“Oh? And what concerns a man such as yourself?”
He raked her with his gaze from head to toe before answering. “My concern at the moment is getting a young lady home to rest before she keels over. You look flushed and clear tuckered out. Perhaps even a mite feverish.”
“I feel fine, thank you.” As she said it, she knew it was a lie. She felt warmer than she’d ever felt and the thought of enduring eight hours of travel in the oppressive heat filled her with something like despair.
“Do you have something to wear other than those fancy duds?”
Charlotte felt her cheeks grow even hotter hearing his words. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
He sighed. “You have a problem answering questions, don’t you, Charlie? I’m only asking because you might feel more comfortable in lighter clothing. How many petticoats are you wearing under that gown?”
Charlotte gasped. “Mr. Harrison, there’s a reason a woman’s unmentionables are called just that. I’ll thank you to remember your manners, if you ever had them.”
He let out a noise that sounded much like a growl. “Do you have something to wear other than that heavy silk dress? Just answer me that.” He frowned at her, then added with sarcasm, “If you please, good lady.”
Charlotte gaped at him a moment before lifting her chin higher and responding, “I do have another dress in my bag, but I assure you I am fine in this.”
He shook his head but relented with another sigh. “If you say so.”
They rode in silence for some time. After what seemed like hours of travel, Charlotte felt dizzy and nauseated. She inwardly cursed her stubborn pride and wished she’d changed into her lighter calico dress when the man suggested it. She loathed the thought of admitting he was right, so she didn’t speak of her distress, even when her breathing became panting and sweat dripped from her face onto her hands. She felt her muscles weaken. She soon had no strength to remain upright and balance herself in the seat, which jerked at every bump in the road. She slumped toward the edge of the buggy and then felt Max’s hand grasp her wrist and yank her back.
She passed out after that because the next thing she knew, she was lying on a quilt next to the wagon with Max on his knees by her side. “I was a fool to listen to you,” he snarled. “Damn and blast!” His voice seemed far away. “I need to take off your dress. I’m sorry, but you have a touch of heatstroke and you’re burning up.”
She offered no resistance as he stripped her to her shift and removed all but one petticoat, which he mercifully left on her body. He removed her shoes and stockings, and she felt relief when the air touched her toes. He poured water from the canteen over her face, neck, and along her arms. He did the same to her feet and legs up to her knees. As her body felt relief from the anguish, her mind became anguished over the humiliating situation.
He soaked his bandanna and tied it loosely around her neck, then slid an arm under her shoulders and lifted her to a seated position. He held the canteen to her lips, and she drank a few sips. “Drink some more,” he ordered, and Charlotte obeyed.
“Feel better?” he asked, his eyes boring into hers.
She nodded and averted her eyes from his penetrating stare. With her arms, she covered her chest, which was as good as naked. The water he’d poured on her had rendered her thin white shift transparent. She hung her head. Max stood, retrieved her bag, and located her lighter dress. Handing it to her, he said, “Put this on, then take off your petticoat from under it. We’ll be on our way after that.” He dropped her bag and walked to the other side of the buggy to give her privacy, which would have been laughable after he’d seen her stripped to her underclothes, if it wasn’t so humiliating.
Charlotte felt knocked down more than a few pegs, but she still didn’t like being told what to do, especially about her own clothing. The least he could have done was explain to her politely what he thought was best instead of ordering her around. He might also have asked before rummaging through her personal belongings to locate her other dress, and he might have placed her bag on the quilt instead of dropping it in the dirt. Insufferable man! Her ire toward him returned as she stood and slipped the dress over her shoulders.
Upon buttoning the last of the buttons up to her chest, she addressed him in hesitant tone, knowing her words would displease him and unsure about the wisdom of doing so. “I will leave my petticoat on, Mr. Harrison. This dress is improper otherwise.”