Alice Duncan
Dell
1997
WILD DREAM sold to a Russian publisher, but I never got any copies, so can’t show
them to you. Boo-
By the way, I had nothing whatsoever to do with the title of this book, so it’s not my fault.
Chapter 1
Stars spattered the black night sky, as if a mischievous god had tossed a handful of twinkling diamonds onto the velvet carpet of the heavens. A full moon nestled among them like a luminescent pearl, mysterious, deep; keeping its secrets locked tight, much as might a beautiful woman or a dark and dangerous stranger.
It seemed to Princess Adelaide, as she rested her chin in her cupped hands and peered at the magnificent firmament outside her turret window, that if ever a night was crafted for rescue, this was it. If only such a thrilling miracle might occur. She sighed deeply as she stared at the enigmatic moon and listened to a couple of coyotes singing to one another in the distance.
Adelaide herself, trapped in this tawdry castle, alone and forlorn, fairly ached for life. Unfortunately, life itself seemed determined to elude her. Longing for deliverance, love and adventure, it almost seemed as though tonight she might unlock the moon’s secrets if only—if only—
Suddenly, the thunder of horses’ hooves jolted Addie Blewitt out of her nightly moondream.
“My goodness,” she murmured. “Who could be riding hell for leather in the pitch dark out here in the middle of nowhere? You don’t suppose old man Stevenson’s pigs got into the green alfalfa and went demented again, do you?”
Since Addie was alone in her room, no answer was forthcoming. Abandoning her role as tortured princess, she jumped down from her window seat and shoved her feet into her old, tattered slippers. Pausing only to grab her robe and a candle, she ran for the kitchen. There she snatched up a kerosene lamp, lit it with her stub of candle, darted down the hallway, through the front door and out onto the porch.
“I wonder if I should wake Aunt Ivy,” she mused as she stared in the direction of the noise. Almost immediately, she answered herself. “No. It’s probably nothing.” A little bitterly, she added, “It’s always nothing.”
She set the lamp on a porch newel and waited. One hand rested on the pot of freshly planted geraniums squatting next to the lamp, the other shaded her eyes as she squinted into the night. As the night was black as pitch the gesture, however dramatic, was wasted.
Although it had been a warm spring so far, the nights here in southeastern New Mexico Territory were cold, and Addie found herself hugging her robe tightly to her body as she peered at the blackness. Somehow, waiting on the porch in the dark enabled her to resuscitate a semblance of her pleasant whimsy.
Addie had been alone so much of her life, living as she did on the edge of the vast
American frontier, that she greeted her dreams the way another young girl in a more
civilized part of the country might greet old and well-
He was a knight just returned from the Holy Land, where he’d slain a hundred infidels. Of course, every minute he was away, he longed to be at his beloved Princess Adelaide’s side. It was only her evil guardian’s fiendish designs upon her that had parted them in the first place.
No.
What it was, was, her hero had been at sea for years. He’d been pressed into Her Majesty’s service and spirited away a scant day or two before their wedding was to have taken place. Now he carried treasure in his saddlebags, claimed in some deathless adventure undoubtedly involving pirates. As soon as his gallant steed galloped him into the farmyard, he’d throw the bags at Addie’s feet and kneel before her, begging her to be his.
No. Addie smiled dreamily and tossed aside her last fantasy like so much fluff.
Better than anything. Best, in fact, of all: He was a gallant southern gentleman. Oh, mercy, yes. Addie’s fertile brain whirled with old images implanted during the endless romantic tales her aunt Ivy had fed her. Even though Addie knew that Ivy’d related the stories merely to keep the both of them from losing their minds in this infinite nothingness they called home, still Addie loved them.
She also now knew exactly who this person galloping toward her had to be.
