Authors: Tamera Alexander
Gently turning the key on the bottom, she took care not to overwind it. Lifting the lid, her breath caught at the familiar melody. Crafted of polished mahogany and inlaid with gold leaf, this was by far the most beautiful of the collection and worth more than all the others. It would bring a handsome sum.
Kathryn felt a check in her spirit at the thought, but gently pushed it aside. She believed in her husband’s dream as much as he did and would do everything in her power to help him succeed. But if they ran into hard times again, at least they had some security to fall back on.
Lost in the lilting melody, she stood and walked closer to the lamp on the fireplace mantel. She held the box at an angle to the light so she could read the familiar inscription engraved on the gold underside of the lid. Tilting it up, she could almost read the words. . . .
A sudden movement caught her eye and she turned.
Larson stood close behind her, hurt and doubt darkening his face. “Planning on selling that one too?”
Heart pounding, she rushed to explain. “I wasn’t planning on selling it. I was only—”
Kathryn felt the music box slip from her hands. She grabbed for it but couldn’t gain a hold. A cry threaded her lips as the box splintered into pieces on the wooden floor. A staccato of clangs and dissonant tings sounded as the intricate musical workings scattered beneath the table and hutch as though seeking safe refuge.
Her throat closed tight and she found it hard to breathe. How could she have been so foolish? Hot tears trailed down her cheeks.
“You bartered the other ones,” he said, accusation edging his tone. “I bet you could’ve gotten a good price for this one too.” His voice sloped to a whisper then, and his eyes glazed with unexpected emotion.
Speaking past the hurt in her throat, she looked up at him. “I was happy to sell those.”
“And that’s why you kept it from me?”
“I didn’t tell you at first because I didn’t want you to think that—”
“That I couldn’t provide for my own wife? That I’m not capable of giving you the things you need? The things you want?”
The look he gave her cut to the heart, and Kathryn realized, again, what a costly mistake she’d made in not being honest with him from the start. They’d never spoken of it since that day, but that well-intentioned deception had tentacled itself around their marriage.
She blinked against a blur of tears as her memory rippled back in time. “Half our herd died that winter. We needed money for food, for supplies.” She reached out to touch his chest.
He caught hold of her wrist and took a step closer, his face inches from hers. “I would’ve gotten the money somehow, Kathryn. I’m capable of taking care of you.”
“I’ve never questioned that.” But her words sounded hollow and unconvincing, even to her. Were her misgivings written so clearly in her eyes?
A knowing look moved over Larson’s face. “Exactly how long
was
Duncan here this afternoon?”
Kathryn frowned and searched the blue eyes glinting now like tempered steel. He couldn’t have hurt her more if he’d struck her across the face. Her voice came out a whisper. “What are you asking me?”
“Did you let him touch you?”
She stared, unbelieving. Part of her wanted to laugh at the absurdity of his accusation, while the rest of her knew why he asked, and it tore at her heart. “Have we been together so long . . . and still you don’t know?”
The accusation in his eyes lessened, but the set of his jaw stayed rigid.
“I am your wife, Larson Jennings. I pledged myself,
all
of myself to you. I am a woman of my word, and—”
His focus raked to the shattered box strewn across the floor. When he looked at her again, the question in his eyes was clear. His grip tightened around her wrist but not enough to hurt.
Kathryn could clearly see the comparison he was drawing in his mind. She’d faced it before and weariness moved through her at its recurring theme. Would they ever move past this?
“Larson, I am not like your mother. I am not a woman who would give herself to men for their pleasure.” She intentionally softened her tone. “I’ve given myself to only one man . . . to you. And I will never share that part of myself with another man. Not ever.”
He didn’t answer immediately but let her wrist slip free. “How can I be certain of that?”
Nestled in his question Kathryn heard the echoing cry of a young boy, and she swallowed hard at the answer forming in her throat, realizing it applied as much to her as it did to him. She offered up a prayer that God would somehow teach both of their stubborn hearts. That he would lead Larson past the seeds of faithlessness bred in his youth, and for herself . . .
