across the table, or the napkins, or her best candlesticks. He watched her, as though seeing only her in the room.
Bailee set the food on the table in serving bowls, not pots. He didn’t say a word as he studied her, following her lead when she filled her plate. She thought of several things to say, but feared the words would sound like rattling so she remained silent. His table manners were not polished, but they were passable. Bailee wondered if he tasted his food, for his attention never left her.
When they finished, he helped her carry the dishes to the washstand and, to her shock, began washing them. Bailee dried and put everything away, thinking how strange it was for a man to do such a thing. She tried to reason that, of course, he’d done dishes thousands of times if he lived alone, but she’d never seen a man do any housework with a woman near. The few times she’d left her father for a day or two, her work had been waiting for her when she’d returned.
As she put the last of her dishes in Carter’s china hutch, he slowly folded into the rocker by the fire. A book rested on his leg, but he didn’t open it. For a time he watched her. Then, slowly, his eyes closed, and she knew he’d fallen asleep.
She debated waking him, but decided to let him sleep. Whatever he’d done all afternoon must have been hard work. Besides, she wasn’t sure he hadn’t slept in the rocker last night. Maybe this was where he planned to sleep until the month was over and he joined her in her bed.
She sat in the shadows beside the hearth and listened to the sounds beyond the house. The noises of the night in the cities she’d lived in were totally different from what she now heard. All her life she fell asleep to buggies rolling in the street below and people talking as they walked. With the night’s aging, there were fewer walkers and they talked in whispers.
But tonight there were no rolling wheels, no hushed conversations. Even the mumblings of families bedding down on the wagon train were gone. Tonight there was only silence.
She scooted closer to the fire, telling herself the strange sounds she now heard were nothing to fear. The warning in Lacy’s note crossed her mind as it had a hundred times today. Zeb Whitaker wasn’t alive. He couldn’t be. Lacy was only listening to rumors. There was nothing to fear, Bailee reminded herself. She was safe.
Carter’s hand moved against the rocking chair’s arm. For a moment she hoped he was awake so she could tell him how silly she was being, worrying about a dead man. But Carter’s eyes were closed in sleep, his face relaxed. Yet his fingers twisted in odd movements as if making a pattern of shapes.
He had to be dreaming, trying to accomplish something in his sleep. She lay her hand gently over his. The movements continued inside the cup of her hand. Slowly his fingers relaxed as he traveled deeper into sleep, and she leaned back into the shadows.
Bailee stood and lowered the lantern’s wick. Hesitantly she brushed a kiss across his forehead and lifted the book from his leg, then checked to make sure all the locks were in place. Yet, when she crawled into bed, she still didn’t feel safe. If, by chance, Lacy’s note was true, Zeb Whitaker might be out there somewhere planning to kill her. He seemed a ruthless man who would stop at nothing if he thought she’d taken something from him. Alone in the darkness, she wasn’t sure the locks, or even Carter, would be enough to protect her.
If she were being practical, she would be safer and so would Carter if she left.
Bailee twisted deeper into the covers. Reminding herself she had married. She couldn’t just announce she was leaving because someone she thought she killed might be alive.
Staring through the shadows, Bailee tried to reason. Her eyes drifted to the thin strip of brown paper she’d first taken from her pocket and placed on the dresser when she’d arrived. The room was far too dark to read the words, but
Bailee set the food on the table in serving bowls, not pots. He didn’t say a word as he studied her, following her lead when she filled her plate. She thought of several things to say, but feared the words would sound like rattling so she remained silent. His table manners were not polished, but they were passable. Bailee wondered if he tasted his food, for his attention never left her.
When they finished, he helped her carry the dishes to the washstand and, to her shock, began washing them. Bailee dried and put everything away, thinking how strange it was for a man to do such a thing. She tried to reason that, of course, he’d done dishes thousands of times if he lived alone, but she’d never seen a man do any housework with a woman near. The few times she’d left her father for a day or two, her work had been waiting for her when she’d returned.
As she put the last of her dishes in Carter’s china hutch, he slowly folded into the rocker by the fire. A book rested on his leg, but he didn’t open it. For a time he watched her. Then, slowly, his eyes closed, and she knew he’d fallen asleep.
She debated waking him, but decided to let him sleep. Whatever he’d done all afternoon must have been hard work. Besides, she wasn’t sure he hadn’t slept in the rocker last night. Maybe this was where he planned to sleep until the month was over and he joined her in her bed.
She sat in the shadows beside the hearth and listened to the sounds beyond the house. The noises of the night in the cities she’d lived in were totally different from what she now heard. All her life she fell asleep to buggies rolling in the street below and people talking as they walked. With the night’s aging, there were fewer walkers and they talked in whispers.
But tonight there were no rolling wheels, no hushed conversations. Even the mumblings of families bedding down on the wagon train were gone. Tonight there was only silence.
She scooted closer to the fire, telling herself the strange sounds she now heard were nothing to fear. The warning in Lacy’s note crossed her mind as it had a hundred times today. Zeb Whitaker wasn’t alive. He couldn’t be. Lacy was only listening to rumors. There was nothing to fear, Bailee reminded herself. She was safe.
Carter’s hand moved against the rocking chair’s arm. For a moment she hoped he was awake so she could tell him how silly she was being, worrying about a dead man. But Carter’s eyes were closed in sleep, his face relaxed. Yet his fingers twisted in odd movements as if making a pattern of shapes.
He had to be dreaming, trying to accomplish something in his sleep. She lay her hand gently over his. The movements continued inside the cup of her hand. Slowly his fingers relaxed as he traveled deeper into sleep, and she leaned back into the shadows.
Bailee stood and lowered the lantern’s wick. Hesitantly she brushed a kiss across his forehead and lifted the book from his leg, then checked to make sure all the locks were in place. Yet, when she crawled into bed, she still didn’t feel safe. If, by chance, Lacy’s note was true, Zeb Whitaker might be out there somewhere planning to kill her. He seemed a ruthless man who would stop at nothing if he thought she’d taken something from him. Alone in the darkness, she wasn’t sure the locks, or even Carter, would be enough to protect her.
If she were being practical, she would be safer and so would Carter if she left.
Bailee twisted deeper into the covers. Reminding herself she had married. She couldn’t just announce she was leaving because someone she thought she killed might be alive.
Staring through the shadows, Bailee tried to reason. Her eyes drifted to the thin strip of brown paper she’d first taken from her pocket and placed on the dresser when she’d arrived. The room was far too dark to read the words, but
Similar Books
