of time riding in wagons. Sound agreeable, honey?”

“More than agreeable.” Lisette wiggled on her chair. “If I never sit on another spring seat again, it'll be too soon. By sea is the only way to travel.”

“Nay, lass. The only way t' travel is in your man's arms. All the way upstairs.” She gave her grandson an arch look. “Better keep those muscles built up.”

Figuring all this frank talk would embarrass his wife, Gil told Maisie to hush. Lisette, though, didn't appear uncomfortable with the conversation; in fact, she was taking an overlong gander at his arms.

“Would you like a drink, honey?”

“No thanks. Better not.” She yawned and patted her mouth with her fingers. “I think I'll retire to our room.”

“I'll have another, lad.”

He pushed back his chair. “Help yourself. I'm
carrying
my wife upstairs.”

“You will not,” Lisette protested. “You stay right here and visit with Maisie. I made over a thousand miles in a chuck wagon. I can make it to the third floor under my own steam.”

There was no arguing with her, but he did walk her to the stairs and take a kiss before returning to the dining room. Maisie had poured herself a couple of fingers of brandy.

He settled opposite to her again. Rocking the chair back on two of its legs, he said, “I'm pleased you and Lisette are tight as ticks.”

“You couldna done better.”

“Glad to hear that, since you'll be living with us.”

“Got another one of those cigars, lad?”

“Maisie,” he drawled. “I thought you gave them up.”

“Don't you be chiding me, sitting there with that stogie stuck in your mouth, looking like the cat that ate the canary. Gimme a smoke, lad.”

He reached into his pocket and did as ordered.

Maisie squinted past a trailing ribbon of gray. “Your letter was dated seven months ago, in February.”

“That's true.”

“Frae the looks o' your wife, you dinna give the right story. You said she was a reluctant bride. That you'd be having t' coax her into your bed.”

“It took a lot of coaxing.”

“You're not too old t' take a switch t' your ankles for lying. I'd say you jumped the gun on the wedding ceremony.”

There was no accusation in his grandmother's words, but Gil took umbrage; they confirmed suspicions he'd had for weeks. Lisette was just too big to be two months from term. Shock waves jolting through him, he defended his wife. “There was no gun-jumping. The child is due in November.”

Maisie reached across the table and took his hand. “Frae where I sit, I don't mind when the wedding took place. Or the month the wee one starts squalling. You need someone like Lisette t' heal your pain . . . if you'll let her.”

The pain of Betty was nothing compared to this blow.

“Did I say something wrong, lad?” Maisie brought her fingers to her lips. “I dinna mean to. Gilliegorm?”

He drained his snifter. “Let's call it a night.”

“A wee bit early, isn't it?”

It was about seven months too late–for the truth.

Who the hell was Hermann's father?

Determined to find out, Gil took the hotel stairs two at a time, rushed down the corridor, and jammed the key in the lock. The door reverberated on its hinges as he pushed it open.

A single lamp provided low light. In her sleep, moaning, Lisette turned from side to side. Gil crossed the rug, stopped at the edge of the bed. She wore nothing; he didn't figure it a repeat of last night's invitation.

She was nude out of necessity, didn't have any clothes; how could she dress in night gear? A man ought to keep his wife properly attired. There had been a time when Gil had wanted to bedeck her in the best. Furthermore, he'd promised himself to buy her baubles and beads.

What was the matter with him?

Let her lover drape her in finery and frippery.

Who was the man?

His hands moved to shake her awake, but the nearby lamp illuminated the shadows under her eyes. No matter whose child she carried, she was his wife. And his conscience wouldn't let him disturb her. She needed rest.

He retreated to a small settee, sat down, and pushed off his boots. Within a couple of minutes, he wore nothing but britches. Now what was he going to do?

He didn't particularly want to sleep with her. He couldn't rent an extra room, since the hotel was filled, owing to the three Texas outfits in town. And if he left, there was sure to be talk. Gossip didn't bother him, but he wouldn't put a Kansas mark on the McLoughlin name, not with his grandmother in town. There had been enough of that over Betty.

Be honest. You don't want to shame Lisette, either.
Who gave a hell–?
You do
. He refused to heed his conscience . . . or was it his heart?

He got in bed, turned away from Lisette. Pulling the sheet up, Gil tried to sleep. He couldn't. Minutes that seemed like hours passed. He felt the mattress move, heard her as she rolled over. She sighed and put an arm around him; her stomach pressed against his back. He tried to deflect her touch, but something thumped his spine. Gil clenched his teeth against the feel of her bulk.

Thump, thump, thump.

Reaching to the rear, he pressed his palm against her flesh, meaning to push her away. Her stomach felt lumpy. What was that? A village idiot's question, he supposed, but he'd never put an examining hand to a pregnant woman's stomach before.

