Chapter 2 #3
Mr. Owens hitched his trousers. “Lieutenant Reynolds here had to yank the girl off her horse to keep her from riding clear to Dallas.”
“I apologize.” Reynolds stepped forward. “I didn’t intend to rough-handle your niece. Thought she was a horse thief. I had no idea it was Miss Logan until I’d grabbed hold of her.”
“Not a thief. Just a troubled young lady liable to do herself harm. Obliged to you, Mr.—or should I say Lieutenant—Reynolds, for your assistance. Glad to see you’ve joined the service.
” Uncle Robert shook his hand. “Lucky you showed up at the right moment. My niece hasn’t attempted an escape in over six months. ”
Morning Fawn fidgeted in the saddle. Six months too long. Every day these people whittled away at who she was. She wouldn’t even be fit to return home by the time she got there.
“Happy to be of service.” Reynolds snagged her bridle in his hands as if he were concerned she might try to take off again. “I had been thinking of stopping by to see you…and then your niece—”
“Any man serving the Confederacy is welcome in my home, especially one who has rescued a member of my family not once, but twice. You must dine with us this evening and give us news of the front.”
What she wouldn’t give to bury her foot in the belly of this two-bit lieutenant. Any more help from him, and she’d be in chains.
“I’d be much obliged, sir.” Reynolds’s lips flickered upward in a shadow of a smile. “My news might be a bit rusty, but I’ll be happy to share what I know.”
Uncle Robert motioned across the withered lawn to the scattered outbuildings—a smokehouse, spring house, blacksmith’s shop, barn, and much more. “George can show you to the stables and help you look after your horse.”
Lock the horse in the stable. Her in the attic. Owned like his horse. Only less important. They had another thought coming if they believed they could hold her forever.
Reynolds pivoted and extended his hand toward her as if he were a gentleman helping a lady. His blue eyes were similar to her uncle’s, except his were more like a lake at sunset than ice, but it might as well be a frozen lake for the warmth he displayed toward her.
“You forgot something.” She held up her bound hands.
“Sorry about that.” He quickly undid the ropes, and tossing the hemp aside, he held his hand out to her.
She turned up her nose and swung down from the saddle on the other side. “I need nothing from you,” she muttered and marched past her uncle into the house, not about to give any of them a chance to touch her.
Warm air struck her as she blinked in the foyer’s dim light. Her bruised feet scraped against the woven grass rug and then cooled on the tile beyond.
Thea stood in the parlor doorway twirling a spool of lace around her finger.
Her dour expression contrasted with the cheerful light-green wallpaper printed with bright red berry brambles which lined the walls behind her.
The curtains on the front parlor window billowed.
She’d been listening. “Enjoy your ride, cousin, dear?”
Morning Fawn bit back a rebuttal. Best keep her mouth shut and get upstairs.
“After that scene at church today, there won’t be anybody in the whole county who doesn’t think you’re out of your head.” Thea smoothed her palms over her lavender skirt. “Keep this up, and you’ll be headed for the asylum.”
Morning Fawn’s pulse throbbed. “A better place than you’re headed for the way you hang off Mr. Henry’s arm.”
“At least I’m not being tackled to the ground by strange men and looking as though I just crawled out of a trough.”
Morning Fawn smacked a stray strand of hair from her face. Her torn sleeve hung loose on her shoulder. “A strange man wouldn’t waste his time with you.”
Thea tossed her head. “I wouldn’t get myself so worked up if I was you, or they’ll shovel a double dose of laudanum down your throat.”
“Thea, hush.” Uncle Robert rapped his cane against the door jamb and crossed the floor, Aunt Judith at his elbow.
“Beth, get upstairs to your room. If you weren’t under my protection, Mr. Franklin would have sent the sheriff after you for stealing his horse.
The man will still probably show up demanding restitution.
” He jabbed his pale finger toward her. “You have lost our trust.”
“I never had your trust.”
“Watch your mouth, young lady. By the time you get to come out of your room, you’ll realize how much freedom you had and threw away.” His silk waistcoat stretched against his puffed-out chest. “My men have work to do. I can’t send them chasing after you every time you have a fit.”
Her hands balled into fists. The memory of the lock clicking on the attic door resonated in her head. A cage, that’s what it was. She glanced at the back hallway, its door leading outside to the kitchen.
“You take off running, and you’ll spend a month up there.” His voice cut through her indecision.
“I don’t have fits. And I never asked for your help or wanted it.” Spittle wet her lips. “I’m not my mother, and I’ll never be the lady you want me to be. So why don’t you let me go?” Her words echoed off the walls.
Her aunt drew back. “What are we supposed to do with her, Robert? She’s an impossible girl. One minute, she’s calm. Then she explodes. You never know what she’s planning.”
Eyes narrowed, her uncle marched over to Morning Fawn, toe to toe.
“You should be thankful I don’t listen to you and let you leave.
” A vein bulged in his forehead. “You’d be in the gutter somewhere or in a saloon.
Some man’s kept woman. The Comanches you’re so fond of are hundreds of miles away.
And if there was a brave you were thinking of sharing a tipi with, he’s probably taken a wife by now, maybe two or three.
There is nothing and no one waiting for you out West.”
Aunt Judith flinched. “Robert. Don’t—”
“I bet my mother ran away from you and her father.” Morning Fawn’s voice shook. “Probably tried to control her just like you do—”
His hand fell hard across her face.
Morning Fawn dropped back. A metallic taste pooled in her mouth.
“I’ve had enough of your sass. You have no right to speak of things you know nothing about. Now go.” Her uncle jutted the walking stick toward the stairs.
Aunt Judith wrung her hands.
No wonder her mother and father had braved the frontier rather than live under this roof and off this man’s mercy.
A memory flashed. Her mother’s gentle hands brushing Morning Fawn’s hair, her sweet voice telling a story.
The same woman who’d shoved her under a wagon the night of the attack and then ran in the opposite direction in an attempt to lure the attackers away.
Trembling, Morning Fawn had covered her head and her eyes, but her mother’s screams had pierced to her soul. They still did.
Fighting back tears, Morning Fawn rubbed her cheek and pivoted toward the stairs. She would not cry in front of these people. They would not defeat her.
If only her mother was here now. Or her pia, her sweet Comanche pia who’d gone hungry herself in order to give her food. Someone who cared.