A brave and magnificent Confederate soldier, he’d been daring in battle, wounded in action—undoubtedly saving General Lee himself—then nearly starved to death in a vile Yankee prison camp. Being the hero he was, he’d made a bold escape. Of course he’d rescued his fellow prisoners as he did it. Probably he’d been wounded. Yes. Definitely, he’d been wounded. Some lovely Yankee maiden, fearing for her honor but unwilling to let such a noble, handsome, fearless soldier die, had nursed him back to health.
No. No, no, no. Addie scowled. She hated it when her dreams got jumbled up. Forget the wound.
Anyway, he’d escaped and taken his fellow prisoners with him. Now here he was, riding back to her, pounding over the ground, unable to bear being parted from her a single instant longer.
One thing for sure, Addie thought as her dreams crashed into a heap at her feet,
whoever he was he’d whip past her perch on the porch sooner or later. Since there
was nothing around for miles in any direction except low scrub, the Blewitt apple
orchard, and the occasional prairie dog hole, he couldn’t miss it even in the dark.
The only semblance of a road anywhere nearby was the half-
Sure enough, the hoof beats got louder and louder as Addie waited. It wasn’t long before she was able to discern voices, too, although she couldn’t make out any words.
There’s more than one, then. Excitement bubbled in her breast. Those voices clearly emanated from male members of the species.
Her eyes opened wide when the black night sky suddenly turned blue as vile curses sped to her across the Cimmerian desert.
Mercy sakes. She wondered if her gallant knight had taken to cursing from having been separated from her so long.
“Son of a bitch!” she heard. “Damnation.”
“You gonna make it, Charley?”
“Damned if I know. I think they only winged my upper arm. Hurts like a bastard, though.”
He was injured! Addie knew it was her knight who was the wounded party because his
was the voice she liked: baritone, rich, deep and handsome. The other one sounded
too high-
When she heard, “Damn! Look at that light! You don’t suppose it’s the law do you?” she almost dropped the lamp. Since, however, it was the deep, resonant voice who’d uttered the worry, she didn’t.
Instead she called, “Over here!” then frowned when she heard herself. When she hollered like that, her voice sounded not at all musical.
She heard the horses draw to a stop. They must have been ridden hard for quite a while, because they blew and panted once they were still.
The voice she liked said, “Who’s there?” It sounded mistrustful.
She cleared her throat and strove for a finer timbre when she sang back, “My name is Miss Adelaide Blewitt, sir, and I will help you in your hour of distress.”
The twangy voice whispered, “Wha’d she say?”
Addie heard no answer. Instead, she held her breath in anticipation when she heard a horse whicker and begin to walk towards her. Her heart almost stopped when, out of the ebon depths and into the circle of yellow lamplight, a horseman gradually emerged. She directed her lamp to guide his path.
With a gasp, Addie pressed her palm to her galloping heart. The ring of amber light shuddered with the trembling of her hand. She couldn’t believe the sight she beheld.
The stranger’s hat had been blown from his head in his wild ride and his hair, dark
and curling, fell in poetic waves over his aristocratic forehead. His eyes looked
dark—oh, so dark—and were framed by the thickest lashes Addie’d ever seen. Light
and shadow etched his face and revealed a chin sculpted and regal, and a nose hawk-
Sweet Lord, have mercy.
If the man had been crafted to her specifications, he couldn’t be more right. He was absolutely perfect. Addie knew it in her heart: Her knight had come at last.
Charley Wilde shoved a lock of hair out of his eye and glowered. Blast it, the fool girl was going to drop that lamp and catch the whole house on fire if she wasn’t careful.
“We won’t hurt you,” he snapped, mistaking her trembles for fright. Damn, his whole arm hurt now, and he knew he’d lost a lot of blood. “We were attacked by a gang of thieves and one of them winged me.”
It galled him to utter such a blatant lie but under the circumstances, he couldn’t see much choice. He never used to be a liar.
“Oh, my,” the creature on the porch whispered.
Charley couldn’t see her. She held the lamp away from her face. He squinted against the glare and wondered if she was simple or merely being silly, but he didn’t suppose it much mattered.