He jiggled the lump. It moved with him. That was an arm, maybe a leg. Wonder upon wonder, that was a real babe in there. Not a concept. Not a monster. Not solely a less-than-appealing Teutonic name. And Hermann was a rowdy little tyke.

No wonder Lisette had circles under her eyes, what with lugging her son around all the day and night long. Last night . . . Old Son had invaded Hermann's realm.

Gil swallowed, recalling the pleasure he had taken and the realm he had invaded. Her son tumbled.

“Behave,” she mumbled in her sleep.

Hermann answered with more thumps.

A short snort of laughter escaped Gil's nose.
If you were here already, lad, I'd box your ears for not giving your mother her proper rest.

He wished he could rejoice in the new life. How wonderful it would be, someday holding Hermann in his arms and making the boy understand right from wrong. Gil yearned to see something in that small face: a likeness to the McLoughlin clan, a resemblance mingled with the Germanic race.

There was no accounting for sense.

Gil eased onto his back, his arm falling off the side of the bed. Lisette edged closer. If he left his arm like this, it would be numb in no time.

“You and I need to talk, Hermann.” Placing his palm on Lisette's stomach, he whispered, “Go to sleep.”

The motions stopped. Yet Gil didn't remove his hand. He closed his scratching and burning eyes, but tears escaped anyway. He wasn't a man to cry. He couldn't recall ever crying, not since he left childhood.

Tonight he cried.

 

A rooster crowed, light streamed into the room, yet Lisette didn't leave the bed. Who in their right mind could leave this heaven of soft mattress, softer pillows, and real sheets?

Besides, she had neither the reason nor the energy to go downstairs for breakfast. Her hand reached for her husband and came up empty. Swallowing her disappointment, she clutched his pillow to her. It smelled of bay rum and Gil.

Then Hermann awakened, shoved her bladder. “Naughty boy, won't you leave me any peace?”

He would not. By the time Lisette used the chamberpot and had freshened herself with the water from a pitcher, she heard a knock on the door. It was Maisie.

“I've brought you something.” She produced a trio of boxes. “Maternity dresses and all the gear t' wear with them.”

Three Mother Hubbards, all of gingham and roomy enough for Hermann, though none would win a contest for appeal. A pair of kid slippers–oh, they were lovely. A tent of a chemise, very practical. At the bottom of the third box, pantaloons.

Lisette blushed upon holding up a pair. “I haven't worn these since I left Fredericksburg.”

Maisie plucked them from her fingers. “Then you won't start. My grandson will be expecting you to stay as you've been, and I won't be starting any family feuds.”

Lisette laughed. “Oh, Maisie, you are a card.”

“My Sandy used t' say I was a whole deck.”

“I think Sandy was a very observant man.” Lisette put an arm around Maisie's shoulders. “Thank you for shopping. How much do I owe you?”

“Owe me? Lass, this is your big day. Happy birthday!”

“Thank you for remembering. And for your generosity.”

“Don't you be telling a soul! I won't have it bandied aboout that I am fast with my coin.” Maisie tapped a finger against her face. “Now give me a proper thank you.”

“Gladly.” She kissed that dear cheek.

“Get into one of those dresses, m'lass. The train will be here in a couple o' hours, and you don't want t' miss it.”

“You are right there. I've never seen a train.”

Maisie walked to the door, kept her hand on the knob. “I will meet you downstairs. I told the cook t' hold some food.”

“Is Gil in the dining room?”

“At this hour? Good gracious, no. He's been over at the bank since it opened for business.” She winked. “He's gotta get me my money, you know.”

“Of course,” Lisette came back with a wink of her own.

Thirty minutes later, she and Maisie were in the sunlight. The two women strolled down the street to stop at the Kansas Pacific depot, a small building.

“Train gonna be late?” asked Maisie.

The attendant, a nonchalant fellow of middle years wearing a visor and a white shirt with yellow galluses above tweed trousers, stood behind the window and made a notation on a piece of paper. “Train's on time.” Giving a cursory look at the two women, he craned his neck and said, “Next?”

A skinny matron elbowed Lisette out of the way. “One ticket to Chicago.”

Following Maisie to a bench that hugged the depot's outer wall, Lisette sat down. “There was a time when I thought I'd be buying a ticket to Chicago. Gil changed all that.”

Maisie remained quiet. Too quiet. At last, she said, “There's something I need t' tell you. Last night I popped off to Gilliegorm, and I want t' apologize for it. I shouldna hinted the two o' you were intimate 'fore marriage.”

“We weren't, well, you know, until after the wedding.”

Maisie looked over at her stomach, saying, “Aye. If that's what you're wanting people t' think. But you needna be shy around me, lass. I can tell you, I've a secret or two in my past. Sandy and I, we got a head start on the Church o' Scotland. Never regretted those times in the heather.”

“Maisie, Gil and I did
not
know each other in the Biblical sense until
after
we were wed.”

With lips pursed, the woman's wise eye assessed her. “Then I'd say you carry two instead o' one.”

