Part 7 (1/2)
”And my reputation? What will people think with just the two of us living there and no one else?”
He frowned. ”They'll not think a thing. Why would they?”
She tugged on her cuffs. ”Why would they, indeed.”
He cupped her elbow. ”Perhaps we could discuss this on the way?”
She hesitated. ”We're going to the church?”
”Yes. It's a few streets over. Normally I'd walk, but the wagon will allow us to talk without being interrupted or overheard.”
She toyed with her watch pin. The fact that he wanted to visit the House of the Lord before he left town boded well. And it would also give her an opportunity to seek the preacher's counsel.
She placed a foot on the foothold. He took a step closer, his enormous frame blocking out the sun. Suppressing the urge to jerk away from him, she prayed for G.o.d's protection, then held her breath while he a.s.sisted her into the wagon.
CHAPTER SIX.
Anna hadn't been in a wagon since she'd left New York. The rocking of the vehicle combined with the rumbling of hooves, the jiggling of harnesses, and the creaking of wheels all blended together in a soothing lullaby.
An Indian woman swaddled in what looked like a blanket of woven bark moved down the boardwalk. Looking up, she waved at Mr. Denton, the bra.s.s rings on her fingers catching the sunlight, while the ones in her ears swayed.
Tugging on his hat, Mr. Denton smiled, his entire face transformed with the gesture. His eyes turned sky blue while a double set of deep grooves dimpled each cheek. Anna knew she stared, but never had she seen such straight, white teeth.
Quelling the impulse to crane around for another look at the woman who evoked such a response from him, she instead scanned the streets. There wasn't a single beggar. Or pauper. Or tramp. In New York, they'd lined every major thoroughfare. She wondered, briefly, how long it would have been before she'd have become one of them had she stayed at home.
Mr. Denton clicked his tongue, gently tugging on the right rein and turning them north toward Mr. Mercer's grand university at the top of the hill. They pa.s.sed cottage-style homes sitting in the middle of treeless lots a block wide, white picket fences marking their spa.r.s.e perimeters. For all the trees that grew in this land, the residences had nothing but flat, dirt-filled lots with few shade trees or ornamental shrubs.
Two tiny birds with rich vocal repertoires flickered by tee-tee-teeing in an impossibly high register, then suddenly dropped their voices to turr-turr-turr in a lower tone. This time she did twist around in the wagon seat.
And completely forgot about the birds as she again faced Mount Rainier. Huge, majestic, awe-inspiring. And it would be hers to look at for the rest of her days.
The wagon dipped into a sag, b.u.mping her backside clear up off the bench. Squealing, she flailed her arms.
An iron grip clasped her leg through her skirts and hauled her back down. ”Careful.”
She sucked in a breath, then steadied herself. ”Forgive me. I was . . .”
But he'd already removed his hand and turned his focus to something up ahead.
She smoothed her skirts and looked to see what held his attention. A little white church crowned with a pretty steeple and large wooden cross had come into view.
Her pulse began to hammer. They'd be there in a few minutes and she'd yet to raise her concerns with Mr. Denton.
Tapping the V between each gloved finger, she took a surrept.i.tious glance at him. As anxious as he'd been to have the privacy of the wagon, he'd not initiated any conversation.
She bit her lip. Perhaps she should just wait and speak with the preacher. She'd heard things in the West were done differently, but she couldn't imagine the preacher allowing her to live alone with a single man. Surely things weren't that different.
On the other hand, in a territory that held a dearth of chaperones, there might not be any alternatives. She simply didn't know.
But the preacher would. So she'd wait and see.
A sweet, delicate fragrance filled the air.
”What's that smell?” she asked.
”Twinflower. It's that white wild flower creeping up the fence right there.”
She scanned the fence and caught a flash of white hugging one of the posts. ”Smells like honeysuckle, only more vanilla-like.”
”Looks like them, too. You'll see them all over for the rest of the summer and on into the fall.”
She studied the tiny blooms bedded in a patch of green until they'd completely pa.s.sed them by.
A few blocks later, Mr. Denton slowed the wagon and pulled it off the road next to a burying ground with a smattering of markers. After securing the horse, he came round to her side and offered a.s.sistance.
As soon as her feet touched the ground, she turned her attention to the church. It held a number of holes in the woodwork and windows, all the size of bullets.
”You ready?” Mr. Denton asked, extending his elbow.
Shaking off her thoughts, she took his arm and headed up the steps. ”What's the name of your church?”
”The White Church.”
She blinked. ”The White Church?”
”Yes. As opposed to the Brown Church over on Madison and Second.”
”The Indians here have their own church?”
A ghost of a smile touched his face. ”No. This one is painted white; that one is painted brown.”
Before she had time to digest his explanation, they entered the sanctuary. A tall ceiling with exposed joists sheltered two walls of windows and several rows of oak pews split down the middle by an aisle. A hint of lemon oil tickled her nose.
”Wait here,” he said. ”I'll be right back.”
The heels of his boots echoed off the walls as he skirted the pews and headed toward a door to the right of the pulpit.
”David?” he asked, tapping a knuckle against the wood.
A m.u.f.fled sound issued forth and Mr. Denton entered the room, closing the door behind him.
Silence enveloped Anna.
h.e.l.lo, G.o.d.
Removing her gloves, she glided down the aisle, absorbing the quiet, the draped cross at the front of the room, the feeling of peace.