Silent Light, Silent Love, page 4
She spread a starched snowy cloth on the grass, along with the food Annie had packed.
James tethered the horses where they could graze. The lunch was substantial, ham sandwiches, oatmeal cookies, a stone bottle of cold tea and crisp apples. Betsy was quiet while they ate. When they were done, she reached a hand out and put it on James’s arm.
“I am very sorry for what happened with your sister,” she signed. “For you and your father, too. Hard to fight. Family very important, hard not to be together.”
“Thank you.” He placed his hand over hers, surprised at the comfort her simple words afforded him. Would it be different if she knew the whole story? He wrenched his thoughts away from places he couldn’t go, just as she turned her hand palm up, and he closed his around it, holding it close for a long few moments, aware of the heightened sensations it roused.
She’d taken her bonnet off before they ate, fanning herself with it. Now her curly hair sprang up around her sun-kissed face like a nimbus. She was innocently lovely, expressive eyes intent on his face, her nose sprinkled with those golden freckles. The long-fingered hand he held was slender and finely formed, as was the rest of her. On impulse, he lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her palm.
She made a startled sound and yanked her hand away. Her cheeks turned fiery red, and there was anger and outright fear in her eyes. She got to her feet and began gathering up their picnic, not looking at him, keeping her distance.
James cursed himself for a gormless idiot. Here they were out in the middle of the prairie, and he was practically a stranger to her. What had he been thinking, taking such liberties?
He went over to her and gently touched her arm, trying to get her attention.
“Betsy?”
She whirled and snatched her arm away, stepping back until she was some distance from him.
“Betsy, I humbly beg yer pardon,” he signed rapidly, hoping she’d give him time enough to get through an explanation. “I meant no disrespect, I was just grateful to ye for understanding. I’ve not told anyone here in Canada about my sister, and it touched me that ye were so gracious. Please don’t think I would ever do anything to cause ye concern.”
She thought about that for what seemed a long time to James. Then she gave a curt nod and turned away, stowing everything in her saddlebags, giving the cloth an energetic shake and folding it carefully on top of the picnic things. Her cheeks were deep red, and she wouldn’t meet his gaze.
He finally got her attention and said, “My humblest apologies. I do hope ye will trust me again?”
At last, she turned back to him, her face troubled. “You are honest with me, I will be with you,” she signed. “Man I thought wanted to court me wanted—“ she paused, looked away, and then went on, “Wanted something else.” Her entire face turned fiery red, but she bravely held his gaze as her fingers spelled out the story. “He try to hurt me, I had hard time fighting with him, got away, but scared me. Makes me afraid now.”
The stark and simple words painted a horrifying scenario. As the full import of what she meant sank in, James felt rage building in him. That any man would take advantage of a woman or mistreat her in any way was beyond his understanding, but to think that some—some monster would try to—of course he’d tried to rape her. He wondered how far the assault had gone. He struggled to control his fury, lest he frighten her even more. He took several deep breaths and did his best to control his expression.
“What was his name?” James would make it his business to seek the heathen out and teach him a much-needed lesson. His fists curled in anticipation.
But Betsy shook her head. “Not important, I try not to remember. Would make big trouble, Noah would be very angry, make me stop riding by myself, would try and find man, much, much trouble for everyone.” She swung up on Jingles, waiting for him to mount as well. “Noah worries, cares about me. He has big family, doesn’t need to worry for me, too.”
The fact that she would be more concerned about her brother-in-law than herself touched James’s heart. He mounted Ajax, deciding not to pursue the matter. Not now. But he vowed that he would learn who had assaulted her. When he did, he’d beat the bastard to within an inch of his life.
“Noah is best brother-in-law to me,” Betsy continued as they rode. “Annie married Noah, never saw each other, only wrote letters. Annie wouldn’t come here from Toronto unless married already.”
A mail-order bride. Noah knew of several such marriages, some of which were successful. On the whole, he believed most were not.