“Twins?” Lisette squeaked. “Surely not.”

“Any o' them in your family?”

“No.”

“None in ours, either. But there's always a first time.” Maisie patted Lisette's stomach. “Twins.”

God in heaven, what would they do with twins, should Maisie's prediction become fact?

A whistle, faint in the distance, came from the east and drew Lisette's attention away. She was on her feet in a split second, was saying in wonder, “Oh, Maisie, it's the train.”

“Be a while 'fore it arrives.”

“Good, then I'll find Gil. I want him with me when I see a train for the very first time. And you, too, of course.”

“You go find your husband, and I'll keep the bench warm.”

He was nowhere to be found. Dejected, she returned to the depot. “I couldn't find him,” she said to Maisie.

“He'll be along. Just sit tight.”

“I prefer to stand.”

By now she could see the train engine, a plume of black smoke puffing into the air, leaving a trail across the bright sky. More than a score of slatted boxcars followed behind the engine, as did a couple of passenger cars.

People collected on the platform, each craning to get a closer look at the pride of the Kansas Pacific. Seeing the train had lost its significance for Lisette. Gil wasn't with her.

With nothing else to do, she turned her attention to the tracks again. The engineer leaned out of his window, waved to the appreciative crowd, and pulled the whistle in quick succession. The cow catcher was the first to reach the station, nothing on its grids. Looking up at the engine, Lisette couldn't help but be awed.

“Oh, Maisie, it's so big. And powerful.”

Someone walked up beside her. “And as soon as it loads up my cows, it'll be turning back for Chicago.”

“Oh, Gil, I'm so glad you're here! Isn't it wonderful?”

“Lisette,” he said, taking her hand and emitting a whiskied breath, “Let's go back to the hotel.”

Something was wrong–very wrong.

“All right,” she whispered in reply.

Husband and wife returned to the hotel.

In their room, Lisette asked, “What's the matter?”

“Plenty.”

She dropped down on the settee and studied the rug, figuring he had plenty to say. He placed an envelope on the seat beside her.

“Your pay,” he announced.

She eyed the fat white envelope. “I don't expect
pay.”

“That's what you're getting. And I'm going to get the truth about you.”

She sighed in exasperation. “Now what?”

His fingers dug into his palms. “Sometimes I wonder if you're naive, stupid, or just plain conniving.”

Shocked and appalled that he thought so little of her, she asked and pulled out each syllable, “What are you talking about?”

“That child in your belly.” He took a backward step. “It couldn't be of my making.”

She flinched, horrified that the man she trusted with all her heart and soul could even think, much less speak, such a horrible charge. She surged to stand, pushing his chest and sending him another step backward. “That is a lie!”

“Is it?” His eyes cold as ice, his mouth slashed with rancor, he looked her up and down. “I don't think so.”

“How can you stand there–reeking of liquor!–and denounce your child?” She rushed across the room to close her arms protectively around the child and to keep her back to Gil's cruel, cruel eyes. “Damn it, when are you going to get over the hurt of Betty?”

“The day Fate proves me wrong about you. Which I doubt will happen.”

Lisette whirled around. “Time will prove you wrong. You wait and see.”

“Brave words. But then, you've had to be tough.” He walked to the window, placing his hand on the top casement and leaning into it. “I've done a lot of thinking, and I've come up with the truth. You showed up on the trail and said you were in desperate straits. You wasted no time in huddling with Matt, if you'll remember. Tried to pawn it off as friendship, but the wool is off my eyes. Another thing: your brother isn't such a bad fellow, and you couldn't have been unhappy enough to the point of striking out, unless you were in desperate straits. Such as knowing you wouldn't have a name for your baby.”

Her teeth chattered as she said, “For a smart man, you haven't a brain.”

“You'd like to think so. But I've got enough gray matter to figure out you were sick too soon, Lisette. And you got big too soon.”

She tried to make sense of insanity. She could mention the twins theory, but somehow she didn't figure it would carry too much weight. “You've had too much to drink.”

“Not nearly enough, sweetheart. Not nearly enough. There isn't enough booze in Kansas to drown my troubles.” Pushing away from the window, he marched over to the dresser, poured a large quantity from the bottle atop it. “Who's the papa, Lisette? Otto Kapp? Perhaps the squaw man Matt Gruene? Maybe you don't even know.”

The blood drained from Lisette's face, and she ached to slap him, but tried one more time for reason. “And you believe there's no chance this child is yours?”

“There's a chance all right, but I wouldn't put money on it.” He drained the whisky-filled glass. “If you give birth short of term, I'm divorcing you.”

Divorce. Once before he had threatened it. Once before he had done it. Words came back to her, words hurled at her in a Texas meadow. “I'm capable of doing it again.” Her heart went as bleak as his eyes. This was the man she'd thought noble and good? She saw him in a whole new light.