Schooling his voice to betray none of the impatience chewing at his guts, he said, “If it isn’t too much trouble, ma’am, may we come in and tend to my arm?”
“Of course! Oh, of course! My home is yours to command.”
She had the silkiest southern drawl Charley had ever heard in his entire life. A native of America City, Georgia, Charley had begun to get used to the hateful Yankee twangs he’d encountered during his perilous travels West. It took him aback to be listening to a voice sounding as though it belonged to a girl just stepped out from a plantation ball back home.
Then she drew the lantern closer to herself and he finally got a peek at her face. The yellow kerosene glow shifted and played games with light and dark, and he couldn’t distinguish her features. All he could tell was that her eyes were huge and seemed to be dark. They also shone with an expression Charley recognized with shock as absolute excitement.
No. That was impossible. She should be scared of him, or at the very least, a little timid.
“Wait here,” Charley commanded Lester Frogg, his friend and partner. He rode closer to the light, wishing the lady would give him a clue what to do now. For pity’s sake, they couldn’t just leave their sweaty horses out here in the cold night air.
As if reading his mind, the girl said, “Why doesn’t your friend take the horses to the barn, sir. You come inside and let me see to your arm.” She gave her smile to Lester, as though what she’d suggested were the most natural thing in the world.
Charley heard Lester gulp and then say, “Winged ‘im.”
It didn’t surprise Charley any when the girl looked puzzled. He crossed his hands over his saddle horn and said irritably, “Aren’t you even going to ask us who we are, ma’am? Inviting perfect strangers into your house isn’t a very safe thing to do, you know.”
Lester poked him in the ribs and Charley glared at him. If this woman didn’t have sense enough to worry about her own safety, somebody had to do it.
The silly girl just laughed. “Why, sir, I know you can’t be bad men. Just listen to your voices. I swan, you sound just like a couple of Georgia boys to me.”
Charley wanted to holler at her and ask her what being from Georgia had to say to anything, that this was New Mexico Territory and home to thousands of desperate criminals. Just look at him and Lester, if she needed any proof—and they were only crooks by accident. Anybody else would surely take advantage of this girl’s innocence. All of Charley’s protective instincts rose in his breast, along with a lecture he longed to deliver on the folly of opening her home to strangers.
Stifling his aggravation with difficulty, he decided Lester was right; they might
as well accept the woman’s hospitality. He wasn’t sure how badly he was hurt, but
he knew the wound needed attention. He’d already begun to feel light-
“All right, ma’am. But at least let me tell you that my name is Charley Wilde. My friend here is Lester Frogg.”
The creature on the porch dipped a perfect curtsy. “Pleased to meet you both. My name is Miss Adelaide Evangeline Blewitt.”
“Ma’am.” Lester bobbed his head and looked embarrassed. Lester was always embarrassed before the ladies. It was one of his few failings, as Charley had often told him.
With a grunt, Charley heaved himself off his horse. His arm protested painfully. “Our pleasure, Miss Blewitt,” he said through gritted teeth.
Miss Adelaide Blewitt bustled before him into the house. It seemed rather a makeshift
place, Charley noted as he looked around, although he guessed that was about normal
for this neck of the woods. Living in the territory was a hard-
“Do you farm this place, ma’am?”
“We certainly do, sir.” She shot him a glorious smile over her shoulder.
“Your mama and papa live here with you?” Charley wasn’t altogether sure he wanted to deal with this female’s father. She was obviously friendly, but he’d noted before that when girls took to him, their fathers invariably didn’t. And this girl sure seemed to have taken to him.
Ushering him into the kitchen, Addie said, “Oh, no. Papa passed on to glory two years ago this May, and we miss him like crazy. My aunt Ivy—Ivy Blewitt?—well, my aunt Ivy and I run the place together.”
Charley tried to hide his relief. “That so?” Then the import of her words struck him and he stared at her back, astonished. “You work this place alone? Just the two of you ladies?”