She looked down at the broken shards of wood and glass and searched her heart. All she’d ever wanted was to be one with her husband in every way. Was she at fault for that? She felt an answer stirring inside her. It was almost within her grasp. But then it slipped away, like a whisper on the wind.
She steadied her voice. “The answer lies in trust, Larson. You’re going to have to learn to trust me.”
One side of his mouth tipped in a smile, but it felt more like a challenge. “And does that trust go both ways, Kathryn?”
Again, she felt that same tug in her spirit. “Yes, it does. It goes both ways.”
She thought she’d been the one in this marriage to have already opened her heart fully. But she’d been wrong. She hadn’t surrendered everything, not yet.
Later that night as they readied for bed, Kathryn felt Larson watching her. Despite the wall of silence between them, she felt a blush sweep through her at his close attention.
The air in the cabin was chilly. She quickly shed her clothes and put on her gown, then slid between the icy sheets. She pulled the layers of covers up to her chin, shivering, and anticipated Larson’s warmth beside her. When no movement sounded from his side of the bedroom, she turned back.
He stood watching her. A single lamp on the dresser cast only a flickering orange glow in the darkness, but it was enough for her to recognize the look in her husband’s eyes. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then looked away.
Larson moved the lamp to the nightstand and stripped off his shirt. Kathryn knew the lines of her husband’s face, was familiar with his physique. She knew all of this and yet so little of the man beneath the exterior.
She had been attracted to him from the start. Everything about him had spoken of determination and dreams, and a passion that ran so deep she feared she might drown in it. When first seeing Larson clad in leather, his brown hair brushing his shoulders, her mother had labeled him a mountain man. A ghost of a smile had passed across her mother’s features before she hastily masked her reaction. She cautioned Kathryn about the cost of following her heart. William Cummings branded him a rogue, and though not forbidding Kathryn from seeing him again, her father’s cool aloofness toward the subject was answer enough. As it had been in most other areas of her life. And that was the final nudge. Kathryn had stepped closer and closer to the river’s edge until it finally swept her away.
As Larson sat on his side of the bed, Kathryn found her gaze drawn to his back. Spaced at random intervals over his muscular back and shoulders were circular bumps of scarred flesh. She always cringed when thinking about the type of person who would inflict such pain on a little boy. Instinctively, she reached out to touch him, willing his deep inward wounds to heal as the outward had done.
Larson flinched at her touch, but didn’t turn.
For a moment he stilled, his head bowed, then he leaned over to turn down the lamp. The yellow burnish of the oiled wick dwindled to smoldering, leaving the room shrouded in shadow.
Kathryn shivered against the sudden draft from the rise and fall of the covers when Larson lay down beside her. She half expected him to touch her, but he didn’t. Warmth sprang to her eyes. Would it always be this way between them?
They lay side by side, barely touching, tense and silent. The loneliness inside her deepened until she finally turned onto her side, away from him. She laid a hand over her latent womb, wondering if the sacredness of life would ever dwell within that silent, secret place. A full moon gleaming off the fresh layer of snow cast a pale pewter light through the single window of their bedroom. Kathryn stared at the silvery beams until she felt a stirring beside her.
“I’m sorry, Kat.”
His deep voice sliced the stillness of the bedroom, and Kathryn closed her eyes, imagining what his whispered admission had cost him and cherishing the sound of the special name he sometimes used for her. A name she hadn’t heard in too long.
She slowly turned back over and was met with his profile. He was looking at the ceiling, and she couldn’t help but wonder what unearthed treasures lay in the heart of the man beside her. She reached out and ran her fingers through his hair, then along his stubbled jawline. Not once in all the years of knowing him had he worn a full beard. And she’d never wished for it; she loved the strong lines of his face.
When he didn’t respond, Kathryn finally turned back and curled onto her side.
After a long moment, Larson gently pulled her against him. The heat from his chest seeped through her nightgown, warming her back. This was his language. He was telling her he loved her without words. Like when he kept ample firewood stacked by the door or made certain her coat and gloves were still winter worthy.
But she longed for more.
