Chapter 4 #2
Jane found herself once again the target of Jem’s hopeful expression. “Do you make fritters, ma’am? Corn. Apple. Cauliflower. Celery. Calf’s brains. Tomato. It don’t matter much what you put inside it. I’m partial to corn, but I like them all.”
Before Jane could respond, Morgan put up a hand. “Jem, settle yourself and give her a chance to breathe. I noticed you are less concerned about her housekeeping talents.”
“Sorry, ma’am. My mouth runs and the rest of me is hard-pressed to keep up.” His eyes shifted to Morgan again. “I figure the housekeeping doesn’t include the bunkhouse. Hard for me to get excited about that. Unless she’s going to do our laundry?”
“No.”
Jem shrugged. “Well, maybe we can pay her under the table.”
“I’ll beat you with the table.”
Jane heard no rancor in Morgan’s tone and saw no fear in Jem’s expression.
She reflected on what Morgan had said about telling Jem who she was.
I won’t have to. If I know Jem, he’ll figure it out.
What Morgan hadn’t revealed was that he’d known all along that Jem would figure it wrong.
She was aware that Morgan had subtly influenced Jem’s assumption by introducing her as Jane Middlebourne, not Miss Middlebourne.
It would be in keeping with Jem’s assuming nature that he thought there was a man somewhere.
Then again, Jem was single-minded about the fritters.
Perhaps it was no matter to him if she was single, married, widowed, divorced, or had two heads.
Propriety was about the only thing she could not batter dip, fry, and serve to Jem Davis.
* * *
Morgan could not interpret Jane’s silence on the ride back to Bitter Springs.
She responded when he spoke, but in the absence of her questions, it was too difficult to know what to say.
He did not have a good sense of what she thought of the house.
Her expression, except for the brief exchange with Jem, was largely neutral.
There had been her interest in the gun, but for all he knew that interest was a prelude to shooting him.
Before they left, he took her out back to see the garden, the pigs, and the henhouse.
The chickens scratched the ground when he scattered corn for them and ignored Jane, but the rooster marched right up and tried to peck at her shoes.
He was encouraged when Jane bent, firmly picked up the bird in both hands, and tossed it away.
The bird left her alone after that. She looked over the smokehouse, saw the woodhouse was full, and stood beside him at the corral until one of the mares came over to see if Morgan had anything for her.
He noticed that Jane was initially shy around the animal until Morgan told her the mare’s name was Periwinkle, but answered better to Winkle.
For whatever reason, that seemed to make a difference.
She stroked the white star on Winkle’s nose with increasing confidence.
It was only when Winkle tried to nuzzle her that Jane backed away.
Morgan decided to bypass the barn after that and escorted her to the bunkhouse.
Jem had already gone back there and turned out the troops.
Wiry Max Salter was wedged between Jessop and Jake Davis, but he managed to get a hand out and gave a good account of himself.
Jane was polite, reserved, and deeply thoughtful by then, and she sat beside Morgan in that same vein now.
“That’s the town’s cemetery on your right,” said Morgan.
“Yes, I know. I saw it on the way out.”
Morgan grimaced slightly. Of course she had. He might have even pointed it out to her; he couldn’t remember. “We’ll be at the Pennyroyal soon.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jane nod. “By the time we return, it will be almost exactly twenty-four since your arrival.”
“Yes. I’m aware.”
“I know what I want to do. Do you?” Jane caught him off guard by grabbing his wrist. There was considerable strength in her grip. She made him pull up on the reins.
“Stop,” she said. “Stop the wagon.”
Morgan slowed and then halted. She was still clutching his wrist in her gloved hand. He looked from it to her ashen face. “What is it?”
“Those bedrooms in the loft, and the small one beside your room, you said there might be use for them someday.”
Morgan frowned. “Yes. I said that.”
“You were speaking of children, weren’t you?”
“I suppose so. They’re a vague notion right now.
” His ginger eyebrows drew closer together as he studied her features.
“You’re going to have to tell me. Frankly, I don’t know if it’s what precedes the getting of them that has you twisted three ways from Sunday, or the having of them.
It’s probably something we should discuss. ”
“That’s what I’m trying to do, Mr. Longstreet. Do you expect me to give you children?”
Morgan blew out a protracted breath that was part whistle, part sigh.