“Why, certainly.”
She spoke as though two females running a farm all by themselves in the middle of New Mexico Territory wasn’t as unusual as snow in August. “Must be mighty hard, ma’am, just the two of you.”
“Oh, it is. It’s awful hard, but we have some help. We have a hired hand who helps us plow sometimes, and he sends his sons over to help with the apple and pecan harvest.”
Two women and one part-
He made a grunt of what he hoped sounded like appropriate interest. Now that the expectation of having his wound attended to stared him in the face, he actually found himself having to contain an unmanly urge to snivel. Life had been so hard lately. For the good Lord’s sake, he’d lived through a war without getting shot. But he’d been shot tonight; no mistake.
And who knew where the rest of his men were? Anything was liable to happen to them. Although Charley loved each one of them like a brother, he wasn’t foolish enough to think they could fend for themselves without his guidance. Worry gnawed at him in time to the throbbing of his arm.
“Sit here,” his nurse commanded, gesturing to a table.
Charley sat and looked about the kitchen. It was neat as a pin, a condition he found
didn’t surprise him. Ladies always tended to be orderly in his experience. Pots and
pans hung in a tidy row above the stove, and cooking utensils gleamed from a crockery
jar on the counter. The table at which he sat had been spread with a worse-
His mama used to put flowers on the kitchen table, he remembered. Said they made her feel good. He suppressed the sudden spasm of nostalgia the room evoked in his sentimental innards. Those days were over. They were gone and would never return, and the sooner he stopped mooning about them the better off he’d be.
“Now, why don’t you tell me all about what happened to you and your friend? You say you were set upon by brigands? How dreadful!”
Astonished by the fanciful words Addie used to describe his earlier lie, Charley watched her shoulders give an eloquent shudder as she pumped water into a basin.
“Er, yes. I guess.”
“My goodness, how terrible.” The way she said it conveyed exactly the opposite. “Where did this happen? What were you doing out so late? It gets so terribly dark on the desert with only the moon and stars to guide one.”
“Er, yes,” Charley said again. He opened his mouth to tell another lie and embellish his first, when the fey creature spoke again.
“Why, I’ll bet it was some awful gang who did it, Mr. Wilde. There are gangs of beastly, desperate men all over the place out here.” She set the bowl of water on the table. “Now, I know it’s shockin’ of me, but I’m going to have to ask you to remove your shirt, sir, because otherwise I won’t be able to clean your wound, and cleanin’ is the very first thing it needs.”
Wondering if he’d passed out and landed in a dream torn from his lost youth, Charley
mumbled, “Oh. Sure,” and began to unbutton his shirt. He took another look at his
surroundings and decided this wasn’t a dream. She might sound like an addle-
“Uh, ma’am,” he said, “I think there’s a lizard in the kitchen.” Then he could have kicked himself, hunched over, and braced himself for her shriek of terror.
“Oh, bother,” Miss Adelaide Blewitt uttered prosaically. She removed her gaze from where it seemed to be drilling a hole into Charley’s chest and followed his finger’s point to the corner. There, sure enough, a horned toad lingered. What had possessed him to point out the harmless reptile?
But Miss Adelaide Blewitt surprised him. Instead of screeching, she waltzed over to the corner, stooped, and picked the thing up. In her bare hands.
“These critters are fine for the garden,” she declared, marching to the back door. “They do wonders to keep the bugs down, but we just can’t seem to keep ‘em out of the house.
“It’s ‘cause the door is so near to the ground, you see,” sailed to him over her shoulder. “Papa should have raised the house some in back like he did in front.”
She disappeared into the pitchy night for a second and was dusting off her hands when she reentered the room, smiling up a storm. Charley, who had stopped removing his shirt in shock over seeing a lady actually handle a horned toad in such a manner, stared at her.
“If you don’t take that shirt off, Mr. Wilde, I won’t be able to tend to your arm, you know,” Addie told him severely.
