Two hours more she stayed on her feet, overseeing now, in both the kitchen and out among the tables. She didn’t stay long in the dining room, though, and Quillan wondered if it was because he waited in the kitchen. He ate the portion she set before him, but the food seemed secondary to her presence, and he guessed more than one man in the dining room felt that way. It didn’t rankle as it had. Maybe the compassion he’d found for Alex Makepeace stretched to the hungry men Carina fed, as well.
He could see she was wearing down before she would admit it. But at last she allowed him to lead her, weary, to her bed. Carina was stronger, but Dr. Felden was right. She was not yet fit. For some reason he thought of his mother, Rose, never recovering from the tragedies of her life. God, don’t let that happen to Carina. But she had strength and a will that had carried her all the way to Crystal. She was not like Rose.
In their room, he watched her undress. He supposed they could hang a curtain to dress behind, taking turns so neither would see the other indecent. But he couldn’t see her as indecent. From the first glimpse he’d had of her shape under the spring at the Gold Creek Mine, he’d been mesmerized.
So he stood now and watched her and made no offer to turn away or leave her. Neither did she ask. She accepted his gaze without embarrassment or umbrage. And when his palm warmed her lower spine, she turned. No poetry could express it.
EIGHT
Majestic are these hills, O Lord, we humbly enter in.
In pine and aspen, creek and lake, your song of praise begin.
Draw nearer to your presence, God, ascend the highest place.
With eagle, bear, and lowly squirrel, we humbly seek your face.
—Quillan
CARINA STARED AT THE CONTRAPTION suspended between Quillan’s blacks, Jack and Jock. He couldn’t be serious, couldn’t really expect her to ride there, lying on the woolen pad like some Egyptian princess.
“Once you’re on, I’ll wrap blankets over you. You’ll be plenty warm.” Quillan cupped her elbow. Sam pushed in between them.
She ignored his tail banging her leg. This was Quillan’s surprise? “You don’t really think—”
“You want to visit the mine, don’t you?” There was no mocking amusement in his eyes. He must mean it.
She threw up her hands. “I will not ride through town like . . . like some invalid with everyone watching and shaking their heads and saying, ‘Poor Carina, she rides in a litter like an old woman, like a—’ ” She couldn’t even think what else they might say.
Quillan hooked his thumbs in his waistband. “Who’d say a word?” Sam nudged Quillan’s palm with his nose.
“To me, no one. To themselves and each other . . .” She waved her hand. “I can’t do it.”
The dog sat on his haunches, grinning.
“Then we won’t go through town. I’ll take you down along the creek.”
“Through all the tents.” She turned that way.
“Hardly a one.”
It was true. There were very few living in tents along the creek anymore. The cold was too bitter. But those who were knew Quillan well. She put her hands on her hips. “I won’t do it.”
Quillan shrugged. “All right.” He walked around Jock with Sam dutiful now at his heels and started unfastening the litter.
“You’ll saddle them now? We’ll ride up together?”
He shot her a look sideways.
“We could both ride Jock, as we did after the flood. Do you remember?”
He walked around Jack and unfastened that side. The foot end of the litter dropped to the ground.
“Or Jack.” She pulled her coat tighter at the neck and met him in front of Jack, halting his progress.
He hung his arm over Jack’s withers and slacked his hip. “No.”
She had a flash of memory; his hat brim shadow hiding his face on the road moments before he dumped her wagon and all her dear things down the slope to destruction. He’d had that same stance, that same stubborn tone.
She thrust her fists at his chest. “I will go. With or without you.”
“Not unless you plan to hoof it.”
She jutted her chin. “I’ll take Daisy.”
He caught her wrist. “Doc said no horseback.”
“That was days ago.”
“I haven’t heard different.” His voice was steady now.
“You’ve made other exceptions.” She tugged against his grip.
If he was chagrined he didn’t show it. “Doc Felden said you might be changeable these days. I guess this is how it looks.”
She jerked her arm free. “How dare you patronize me!”
“Look, Carina, I found a way for you to go to the mine. If you don’t want to do it, it’s no skin off my nose. Just move over so I can finish here.”
“I will not!” She planted herself directly before him. “You and your work! It’s always first. Never mind what I want.” She’d raised her voice higher than she’d intended. A clump of miners passing by all turned to look.
Quillan didn’t answer, just stepped around her and started working the front strap loose.
“Did you ever think how humiliated, how helpless I would look lying there between the horses?”
“Actually I thought how smooth and joltless your ride would be.” The third corner dropped free, and he moved over to the last.
Carina wanted to retort. His steady purpose brought back too clearly his execution of her wagon. She’d dreamed of it last night, only she’d been on the wagon plunging over the side with Nonna’s rocker and Mamma’s dishes and . . . She closed her eyes and heard the pallet come loose. One pole scratched across the frozen ground, then Quillan must have lifted it. She looked and saw him carry it to the stoop and lean it against the front wall of her house like a sign: Invalid here.
Then she noticed how he’d tied it all together and padded it thickly. Three blankets lay folded across Jock’s back. Her anger withered. She ran her fingers across Jock’s chest as she passed under his neck and stepped up to the porch. Quillan leaned his hip against the post.
She took one step up and then another. He held a hand out, and she threaded her fingers with his.
Father Antoine rounded the corner. “Are we ready?”
She looked from Quillan to the priest. “Ready?”
“To see the cave.” He looked from her to her husband.
Quillan had planned it all. Her transportation, the priest’s chance to see Wolf ’s paintings, their chance to see the mine again. She swallowed past the tightening in her throat. She was the rogue this time. Dropping her head with a sigh, she said, “Quillan was just attaching the litter. We’re following the creek up.”
The corners of his mouth deepened, but Quillan said nothing as he took the litter from the wall and carried it back to the horses. Father Antoine caught the other end and helped fasten it in place between Quillan’s blacks. Carina swallowed her pride and stepped onto Quillan’s folded hands for a boost up, then lay down on the litter. Quillan tucked the blankets tightly over her. His fingers squeezed hers a moment. Sam whined, but Quillan shut him into the house, then he and Father Antoine each took charge of a horse and started up on foot.