“Didn’t tell Noah I was sister. Said I was daughter, said she was older. Noah wanted older woman. Didn’t tell I was deaf. We were very, very scared he would send us back.” She smiled and shook her head. “Annie tell him big, big lies in letters, that she can cook, that she know about farming things. But she never saw cow before, she is afraid of chickens.” She made the sign for running away, and she giggled.
James had to laugh with her. She had the most engaging giggle, the kind that would stir pleasure in everyone around her. Every moment with her was a delight.
“Never saw farm before, Annie. Never cooked anything but eggs and bacon, potatoes and maybe beans. Annie scared of horses, cows, especially geese, never gathered eggs or milked. We are city girls, only work all day hard in mill. But Noah tell big lies also. He has father, Zachary, very sick, very cranky, needs much care, Noah never tell Annie. So they are even.”
She made the sign for balance, and he nodded, wanting her to go on.
“Very hard at first, Annie’s bread, phfft, bad, hard like rock, feed to chickens.” She shook her head and screwed up her face. “Zachary throw dishes at Annie, very angry, can’t speak, frustrated. Stroke. So I teach him my signs.” She smiled sadly. “He teach me many things. Very wise man, Zachary, he and I friends, neither can talk with voice.” She made the sign for love, a little way out from her heart, signifying her deep affection for Noah’s father. “He teach me to carve, make small animals from soap. He tell me about building house, about his wife, he love her very much, miss her. Then he die. I miss him, bad, bad. Heart aches for him still.” She mimicked tear marks down her cheek.
“So Noah and Annie worked things out? Her bread is very fine now.” James was enchanted by her flying fingers, her dramatic expressions as she told the story.
Betsy nodded, indicating that Annie had become pregnant. “First Christmas, Mary is born, big storm, no doctor.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Noah and I help Annie. Noah has book on how babies are born.” She pantomimed Noah frantically flipping pages and wiping sweat from his forehead, his hands trembling and hers as well. “I am so scared, Noah too. But Mary is okay, Annie too. Noah and I—“ She held a hand out flat and tipped it from side to side as if it was touch and go with them, and again, Jamie laughed. He could well imagine how traumatic that birth must have been. A first delivery, as well. They’d been very lucky.
“All other babies, Noah has doctor come to farm every day when time is near.” Her face grew sombre. “Two years ago, Annie loses baby, three months. Very bad, we all cry, Annie sick for long time, before baby comes and after. This time, maybe will be better, Annie not sick all the time like she was then.”
“When is the babe expected?”
“End of November.”
She was nearly seven months along. “If she’s feeling well, surely that’s a sign all will go well?” He wanted to reassure Betsy. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her. She was so vibrant, so alive and animated. Uninhibited, which was so refreshing.
James thought of the other young women he’d met here on the prairies, and also back in Scotland. More of them in Scotland than here in Canada—there was a definite shortage of eligible women on the prairies. But in both countries, there was a strict code of conduct for ladies, and most of them adhered to it. Unfortunately, in his opinion, it made them boring.
Passion wasn’t something young women generally demonstrated. It wasn’t considered ladylike or polite to even mention pregnancy, much less discuss the actual birth with a man. Betsy’s deafness made her refreshingly open, and James found it fascinating.
He was powerfully attracted to her. He mustn’t let her suspect, though, if her earlier skittish reaction was any indication. What had happened to her had made her wary of men. If she guessed he had feelings for her, she’d likely never let him near her again, he was fairly certain of that. More than anything, he wanted to gain her trust.
The truth was, he was desperately lonely, tired of the unsettled life of a North-West Mounted policeman, uncertain of what the future held for him. He had no intention of ever going back to Scotland, so he must somehow make a new life for himself here in Canada. As a younger son, there was no responsibility such as his older brother, Robert, had to take over the family estates. He was at a crossroads in his life, and he couldn’t figure out which route to take.