“Oh. Oh, sure.” Charley whipped off his shirt and watched her peer at him in fascination.
“Mercy sakes, you are a strong one, aren’t you? Whatever do you do to build up your muscles so? Are you a cowboy?”
Although he was beginning to wonder if this were New Mexico Territory’s answer to one of the fancy cat houses back home, Charley guessed he’d better play it safe. “Actually, ma’am, I’m just a musician. Our band was on its way to Albuquerque when we ran into trouble.”
In the light of the kitchen, Charley could tell that Addie looked ordinary enough. She had a generous mouth, a little too wide for beauty. Her nose tipped up at the end and freckles splashed across it. Her chin looked pert and stubborn. Her only truly fine feature were her eyes. At his explanation, they opened up as round as dinner plates.
They were gray, Charley realized. He hadn’t been able to tell in the dark. But they were gray as slate and framed by thick black lashes; the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen. The dark lashes and brows went charmingly with her pale skin and pink cheeks. He wished he hadn’t noticed.
“You’re a musician? Oh, my!”
She said it as though she considered being a musician the most wonderful thing a person could possibly be. She’d been in the process of soaping a cloth, but stopped and stared at him. Charley wanted to holler at her again.
“It’s not such a wonderful thing to play a horn, ma’am.” He decided that was entirely too surly a thing to have said to a woman who was trying to help him so he cleared his throat and began again. “I mean, we’re just a brass band. Originally we’re from America City, Georgia.”
“Mercy sakes,” Addie breathed, “you really are from Georgia. We’re from Georgia, too. Originally.” She gave him another glorious smile.
Charley didn’t guess he had an answer for that one, so he sat still and tried not to yank his arm away when she began to soap it.
“You have a nasty scratch here, Mr. Wilde, It’s kind of deep, but it looks fairly clean. With proper care, I don’t think it’ll fester.”
“No, I don’t reckon it will.” Charley clenched his teeth and endeavored not to holler in pain.
“And what instrument do you play, Mr. Wilde?”
“E-
“The cornet! How grand. I just simply love the cornet, Mr. Wilde. How special!”
“Well, I don’t expect it’s any more special than any other horn, really, ma’am.”
She shook her head hard as if, instead of voicing his opinion on the cornet, he’d asked if she’d like to bed him. Which didn’t sound like a bad idea, come to think on it. Charley resolutely turned the unworthy thought aside.
“Oh, no, Mr. Wilde,” Addie said, her voice throbbing with sincerity, “I truly do believe the cornet is the most special instrument of all. Why, I recollect hearing a fellow play ‘Dixie’s Land’ on his cornet once, and it was so touchin’, I cried.”
That information didn’t surprise Charley a whole lot. Miss Adelaide Blewitt seemed like a dramatic little thing, even if she could apparently outwork any three men he’d ever met. And doctor wounds, too. A knock came at the door. Relieved, he said, “Reckon that’s Lester, ma’am. Lester Frogg.”
She screeched, “Come in,” in a voice to rival that of a champion hog-
As though striving to regain her dulcet Georgia southern, she purred, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Wilde. I’m used to living here alone with my aunt. Aunt Ivy is quite deaf, I’m afraid.”
“It’s all right, ma’am.” Charley wished his ears would quit ringing. “But I wouldn’t leave Lester alone to find his way. He can get lost walking down the stairs.”
Giggling, Addie popped up from her seat. “I’ll just go fetch him, then.”
Charley watched her swish out of the room and rolled his eyes. God save him.
In spite of her ways, though, there was something about Miss Adelaide Blewitt that charmed him. He didn’t understand it. She seemed a silly girl at first glance; but she also seemed sweet. Besides, anybody would could fare as well as she seemed to be faring in New Mexico Territory couldn’t be entirely witless. Charley shook his head and wondered if a grazed shoulder could account for scrambled brains.
# # #
Addie guessed Mr. Wilde was right about his friend. She discovered Lester Frogg in the parlor, looking about as befuddled as a body could look.
