The Jewel: The Malloy Family, Book 11 Read online

  “Where is my sister?” Charlie’s hands fisted.

  “I don’t rightly know, young lady. She and her husband took a horse and hightailed it out of here in August. It’s been two months since we’ve seen hide or hair of them.” Johnson patted Charlie’s head. “Now ,why don’t you be quiet so the adults can talk?”

  Elijah touched her arm and stopped Charlie in mid-rant. She gave Johnson one last glare before she stomped toward the door with the lanky handyman behind her.

  “I thank you for the information about Josephine. Can I ask what happened to her belongings?” Isabelle’s voice shook and Mason wanted to shield her from the pain of losing track of Josephine.

  “They’re in the shack out yonder.”

  “My father was a wood craftsman and he left a rocking chair he’d made. I’m sure Josephine will want her books back too.” Isabelle gestured to the door. “If you wouldn’t mind unlocking it so we can retrieve her things?”

  Johnson’s smile faded. “How do I know you’re who you say you are? You don’t look nothing like that other woman.”

  “I can prove it if you unlock the door and look beneath the rocking chair. You’ll find the initials of all of my sisters, FC, JC, IC and CC. Francesca, Josephine, Isabelle and Charlotte.” Isabelle’s voice caught. “It’s nearly all I have left of my papa, Mr. Johnson. He and my mother died on the journey west.”

  “Well, ain’t that a sad story.” Johnson shook his shaggy head and picked up a lantern from the nearby table. “I can take you there and check the rocking chair. If it has those initials, you can take the goods.” He finally looked at Mason, who pasted on a bland expression. “You and your husband can stay there tonight if’n you’d like.”

  “That’s most kind of you.” Mason took Isabelle’s elbow, unsurprised to feel her trembling beneath his touch. He kissed the top of her head and tucked her beneath his arm. “Don’t worry, honey. We’ll find her.”

  She made a noise that he thought might be a sob. They filed out of the building and through the snow to the small white shack.

  “There ain’t no wood in here, but you can probably buy some from folks if you don’t have any.” Johnson unlocked the padlock and pushed the door open with a squeak.

  The building was smaller than the pantry at Mason’s plantation back home. It was barely six steps in either direction for a man his height. “Two people lived here for a month?” He couldn’t stop the incredulous tone in his voice.

  “The woman had typhoid.” Johnson kept his jacket up around his mouth. “I ain’t walking in any further. Bring that chair over so I can look at it.”

  Mason gritted his teeth and didn’t say what he truly wanted to. Instead he thought of Isabelle and her grief. He picked up the chair and brought it to the door. Johnson held up the lantern and peered at the bottom of the seat.

  “Well, I’ll be damn—darned. There’s the initials, just like you said.” Johnson shook his head. “You gonna stay the night?”

  Mason spoke for them since Isabelle was frozen in place, staring at the chair. “Yes, and thank you, Mr. Johnson. We appreciate the hospitality.”

  “If’n you stay any longer than one night, it’s gonna cost ya. Either in labor or in coin. Fixit is around if you have questions.” Johnson nodded to the small table in the corner. “There’s a lantern there, might be some oil left in it. This early snow is cold as a witch’s ti—toe. Good night, then.”

  With that, the three of them were left in a tiny shack. Cold and alone. Mason put the chair back next to the narrow bed.

  “I’ll go back to the wagon and get some supplies for the night.” He waited for a response, but Isabelle simply sank into the rocking chair, her face a sketch in sadness. He knelt down in front of her and took her hands. “She’s not here, but we will find her.”

  Charlie sidled up beside him and sat cross-legged. “They said Declan was her husband. You said Mason was yours. I thought that was a lie for the Beckers?”

  Isabelle shook her head. “It will keep us safer. You remember what Mr. Avery said, right?”

  “Yep. He said you needed to get married or you couldn’t be on the wagon train. I hate him.” Charlie jumped back to her feet. “I’m going to check on the oxen.” She disappeared out the door leaving them alone.

  “That wagon master is a jackass.” Mason was angry and he’d never met the man. “He was also an idiot, but if he hadn’t said that, you wouldn’t have saved me. You are more than a man’s wife or an afterthought. You are my everything.”

  A tear rolled down Isabelle’s cheek. “I told myself I wouldn’t cry again. You make my heart sing, Mason Bennett.”

  He found his own eyes stinging. “You make my life worth living. I didn’t know who I was until I met you. I was nobody. A foolish man who spent his days pursuing young women and teaching bored young men about people who have been dead for hundreds of years.”

  She cupped his cheek. “You’re not nobody.”

  “Not anymore.” He kissed her. “I asked you once and you told me to ask you again. So here I am, posing my question once more. Isabelle Chastain, will you marry me?”

  She touched the arms of the chair, tracing the intricate detail work her father had crafted with care. After a few moments, she met his gaze, her green eyes glittering with tears. “Yes. I will marry you. I think our adventure is just beginning.”

  Mason pulled her into his arms and held tight. His heart soared with what he finally recognized was joy. It was as foreign as happiness, but he could get used to experiencing both of them. He had the rest of his life.

  Isabelle woke on the narrow bed snuggled up with Charlie. Her younger sister slept like the dead, rarely moving. She was either full on awake or sound asleep. There was no medium with Charlie.

  Weak light shone through the meager window. Isabelle got to her feet without disturbing her sister. Mason slept on the floor, which was a step up from sleeping in the dirt under a wagon. He looked impossibly boyish, much younger than his twenty-nine years. She had seen him sleep throughout the time they’d known each other, especially when he was healing, but this was the first time he appeared as though he was resting peacefully.