“I don’t know that I expect it exactly. I figured it would happen in the course of things.
Naturally, you know.” He had a sudden thought.
“That’s been explained to you, hasn’t it?
Someone’s talked to you about what’s natural between a man and a woman. ”
“I am not completely ignorant.”
“Oh, I know you’ve done your reading. I’m just not sure I trust your sources.”
“Mr. Longstreet, it is my intention to have a serious conversation.”
Morgan thought she could not possibly be prissier, but then her mouth flattened in a prim, disapproving line, and he concluded he had been wrong. “Pardon me, Miss Middlebourne, but my intention is the same as yours. I meant what I said. I am not sure I trust your sources.”
“Please put that from your mind,” she said. “I am trying to understand what you want from me in regard to children. What if I am unable to give you any?”
“You’re not past your childbearing years.”
“I know. You are not being helpful. If I said to you now, I cannot have children, what will it mean to your proposal? Or if we marry, and time passes, and I never conceive, what will it mean to your vows?”
“Is this about that photograph? Do you think I looked at the picture of your cousin and thought about her childbearing parts?”
“Why not? You gave a good deal of thought to her bones.”
Morgan looked Jane over. Her face was no longer pale. There were rosy coins of color in her cheeks, but what put them there was frustration, and perhaps, he thought, fear. “You’re pretty riled about this.”
“Because you refuse to answer my question.”
“Well, I reckon that’s because I don’t know. You put it to me kind of sudden.”
Jane said, “I did.”
Morgan saw Jane shiver. A few more minutes in the wind, and her teeth would start to rattle like dice in a cup. “Can we go somewhere warm to discuss this?”
“We have no private place, and please don’t suggest my room. Not in the middle of the afternoon.”
“All right. If you’re going to pin me to the wall, then I guess the answer is I want children. I would be lying if I said my mind never came around to it. Probably Finn and Rabbit got me thinking.”
“Because of what they said about Mrs. Bridger being pregnant?”
“That’s part of it, but mostly it’s the boys being who they are.
I like them. I like them just fine, and I wouldn’t mind a couple of rascals underfoot.
That said, the particulars of begetting some rascals require two parties, and who’s to say that if there weren’t any children the problem would be yours?
I don’t have any children, least none that have ever been presented to me. You understand what I’m saying?”
“I understand that you’ve had opportunity to beget.”
“That’s one way of saying it, I suppose.”
“It never occurred to me that you would be inexperienced.”
Morgan’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Do you mean to insult or flatter me?”
“Neither, but you can take it as you like.”
Morgan faced forward. “You know, Miss Middlebourne, this is a peculiar conversation. Perhaps the most peculiar conversation I’ve ever entertained, especially when I account for the location and present company. You think you have another one like this in you before we reach the Pennyroyal?”
“I have no idea.”
He sighed. “Let’s finish this one, then.” He gave her a sideways glance. “What about you?”
“Me, Mr. Longstreet?”
“Children,” he said. “We are speaking of children. I’ve heard some women fear childbirth. Do you?”
Jane did not answer immediately. “No,” she said at last. “At least I don’t think I will.”
“And you’ll welcome children?”
“Of course.”
“Of course,” he repeated softly. “It’s been my experience that not all women do.”
“I am aware. It is difficult to imagine that I would ever count myself as one of those women.”
Morgan fell silent. He had one question left, the one he had never considered until Jane got him to wondering with her talk.
He could let it sit, never say a word and hope for the best, but if the best turned out to be something literally ill conceived, he would have to live with knowing he could have asked her straight and trusted her answer.
He said, “I don’t know any way to put this to you except direct, and since that’s mostly how I am, it seems that’s how I should be.”
“What is it?”
“Are you already carrying some man’s child?”
Jane sucked in a breath.
Morgan waited, didn’t look away. He did not trust himself to read what he glimpsed in her eyes. She might have been stricken, embarrassed, shamed, or even hurt. What he needed was her word.
“No,” she said quietly, letting the breath ease out of her. “Let me say it plainly, Mr. Longstreet. I am not going to present you with anyone’s bastard.”
“You got me speculating with your talk,” he said. “I had to ask.”
Jane pressed her lips together, nodded faintly.
Morgan picked up the reins. “I think we’re done. You?”
She was long in answering, but finally she said, “Yes, I think we are done.”