Kathryn felt a tightening in her throat and covered his hand over her chest. She nudged closer to him, answering his unspoken question.
When Larson rose up onto his elbow, he waited for her to look at him, then gently cupped her face with his hand. She looked into his eyes and knew that it didn’t matter if he ever opened his heart completely to her or not—her heart was already his forever. She had promised before God to love this man, for better or worse, and it was a promise she wanted, and fully intended, to keep. As their breath mingled and he drew her closer, she begged God to help her see and love her husband for who he was, not for who she wanted him to be.
L
ARSON AWAKENED BEFORE light the next morning, his mind in a thick fog. He lay perfectly still and tried to decipher dream from reality. As the haze of sleep lifted, he felt Kathryn shudder close beside him. Then he heard her soft intakes of breath. Her hidden tears tore right through him, yet he found he couldn’t move.
Before his mind had faded into exhaustion hours earlier, Kathryn had whispered,
“Merry Christmas, Larson.”
Only then had he realized the injury his self-centeredness the evening before had caused.
He wished he could reach over and pull her to him, but the cause of her tears stopped him cold. He strongly doubted whether his holding her would bring the comfort she sought. He thought he’d loved her thoroughly last night, holding her afterward, stroking her hair until her breathing was feather soft against his chest.
He lay there in the stillness until her breathing evened again. Reliving the disappointment he’d seen in her eyes the night before was almost more than he could bear. His thoughts turned to the request he’d received earlier that week. Still tucked inside his coat pocket, the envelope contained an invitation from a company bearing the name of Berklyn Stockholders, Inc. He’d been invited to attend a meeting to be held in Denver three days from now. He hadn’t told Kathryn about the business opportunity. No need to build her hopes up only to dash them again. He’d done that often enough in recent years.
From the darkness enveloping the room, Larson guessed that dawn could not be far off. And in that moment, the decision became clear. This new venture could give him the leverage he needed to make his ranch a success. But even more, he would be a success in Kathryn’s eyes.
Within minutes, he dressed and slipped noiselessly from the bedroom. He could make Denver in two days tops, even with the snow. He would conduct his business and return.
Not wanting to alarm Kathryn, yet not wanting to give her false hope, Larson scribbled a brief note and left it on the mantel. He made certain the fire in the hearth was stoked and that ample wood was stacked in the bin.
He opened the door and a bitter cold wind hit him hard in his face, nearly taking his breath away. More snow had fallen than he’d expected, and by the time he made a path to the barn and saddled his mount, faint hues of pink and purple tinged the eastern horizon. Larson took one last look at the cabin and pictured his wife inside, cocooned in the warmth of sleep.
As tempting as it was to go back and share it with her, the hope of her renewed admiration and the chance to give her the life she deserved drove him forward.
By noon, Larson reached the outskirts of Willow Springs. Having once boasted the best route to the South Park mining camps, Willow Springs’ population had declined in recent years when alternate roads were built by neighboring towns. Regardless, Pikes Peak still stood like a proud stony sentinel over the waning township nestled at its base, its rocky ascent soaring upward until the highest peaks were lost in a fluffy mesh of gray and white cloud against the brilliant blue of sky. Fountain Creek cascaded down the narrow canyon off Larson’s right toward the heart of town—
Fontaine qui Bouille
or Boiling Fountain, as the French traders dubbed it— slipping past icy boulders and frosted winter brush lodged frozen in rocky crevices.
When he and Kathryn first arrived, they’d frequented some of the many bubbling pools of mineral water near their cabin, enjoying each other and the warm springs that rose from deep within the earth. Larson tried remembering the last time they’d gone there together recently, and couldn’t.
Sunshine reflected off the freshly fallen snow and shone like diamonds for miles around him, and he wished Kathryn were here to see it. He thought of the trips to Willow Springs they made together twice a year. Kathryn looked forward to the trip for weeks and savored every minute. He endured it and couldn’t wait to return home. He liked the solitary life he and Kathryn lived, busy with ranching and working the homestead. He felt uneasy when he was around too many people.