A Bride in the Bargain Part 41

He grabbed the back of his chair. "When did you find out?"

"This morning."

"You've barely coughed all night."

"It's not just the cough."

"What else? Blood? Fever?" Skirting round the table, he placed his palm against her forehead.

"No. It's my breathing. Remember what happened at the lake?"

"Yes."

"That same thing happens twice, sometimes three times a week."

He ran his thumb under her eye, capturing the moisture there. "What are we going to do?"

"You're going to go home and I'm going to go to Kansas." Her words were matter-of-fact, but her face crumpled.

He pulled her up against his chest. No!

But he knew she couldn't stay. Not if it would put her in danger. He also knew he couldn't let her go.

Which left him with only one option. He would have to leave, too. His chest seized up. What about his land? His crew? Red?

He knew they'd understand. Men started over all the time and for much more trivial reasons than his. But could he simply walk away?

Eleven years he'd invested in his land. Two of which he'd spent fighting to retain owners.h.i.+p. He had practically kissed the forest floor every day since the judge had ruled in his favor. And now he'd have to voluntarily walk away or lose Anna?

She slipped her hands inside his jacket, then buried her face against his s.h.i.+rt, suppressing a cough. He rested his chin on her head.

Why, Lord? You already took one wife. Do you have to have Anna, too?

But He wasn't taking Anna. He was relocating her. To Kansas. But men didn't log in Kansas. They farmed.

Joe swallowed. He hated farming. He would not, could not, reconcile himself to such a fate.

So that left Texas. And cattle ranching. He could probably do that.

The reality of leaving, though, of starting all over, began to register. He'd never log again, never see the Territory, the redwoods, his friends, his land, the new log chute, the house he'd begun to think of as Anna's. Did Texas even have trees?

She gently pulled away. "I'm so sorry."

He swallowed the tears stacking up in his own throat. He wanted to say it would be all right. That he'd go with her. But he didn't. No words came out. He let his hands fall to his sides.

Turning around, she picked up the box with the wonder turner inside. "Would you mind if I kept this?"

"Dash it all, Anna." Putting his hands on her shoulders, he made her face him again, then hauled her into his arms and kissed her. Not a kiss of pa.s.sion or hope, but of anxiety. Of sorrow. Of frustration.

He clung to her, frantic to get as close as he could. But no matter how fully he kissed her, nothing soothed the desperation inside him.

He slowly withdrew. "Do you love me?"

Biting her lower lip, she nodded.

"Then marry me."

"I can't. I have to leave."

"Then we'll both leave, because I'll never let you go, Anna." And he realized it was true. He loved his land, but it would be nothing without her.

"No, Joe. The land is as much a part of you as the heart that beats inside here." She splayed her hand over his chest. "I won't be responsible for tearing your heart out."

"If you leave me, that's exactly what you'll do." He hooked a tendril of hair behind her ear. "Marry me."

Tears spilled from her eyes. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

She catapulted herself against him. "Yes!" She fisted her hands in his hair and pulled his lips to hers. "Yes!"

Her tears salted their kiss.

Finally, he pulled back and rested his lips against the top of her head. "How soon do we need to leave?"

She laid her cheek on his chest. "Right away. Otherwise, we'll get caught crossing the plains in the winter."

"It's already too late to go by land. We'll have to go by boat."

She pulled back, her eyes were red, swollen. "You can't get to Kansas by boat."

He hesitated. "I guess I was thinking Texas."

She wrinkled her nose. "Southerners live in Texas."

"Cowboys live in Texas."

"Close enough."

Sighing, he kissed the tears from her eyes. "We can worry about that later. Come on. We need to give Kitlu her home back."

Anna glanced about the summer house. "It is beautiful, Joe. I'll remember tonight for the rest of my life. I'm sorry I ruined it for you."

He slipped off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. "The only way you could have ruined it is if you'd said no. Now, let's get you home. I'm sure the cool night air isn't good for you."

Joe was having second thoughts. When he was with Anna, he felt like he could walk away from it all. It wasn't until he'd left town and pa.s.sed tree after tree, acre after acre, that he began to doubt his resolve.

A week. They were supposed to leave in a week. How could he leave so soon? If only he had more time.

He slammed his ax into a cypress. It was only about twenty inches in diameter, so he could easily fell it himself. And it was a good thing, because he hadn't felt like partnering with anyone today. So he'd left the boys back at camp, then ventured out to a far section of property that hadn't ever seen the sharp side of an ax.

Virgins. That's what these trees were. And if he didn't leave with Anna, they were likely to be the only virgins he'd ever have. He took another swing, chips flying from the undercut.

Eleven years he'd been without a woman. He'd been happy. Content. Lonely now and then, but nothing that didn't pa.s.s. Would he be able to recapture that?

He tried to remember how he'd felt after receiving news of Lorraine's death. He'd been shocked, saddened, but he hadn't experienced this suffocating grief that had a hold of him now.

Of course, he'd only been eighteen at the time. Barely out of short pants. Three months after he'd married her, he'd left for the Territory. It was another six months when news of her death arrived. By then, the land had seeped into his veins. Any feelings he'd had for Lorraine had mellowed to the point of near-nonexistence. He'd had his whole life ahead of him, after all.