He’d never been sorry for the decisions he’d made, joining the North-West Mounted, and coming to Canada, but he sorely missed the kinship of the family he was estranged from. The life he led as a mounted policeman was rough-and-tumble. Because of the strict military discipline, barracks were clean but stark, the food nourishing but uninspired, and the conversation often course and banal.
The Ferguson homestead had reminded him painfully of what it was like to live in a comfortable, well-ordered house, with the soft and colourful touches only a woman could create. It reminded him of what was lacking in his life.
Betsy’s deafness bothered him not at all. Signing was coming back quickly, now that he had reason to use it, and he knew it wouldn’t inhibit their relationship; it was a complex and multi-layered language, with nuances just as subtle as the English language. He felt it could only enhance a relationship, that the few areas where deafness might present difficulties could easily be managed with intelligence and patience.
His mother had always said that no one knew the reasons for what happened in their lives. Thinking back now on his friendship with Calum Fraser and his wife, Fiona, James marvelled that learning to sign from Fiona should impact his life so powerfully now.
As they reached the outskirts of Medicine Hat, he determined that he would find every means at his disposal to further his friendship with Betsy. He’d go slow and win her trust. He hoped as well that he could win her heart because she’d pretty much captured his.
Betsy led the way through town to Liposki’s livery stable where she kept Jingles. The owner, a barrel-shaped giant with a gleaming bald pate came hurrying over as Betsy dismounted, taking the reins from her and patting Jingles fondly.
“’Allo, Miss Betsy,” he bellowed. “I’ll take ‘er from ‘ere, miss, don’t you worry none, we’ll take good care o’ her fer ye.”
Betsy smiled at him and said, “Thank you,” using both voice and sign.
James had dismounted as well and now walked with her, leading Ajax, as she headed down the main street and along a side street to an imposing old brick house set back from a garden which seemed an indiscriminate combination of flowers and vegetables.
“Mr. Liposki thinks I hear if he hollers loud enough,” she told James with a shake of her head. “Many people think same.”
“There’s a young French-speaking lad at the barracks. He says the same—that by hollering, folks believe he’ll ken what they say.”
She looked at him, surprised. “I never think hearing people might have same problem.”
“Problems aren’t limited to the deaf, lass.”
They were at the sturdy wooden gate leading in from the street, and she turned to James and signed formally, “Thank you very much for bring me home, James.”
Another moment and she’d be gone. He had to manufacture a reason to see her again. “I would like a photograph to send home to my mother,” he improvised. “Would ye be kind enough to make one for me, lassie? Sooner rather than later. I could be off on police business at a moment’s notice.”
It was all he could come up with on the spur of the moment, and he held his breath as she thought it over. “It would be a business agreement, of course,” he added. “I’d insist on paying well.”
She nodded as if that was taken for granted. “I have appointment late this afternoon. You could come this evening?”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “What time? And where do ye have yer studio?”
She shook her head. “No studio yet, maybe soon. Mrs. Harriet lets me use upstair parlour, so come here, eight o’clock?”
“Aye, I shall look forward to it.” He considered proffering his hand and decided against it. Instead, he tipped his hat and mounted Ajax.
“Take care of that wrist, Betsy. See you at eight.” Now all he had to do was hope Staff didn’t have a pressing reason to send him straight back out of town.
3
At five before eight that evening, James once again stood at the wooden gate. He’d washed, shaved and changed from his work uniform and was wearing the formal scarlet tunic, blue trousers and white helmet that constituted the Mounted dress uniform.
He walked down the cobbled path and knocked on the door.
A tiny woman, as round as she was high, opened it before he’d even moved his hand away.
“Good evenin’, sir, and who might you be?” Her plump face was wreathed in smiles, and her voice was welcoming, with a touch of Scots burr that delighted him.
James snapped off a salute and removed his helmet. “Sergeant James Macleod, mistress. I have an appointment wi’ Miss Tompkins for a photography session.”
“Well, come in with ye, then. Do I hear a wee hint of the Scots in your voice, Sergeant James Macleod?”
