“Don’t you?” Morg asked with a grin and a twinkle in his eyes.
“Oh. OH! I see. Well, I can’t say I wouldn’t be happy to see her settled, but I have to wonder if he’s the man for her.”
“He’s perfect for her,” Mead insisted. “Doc is just the sort of man to keep her in line. That young woman needs someone stronger willed than she is.”
“Really, and you know this how?”
“Because it’s the same for you, dear sister-in-law, and to be honest, I think you should pay a visit to Doc yourself, and soon.”
“Why, I’m in perfect health,” she replied with a yawn.
“It’s a feeling I have. You look different lately. I can’t put my finger on it, but something has changed.” Taking her hand in his, Mead kissed it. “Just make me happy and see the doctor.”
“I think Mead is right. You look a little peaked. Go and get some rest, sweetheart.”
“Well, thank you both for saying I look like hell.”
With a swish of her skirts, she was gone.
“Do you really think something is wrong with my wife?”
“Nothing a few months won’t cure,” Mead replied with a grin.
“Why? What’s going to happen in a few months?”
“Boy, for a smart man, you sure are dumb. I’m going home. Since the girls are going upstairs, I won’t hang around. I’ll write to Cara tomorrow, and I have another idea for Fancy. I’ll let you know what I find out. And I think we better have a talk with Matthew and soon. It might be time to fess up.”
“We don’t have much choice,” Morg agreed. “Let’s just pray he doesn’t have us both committed to an insane asylum.”
* * *
Laurie Dixon tuckedin her boys and dragged herself downstairs to get some warm water she’d left on the stove. From the room beside the kitchen where she hung her underthings to dry, she retrieved her flannel nightgown. Washing up with a basin wasn’t her preference, but she was too tired to wrestle with the copper tub. After drying off, she slipped her gown over her head.
For a moment she froze, hearing the latch on the back door jiggle. Quickly she blew out the oil lamp.
“You all right in there, Laurie?”
“I’m fine, Matthew,” she answered, her cheek pressed against the door. “I’m just going up to bed now.”
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Night,” she replied quietly.
Upstairs, she brushed her long blonde hair and braided it loosely. He really was dear to her, she thought as she climbed into bed and pulled her quilt up over her. The way he checked on her each night before he rode on home was reassuring. It was too bad he was going to end up disappointed. There was no way she could marry him. She couldn’t marry anyone and, well she knew it. It wouldn’t be fair, and it would end badly.
Floyd had told her many times that there was something wrong with her. “You’re a cold, cold woman,” he’d say over and over. “You got naught but ice in your veins, you skinny bitch!”
And it was likely true, for she’d never enjoyed the marriage bed and the harder he tried to make her, the meaner he got. Usually she kept quiet, knowing that any reply would initiate retribution in the form of a slapped face and a cut lip. Early on, she’d learned to be still and let him have his way. The only relief came when she was heavily pregnant. Then and only then would he leave her alone, and that was a blessing. Surely one of the boys would have been damaged by his assault.
There didn’t seem to be any sense in marrying again. The only good thing that had ever come out of it had been her boys. In the past year, she let Matthew embrace her a few times, but it only gave her comfort and a strange sense of belonging, not the passion she had heard about. While in his arms, she let herself relax for a moment before quickly extricating herself. Giving him the wrong impression would not be fair, nor would false hope. That was why she always reminded him she would never remarry.
This did not seem to deter him; in fact, it seemed to make him more persistent. Sadly, Laurie closed her eyes and tried to sleep. She needed to be up by four in order to start the baking and put a ham in the oven. She would not waste precious time worrying about something that could never be.
CHAPTER 7
“You’re insane, the both of you,” Matthew hissed, careful not to wake their mother, huddled as they were on the back porch. “If you were going to make something up, you could have come up with a story that was at least somewhat believable.”
Morgan grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the creek.