“Just come on in the kitchen with me, Mr. Frogg. I’m doctoring your friend. He was tellin’ me you’re with a band. I think that’s so exciting.”
“Well, um—”
Lester was spared further comment when Addie grabbed him by the point of his leather vest and tugged him along behind her.
“Now,” she said, settling herself in her chair once more, “please go on, Mr. Wilde. You’re with a band? My aunt Ivy said they used to have the dearest brass band in her home town in Georgia. Peachtree? Do you know the place?”
Before either man could do more than open his mouth, Addie was off and running again. “And, oh, she says they were so good. Played every Sunday in the park. I wish we’d get us up a brass band in Rothwell, but I don’t suppose there are enough musical folks here for that. And, anyway, half the folks hereabouts are Mexicans and they play a different kind of music. It’s real pretty, but it’s not like ‘Aura Lee’ or ‘Lorena’ or anything. Besides, they all play guitars, if they play anything at all.”
She’d finished washing up Charley’s arm by this time and gently patted it dry with a towel. Frowning critically, she said, “I don’t guess I’ll have to stitch that, Mr. Wilde.”
Charley’s eyes opened wide. “Good.”
He looked a little pale and Addie gave him an understanding smile and decided to distract him by talking about music some more. Her aunt Ivy always told her a gentleman in pain needed distraction.
“I mean, no matter how pretty somebody else’s music is, a body misses his own music, don’t you think? I mean, I don’t think I’d like it if I never got to hear ‘Listen to the Mockingbird’ or ‘The Old Oaken Bucket’ ever again, do you? I guess a body just grows up with a certain type of music and it never gets out of his blood. Don’t you think so, Mr. Wilde?”
Her thick lashes fluttered over her pretty gray eyes and Charley, who had just about
been numbed into a slack-
Her smile sparkled like the sky outside. “Well, I do, too. That’s just exactly what I think. Don’t you think it’s curious we share the same opinion on the subject? I wonder if we think alike on very many issues. Now, what were you saying about your band? You were on your way to Albuquerque? Why would a body want to go to Albuquerque in the middle of the night?”
Charley decided it was a good thing it had been Lester he’d paired up with when the
posse started chasing them instead of somebody else. Any one of the other four members
of his brass band thought quicker than Lester. As for Lester, he sat on his chair,
gaped at the chatter-
“We were hired to play for some sort of civic celebration they’re having up there,
ma’am,” Charley fibbed glibly. He found he was getting right good at making up spur-
That, at least was the truth. They’d tried to rob a saloon in El Paso and almost gotten themselves killed in the process. They were going to have to improve their technique if they planned to stay in this business. Not for the first time, Charley cursed the carpetbaggers who’d snatched up all the jobs in his native America City after the War. If it weren’t for them, he and the boys would still be there, playing in the park on Sundays, working at their old jobs, reviving swooning maidens, and living blameless and happy lives.
Miss Blewitt now seemed absorbed in wrapping a clean linen bandage around his biceps. She’d spent an inordinate amount of time rubbing salve into the wound, but he didn’t think he’d better object. Besides, the salve felt good. He wondered if she’d made it herself, then told himself not to be stupid. Of course she had. Miss Addie Blewitt, for all her chatty ways, was enormously accomplished. Charley admired that quality in a person. He hadn’t encountered it very often in females.
Now she shook her head, her hair sparking gold in the lamplight. It was the first time he’d noticed that her brown mane contained golden highlights. He felt an unfamiliar itch to sink his fingers into the soft curtain of her hair and fisted his hand up to fight it off.
“My, my, Mr. Wilde, whatever made you decide to come out to the territory? Isn’t it much nicer back home in Georgia? Aunt Ivy says Georgia is the most beautiful place in the whole world.”
She made “Georgia” sound so luscious Charley could almost taste honey dripping off the word.
“Not anymore,” he said shortly. It annoyed him when she flinched.