It could be the same with Anna. He'd only known her for three months, too. All he needed was a little time. Joe eyed the angle of his cut, then began working on the crosscut and wondered how long a man could lie to himself.

He imagined some did it for a lifetime, but he knew he couldn't. He knew that deep down Anna was more important than a bunch of trees. And that's, basically, what his land was. But it wouldn't make leaving it any easier.

I want both, Lord. Anna and my land. Is that so much to ask?

Flipping his suspenders off his shoulders, he pulled his s.h.i.+rt from his trousers and used it to wipe his face. He took a moment to rest.

Fir, cedar, pines, oaks, and maples densely timbered this section. But it was the redwoods that never failed to fill him with awe. Their feathery-looking needles and reddish bark. The way they stretched up to incredible heights and the sheer magnitude of their circ.u.mferences. How long ago had G.o.d planted their seeds? Hundreds of years? Thousands?

As he stood amongst those mighty giants, he realized the land wasn't his at all. It was G.o.d's. G.o.d had formed and planted the seeds. He'd tended the soil and caused it to rain. He'd needed no man. Least of all Joe.

Yet over and over Joe had thought of this as his own. My land. My logging camp. My house. My woman. My everything.

Picking up his ax, he returned to his work. But in his mind, he reviewed a list of men in the Bible who'd left everything they held dear for parts unknown. Abraham. Jacob. Joseph. Moses. Even a woman. Esther.

In every case, their circ.u.mstances were much more severe than his. G.o.d hadn't commanded Joe to leave his land, though he'd prayed for guidance. Fasted. Read his Bible. But G.o.d had remained silent.

Joe simply a.s.sumed G.o.d was letting him choose. But no matter what he chose, none of it was really his. It was all G.o.d's. And G.o.d was sharing it with him.

So which did he want? Both. Like a spoiled child, he definitely wanted both. But if he could only have one, wouldn't he still be a man blessed?

Yes. And he'd praise G.o.d and thank Him. But that didn't immediately make the grief shrivel up and blow away.

Eyeing where he wanted the tree to fall, he adjusted his stance.

I want Anna, Lord. I choose Anna.

Yet as long as he lived, he'd always miss this land. He'd miss the Territory. He'd miss the logging. He'd miss his friends.

The cypress began to pop and splinter. Jumping away, he braced his feet, threw back his head, and shouted with everything he had.

"Timber-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r!"

The tree wavered, then crashed to the forest floor. Noise resounded through the copse. The ground shook. Debris flew.

Before any of it settled, Joe fell to his knees, doubled over, and sobbed.

Red threw down his cards. "I don't believe you."

Joe slid the newspaper across the barrel.

FOR SALE. Valuable Lumbering Business on 640 acres of well-timbered land one-half day north of Seattle. Inquiries at office of Judge O.B. Rountree, Jackson Street, Seattle, W.T.

JOSEPH DENTON.

Red's face turned as bright as his hair. "Just like that? You're giving it up just like that?"

"She has tuberculosis. What am I supposed to do?"

Red swiped the cards from the barrel, scattering the newspaper and their game of Casino. Ollie and the rest of the crew had headed for the bunkhouse as soon as the ch.o.r.es were done. But not Red.

No, Joe's best friend had taken one look at him and said, "After dinner, we're having us a game of cards."

Joe hadn't argued. He needed to tell Red before he saw it in the papers for himself.

"You want to know what you're supposed to do?" Red shouted. "I'll tell you what you're supposed to do. You let her go to Kansas or Texas or straight to the devil for all I care. But you do not go with her."

"I love her."

Red jumped to his feet. "You've known her for three months. Three. That isn't long enough to do more than work up a powerful case of l.u.s.t."

Joe made himself stay seated, but he tensed. "Careful, Red. Be very careful."

"Or what? You want to talk by hand?" Red slammed his fists against his chest. "Well, come on, you slab-sided blighter. I'll take you. I could fight the devil himself for a cup of cold water and give him the first three bites."

Tempting. Very tempting. But if he was going to get married this week, he didn't want to do it with a broken jaw and his eyes swollen shut.

"My mind's made up."

"What about all this?" Red swiped his arm in an all-encompa.s.sing gesture. "Don't you care about any of it?"

"I care about every tree, every blade of gra.s.s, every speck of dirt. But none of it means as much to me as she does."

With a bloodcurdling scream, Red whirled around and kicked a hole in the side of the barn. The oxen, cows, goats, pigs, and horses squealed and whinnied. Cool air whistled in from outside, vibrating the broken siding and sending the cards airborne.

Joe ignored the destruction. "I'd like you to come with us."

Red looked ready to brawl. "I'm a jack. I'm not about to go someplace where the owls cross with the chickens."

"You went from Maine to the Was.h.i.+ngton Territory. That's about as far away as two places can be. I don't see much difference in going from here to Texas."

"There's a world of difference. We were logging in Maine and we're logging here. Those misbegotten gaycats in Texas prance around in their fancy boots and flashy buckles riding on nothing but a bunch of hayburners. That what you plan on doing, Joe?"

Joe took a deep breath. "That's what I plan on doing."

Red paced the stall. The string of profanity spewing from his mouth would do any lumberjack proud. Made Henry Yesler sound tame. Joe waited until it had run its course.

Finally Red stood still, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Joe was going to miss him. They'd been friends since they'd both been about Sprout's age.