“Aye, that ye do, mistress. Though years away from hame have lightened the burr, more’s the pity.” James deliberately intensified his accent, and a burble of laughter bubbled from her as he followed her in and down a short hallway to a small living room so crammed with furniture there was barely room to navigate around it.
“It’s that pleased I am to meet a bonny man like yerself from the auld country,” she said. “Sit yourself down. I’m Harriet Coleman. Now tell me where it is ye’re from exactly?”
“Fort Augustus in the Scottish Highlands, Mistress.” James removed his helmet, resting it on his knee. “No in the town, some distance outside. My father has a holding some ten miles from the Fort, but me brothers and I attended school at the Abbey.”
“Me mother, God rest her soul, was born in Edinburgh, as was I,” Harriet said. “We came out with me father to Canada when I was a wee lass, but I remember the auld place well.” She motioned at an overstuffed sofa covered in purple velvet. “Sit yerself down and I’ll tell Betsy ye’re here. Ye must come and take tea with me soon and we’ll have a wee natter about hame.”
“Aye, it would be my great pleasure, Mistress Coleman.” And another way of getting to see Betsy.
She waved a hand at him. “Away wi’ ye, it’s just Harriet.”
“Thank ye, and ye must call me James.”
She simpered, blushed and bustled out and a moment later Betsy appeared.
James shot to his feet, and his helmet rolled to the floor.
He bent to pick it up and then smiled at her.
“Betsy, good evening. Ye look very fine indeed.” The compliment was out before he could harness his fingers. She’d changed into a blue dress that mirrored the deep cobalt of her eyes, and her glowing hair was gathered up high in a roll, but curly strands had escaped and were framing her face. Her nose was sunburned. He could hardly tear his gaze away from her.
Her neck was long and slender, the upswept hairstyle becoming. She’d traded the bandage on her forehead for a white sticking plaster that emphasized the gold of her skin. The dress she wore bared a few inches of her throat, and he could see the pulse beating there. The fabric clung softly to her shoulders, outlined the generous swell of her breasts. He could imagine all too easily the fullness of those breasts, the softness of her skin, the long, slender legs under the full skirt.
He realized he was staring.
She flushed slightly and then smiled. “You too, beautiful. Very nice uniform.”
Their gazes locked for a long moment, and the room suddenly felt charged, as if an electric storm was imminent. Then Betsy drew a shaky breath, looked away and took a step back.
He needed to lighten the atmosphere. He clamped his helmet on his head backward crossed his eyes at her and saluted smartly.
“Sergeant Macleod, North-West Mounted, at yer bidding, ma’am.”
She giggled, as he’d hoped she would, then beckoned him to follow her up the stairs and along the hallway. She led the way into a long, narrow room with a wide window along its width that looked out on a huge cottonwood tree. She’d set up a backdrop of painted scenery at the far end of the room with an ornate wooden armchair in front. A large camera on a tripod was positioned a few feet away.
“You like to stand or sit, James?”
“Stand, if ye please.” He walked over and looked at the backdrop. It was painted on canvas stretched over a wooden frame, a mountainous scene with a stream bubbling through a stand of trees in the foreground. It was realistic and very well done, the colours both subtle and bold.
“Did ye do this, Betsy?”
“Yes, I do six, all different, to suit whoever is having picture taken.” She gestured at a stack of other backdrops against the wall. “You can choose another if you want.”
James looked through them. There was a flower garden in full bloom, a depiction of a sitting room with a fire in the grate, a lake with a guesthouse on the far shore, a winter scene with snow and sleds, and a ladies boudoir with chaise-longue and draped shawls.
Teasing her, he gestured at this last one. “What do ye think of this one?”
She raised an eyebrow. “I like. But what will your mother think?”
“Yer right, the one you chose will do me very well.” He moved over to it and suddenly felt self-conscious. “What do ye want of me, lass? How should I stand?”