“I mean,” he said more gently, “not since the war.”
“Why is that, Mr. Wilde?”
She was in the process of tying the prettiest bow Charley’d ever seen in his life. And it was on the bandage wrapped around his arm. Good grief. If he ever saw the boys again, they’d laugh at him for sure.
“Because all the jobs left after the war have been taken up by newcomers.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
When she reared back and slapped a hand against her chest, Charley feared for a minute she’d suffered a spasm. Then she cried, “Oh, mercy sakes! How terrible!” and he guessed this was just another indication of her singular nature.
“It’s not so bad,” he said tightly.
“Why, you poor fellows. Is that how you earned your livin’ in Georgia? By playin’ in the band?”
She picked his shirt up from the table and bustled over to the sink. There she began pumping water with enthusiasm.
“Well, no. Not entirely.” He watched curiously as she began dunking his shirt in the sink. He could see her perky breasts bounce up and down under her robe and guessed he should stop looking. He didn’t, and had to lick his dry lips before he could continue. “We played on Sundays and on special occasions. We had different jobs in town. Lester here worked as a jeweler’s assistant. Our bass player’s a blacksmith. I’m a carpenter myself.”
She shot him a flirty look over her shoulder. “That accounts for those bulgin’ muscles, I reckon.”
“I reckon.” Charley scowled and turned his attention to the oilskin table top.
“Baritone,” Lester announced suddenly. It was the first word he’d spoken since coming indoors.
Addie blinked at him, wondering what he meant. She cast a look of inquiry at Charley.
“Yes.” Charley said, sounding resigned. “Lester here plays the baritone.”
Lester turned in his chair and gave Addie a look she supposed must be a smile. Whatever kind of look it was, it displayed a set of teeth that reminded her of a broken picket fence.
“Why, how nice, Mr. Frogg.”
“Lester’s generally a step or two behind folks in a conversation, Miss Blewitt.” Charley smiled at Lester, who grinned back. “But he plays a mean baritone.”
“Oh, please. You don’t have to be formal here. You may call me Adelaide.” She turned toward the sink again and added sourly, “Although most folks hereabouts call me Addie.”
“Thank you kindly, ma’am. Then please call me Charley.”
“Thank you. I certainly shall. You know, Charley, I’m going to have to mend this shirt. There’s quite a hole in it.” Addie held up the item under discussion, stuck her finger through the tear and wiggled it.
“Why, thank you, ma’am—I mean, Miss Adelaide.”
With another confidential smile, Addie said, “You know, my pa and my aunt Ivy and I came out here from Georgia before the Conflict because Papa didn’t want me to suffer the horrors of war. He knew it was coming, and he couldn’t bear to endure any more sadness you see, ‘cause my mama had just passed away the year before.”
“Smart man,” murmured Charley.
“Oh, yes, Papa was smart all right. I do declare, I miss him something terrible sometimes.” Addie heaved an eloquent sigh.
“Uh, well, it must be difficult living out here in the territory, ma’am,” Charley said.
“Yes, it is sort of hard. There aren’t many amenities, although I think I miss having close neighbors most of all. I have to confess though, that I don’t recollect Georgia much. My aunt Ivy is the one who tells me about Georgia, you see, and all you gallant southern gentlemen.”
She cast him another brilliant smile and worried when he seemed to wince. “Does your arm pain you much, Charley?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I’m glad. You just tell me if you need a dose of laudanum, you hear? I can brew
you up a cup of willow-
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
Addie went back to scrubbing Charley’s shirt. She did it with vigor and plenty of hard lye soap. Deciding she’d reported enough about the rigors of the territory, she said, “Anyhow, as I was sayin’, I don’t recall Georgia much.”
“I see.”
Lester said, “Name’s Lester.”
Both Addie and Charley turned to look at him. Then Addie, remembering Charley’s admonition, said, “Why, thank you, Lester. I’ll be sure to call you Lester.”
