The Borrowed Bride. Elizabeth LaneЧитать онлайн книгу.
shadows. They had a wearied look about them, as if they’d seen too much of the world.
While Judd loaded the wheelchair into the back of the buggy, Hannah climbed onto the single seat beside Edna Seavers. The buggy’s oiled leather cover kept off the rain but the wind was chilly. She huddled into her shawl, her teeth chattering. Her eyes gazed straight ahead at the gleaming rumps of the two matched bays.
She thought of the train, carrying Quint to Seattle, where he would board a steamer for Alaska—a mysterious place that was no more than a name in Hannah’s mind. Maybe she could ask the schoolteacher to show her a map, so she could see where he’d be going.
Judd came around to the left side of the buggy and climbed onto the seat. Without a word, he flicked the reins onto the backs of the horses. The buggy rolled forward, wheels cutting into the mud.
Hannah shivered beneath her damp shawl as they passed along the main street of the awakening town. By now, the sun had risen above the peaks, but its rainfiltered light was gray and murky. The stillness of her two companions only added to the gloom. Having grown up in a big, noisy family, she was unaccustomed to long silences. Surely Judd or his mother would say something soon.
Crammed against Edna’s bony little body, she struggled to keep still. At last, as the buggy crossed the bridge over the swollen creek, Hannah could stand it no longer.
“I’ll bet you could tell some good war stories, Judd,” she said. “What was it like, galloping up San Juan Hill behind Teddy Roosevelt?”
The impatient sound he made fell somewhere between a growl and a sigh. “It was Kettle Hill, not San Juan Hill. And we weren’t galloping. We were on foot and taking a hell of a pounding. The only horse in sight was the one under Roosevelt’s fat rear end.”
“Oh.” Taken aback, Hannah paused, then rallied. “But you were in the Rough Riders. Wasn’t that a cavalry unit?”
“Cavalry troops need horses. Ours didn’t make it to Florida before we shipped out. The Rough Riders landed in Cuba and fought as infantry. Don’t you read the papers?”
Hannah recoiled as if he’d slapped her face. As a matter of fact, her family couldn’t afford to buy newspapers. And even if her father had brought one home, she would have been too busy milking, churning, weeding, scrubbing and minding her young brothers and sisters to sit down and read it.
“I’m only going by what I’ve heard,” she said. “But it must have been glorious, charging up the hill, guns blazing at the enemy—”
“Glorious!” Judd snorted contemptuously. “It was a bloodbath! Seventy-six percent casualties, men dropping like mown wheat, all so Teddy Roosevelt could become a damned hero! They could’ve cut down the Spanish with artillery fire before they sent us up. But no, somebody couldn’t wait—”
“Really, Judd!” Edna’s spidery fingers clutched her folded umbrella. “All this talk about the war is giving me a headache, and I didn’t bring my pills. Can’t you just be quiet until we get home?”
Judd sighed and hunched over the reins. Hannah squirmed on the padded leather bench. How could this joyless family have produced her loving, laughing Quint? Maybe he was a changeling. Or maybe he took after his long-dead father. Whatever the explanation, she missed him so much that she wanted to cry her eyes out.
In funereal stillness they drove along the rutted road, through clumps of dripping willow and across the open grassland. To the west, craggy peaks crowned in glittering snow rose above the gray mist. Rain drizzled lightly off the top of the buggy. For Hannah, the silence was becoming unbearable.
“Quint told me that the biggest mountain in North America was in Alaska,” she said. “Do you think he’ll get a chance to see it?”
Edna Seavers shot Hannah a glare—the first time the woman had actually looked at her all morning. “I asked for quiet,” she said. “Please have the courtesy to respect my wishes.”
“I’m sorry,” Hannah murmured. “I only meant to—”
“That’s enough, young lady. And I’ll thank you not to mention my son in my hearing. I’m upset enough as it is, and my headache is getting worse.”
“Sorry.” Hannah glanced at Judd’s craggy profile. He was looking straight ahead, his mouth set in a chiseled line. Clearly, he wasn’t about to spring to her defense against his own mother.
Stomach churning, she stared down at her clenched hands. This had been the worst morning of her life. And being around these two miserable people wasn’t making it any better.
“Stop the buggy,” she said. “I want to walk.”
Judd turned to look at her, a puzzled frown on his face. “Don’t be silly. It’s raining,” he said.
“I don’t care. I’m already wet.”
“All right, if that’s what you want.” He tugged the reins hard enough to halt the plodding team. “Can you make it home from here? It’s a couple of miles by the road.”
“I know a shortcut. I’ll be fine. Thank you for the ride.” She clambered out of the wagon, holding her skirts clear of the mud. Tears were welling like a spring flood. She gulped them back, turning away before they could spill over.
Judd watched her leave the road and stride across the open pastureland. Head high, braids flung back, she walked like a queen. The Gustavsons barely had a pot to piss in. But this one had pride.
“We need to get home,” his mother said.
“Fine.” Judd clucked the team into motion. “You were rude to her, Mother. You should have apologized.”
“Why? So she can come over and moon around the house while Quint is gone? I’ll miss your brother, but I’m hoping he’ll stay away long enough for her to find somebody else. She’s a pretty thing, but she’s as common as dirt—certainly not of our class.”
Judd didn’t reply. His mother’s views hadn’t changed in thirty years. Arguing with her would be a waste of breath.
Looking across the pasture, he could still see the splash of Hannah’s red dress against the drab yellow grass. His eyes followed her until she vanished into the trees.
Chapter Two
May 19, 1899
Dear Quint…
Hannah chewed on the stubby pencil to bite away the wood and expose more of the meager lead. If she went for a knife to sharpen it, one of her parents was bound to see her and give her some chore to do. Most days she wouldn’t have minded. But this letter couldn’t wait. She had to finish it and get it to town before the westbound train picked up the mail.
The shade of new-leafed aspens dappled her skirts as she shifted her knees beneath the notebook. Below the bank, the creek flowed high with mountain snow melt. The rushing water laughed and whispered. A magpie scolded from the crest of a yellow pine.
Steeling her resolve, she pressed the blunted lead against the paper, forced it to form letters, then words.
It’s springtime here. Violets are blooming in the pasture. Bessie has a new calf. Papa let me help with the birthing of it…
Hannah paused, chewing her lower lip in frustration. She was wasting precious time and paper. There was no way to soften the blow of what she had to tell Quint. Best to just write it out plain and be done.
But at a time like this, even plain words were as hard to come by as gold coins in a pauper’s graveyard.
In the months Quint had been gone, Hannah had yet to receive a single letter from him. But Alaska was far away—so remote that he might as well be on the moon. And Quint had told her that he might be prospecting in remote areas with no postal service. Surely there was no cause to worry. But Hannah did worry. Anxiety had become a constant