Lester turned red, attempted a brief smile, and resumed staring at the table.
Getting back to her conversation with Charley, Addie said, “But it hasn’t been too hard here. We’re pretty close to Rothwell. I don’t expect Rothwell’s a very big town, by your standards—” She gave Charley another look to let him know she knew he must consider her a sad hick. “—but because of the jewels, we weren’t too hard up.”
Charley’s head jerked up. “Jewels, ma’am?”
“Oh, my land, yes. The Blewitt family rubies. They’re ever so pretty.” She eyed him curiously. “Do you have something stuck in your throat, Charley? Do you need me to pat you on the back?”
Charley left off swallowing convulsively and forced himself to say, “Oh, no, ma’am. But thank you.”
Addie eyed him critically. “I do believe there are some shirts of my papa’s still
folded up in the attic. Would you like me to look for you? This shirt won’t be dry
before mid-
“Well, ma’am, I would appreciate it, but I don’t know when I’ll be able to get it back to you. Reckon we’d best get on to Rothwell soon.”
“Oh, no!” cried Addie, horrified. He was her knight, for heaven’s sake. Not only that, but he was a carpenter. Why, she needed him! He couldn’t leave here before he was made to understand his role in her life. She wouldn’t let him.
“Why, I declare, you just can’t go anywhere until your arm is healed, Charley. You’ll just have to stay here and—and—and work for my aunt and me until you’re all better. Lester, too. You need to keep that medicine on your wound or it’s likely to get infected.”
“But, ma’am, what about my boys?”
“Your boys, Charley?”
Addie blinked at him, and Charlie got lost in her big gray eyes for a second. He shook off the moment and said, “Yes, ma’am. They depend on me. It wouldn’t be fair for me to stay here if they don’t have any place to put up.”
“I’ll fix that, Charley. Don’t give it another moment’s thought.”
The way she said it left absolutely no doubt in Charley’s mind that she meant it. It was his turn to blink. He hadn’t credited Miss Adelaide with such strength of character until now. Still and all . . .
Interrupting his thoughts, Addie added, “I’ll see to housing your men tomorrow, Charley. Don’t think about it for another little minute. I’ll talk to some people in town and they’ll be happy to put up those other fellows.”
“Well, ma’am—”
Charley didn’t get to finish his protest because Lester took that opportunity to say, “Peachtree.”
Charley and Addie looked at him. Lester blushed again and ducked his head. “I recollect seein’ the Peachtree Blewitt rubies oncet.”
After a moment’s pause while she sifted through the last several minutes of conversation, Addie said uncertainly, “You do?”
Lester bobbed his head. “Jewelry store. Cleaned ‘em. Worked there.”
“My, my,” murmured Addie. “It’s a small world.”
Charley, who had been looking hard at Lester, suddenly turned his attention back to Addie.
“You know, ma’am, maybe it would be a good idea to stay here a while after all. If you and your aunt can really use the help.”
“Why, of course, we can, Charley. We can always use the assistance of a couple of
able-
“Thank you, ma’am,” Charley said humbly.
“But you’d better not do any heavy work until that arm heals, Mr. Charley Wilde, or you’ll have to answer to me.” Addie thought of something and, although it almost gave her indigestion, decided she’d better bring it up. “But what about Albuquerque?”
Charley looked at her blankly. “Albuquerque, ma’am?”
“Yes. What about your job in Albuquerque? When do they need you there?”
With sudden comprehension, Charley said, “Oh, Albuquerque! Er, I don’t think there’ll be a problem there, ma’am. I—I’ll—ah—send ‘em a letter.”
Addie frowned prettily. “Well, if you’d rather. There’s a telegraph in town, though, which might be quicker.”
Charley offered a smile that made her heart skitter and bump in her chest. “The telegraph will be just fine, then, ma’am. Thank you.”
Lester said, “Ivy.”
Alice Duncan
P.O. Box 4316
Roswell, NM 88202-
alice@aliceduncan.net