  She crept to the window and peered out, but all she could see was white. Isabelle slid the bolt off the door and opened it a crack. Snow tumbled in on her bare feet and she squeaked at the sudden cold attack.

  “What the hell is going on?” Charlie sat up her hands clutching the blanket.

  Mason cracked open one eye. “You all right, darlin’?”

  Isabelle stared in disbelief. “There’s two feet of snow out here and it’s still snowing.”

  Charlie and Mason jumped up and joined her at the door to the very small cabin.

  “Well, shit.” Charlie slapped her forehead. “We’re not going anywhere.”

  “I concur. Shit.” Mason leaned against the doorframe, his shirt partially open showing a very appealing bare chest. Isabelle resisted the urge to run her hands down the warm skin. “We may not be able to chase down Josephine until the snow melts.”

  Isabelle stared at the offending whiteness. She hadn’t considered the ramifications of the early winter on plans they hadn’t quite made yet. The wagon would not make it through several feet or snow nor would the oxen survive the journey.

  “We’re trapped.” Mason frowned. “I’ve never seen such snow. I have no experience on what to do. Elijah will need to teach me.”

  “You mean Fixit?” Charlie’s mouth twisted.

  “I don’t think he likes that name. We should call him Elijah.” Isabelle had seen the young man’s expression when Mr. Johnson had used that moniker.

  Charlie shrugged. “I don’t care. He’s stupid.”

  Isabelle wasn’t in the mood to deal with her sister’s mercurial moods of late. “More importantly, we need to find out what to do with the wagon, the oxen and all our thi
ngs.”

  Mason poked at the pile of snow. “We should wait until this fiendish icy precipitation ceases.”

  “We will.” Isabelle smiled at his reaction. He was definitely a Southern gentleman. “I think for now we will need some food and a plan.”

  Charlie tromped through the snow, heedless of how wet her legs or clothes got. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Perhaps the snow would deaden the pain that throbbed in her guts. A constant reminder that she was no longer an innocent child but a young woman who had been forced into adulthood.

  Isabelle didn’t know everything and Charlie wasn’t going to tell her. She wouldn’t tell anyone. It was her secret to keep and, with Camille dead, no one else knew either.

  The people who lived at the fort were stirring, going about their business while many were shoveling the snow that had piled up. No one seemed surprised to find two feet of snow when they woke. That amused Charlie, since it would have been the talk of the town in New York. It gave old men something to grumble about, women something to gossip about and the city something to do.

  Here, snow must be a common occurrence and folks did what was necessary. She liked that. It was a philosophy she could take as her own. No more foolishness of childhood. It was time to be an adult and act like one.

  That man, Elijah, or Fixit, whatever his name was, had a shovel in hand and appeared to have already cleaned a path around the main buildings. He was so focused on his task he didn’t hear her approach although the snow crunched and squeaked beneath her.

  “How much do you have to shovel?”

  He started and a shovelful of snow came at her face. She barely had time to close her eyes before it hit her like a cold slap. She fell backward and landed in the wet snow with a grunt. Charlie lay there blinking up at the cloudy sky and trying to find her breath.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Charlotte.” He hovered over her, shovel in hand. “You shouldn’t sneak up on a man like that. I could’ve really hurt you”

  “I didn’t sneak.” She sucked in a breath. “I made as much goddamn noise as a herd of goats.”

  In the morning light, his hair glinted blue-black and his eyes were as bright as a summer sky. She didn’t want to think he was attractive, but he was. Yet he was more annoying than handsome.

  “Let me help you up.” Damned if he didn’t have a smile on his face, as though he found her predicament amusing.

  “No, I don’t want your help.” She wiped the last bits of snow from her face and got to her feet, albeit without any grace. He probably saw her undergarments, but she didn’t care.

  He watched as she struggled and to his credit, didn’t offer to help a second time or ignore her refusal. That was the thing about adults that got under her skin—if she told them no, they didn’t listen and did what they thought was right.

  “So is your name Elijah or Fixit?” She peered at him and picked at the snow that had taken up residence in the tangled snarl of her hair.

  “Elijah.” He spoke so low she barely heard him. “Mr. Johnson calls me Fixit because I can fix things when they don’t work anymore.” He shrugged. “I don’t like it, though.”

  “Then tell him to stop calling you that.”

  Elijah scowled at her. “I told him, but you know, not all of us can be bold as brass and not suffer consequences.”

  Her gut took up residence in her throat and she had trouble getting it back down where it belonged. “Don’t think I haven’t suffered any consequences.”

  Memories crowded her and she turned away from him, unable to manage another second in his company.

  “Miss Charlotte, wait!”

  She ignored him, walking or rather wading, in the snow as fast as she could. When she reached the oxen, the one Mason called Hercules lifted his head and snorted. There was a male who could appreciate her. She would stay here with the animals until Isabelle and Mason got to the wagon. Then they would decide what to do and Charlie would have no choice in the matter. Again.

  She closed her eyes and thought of Maman and Papa. Their memories would have to sustain her. Perhaps one day she might forget what happened with the Beckers, with Camille, and find true happiness again. Until then, she would pretend she was whole.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The weather was precarious this time of year and Isabelle didn’t want to risk their lives again to find Josephine. Common sense told her to wait out the winter here at the fort. They had money from the Beckers’ lockbox and could pay for what they needed.

  There were decisions that had to be made and she looked forward to making them with Mason. He was to be her husband in earnest this time. The ring she wore would be more than a ruse. It would become the symbol of love as it had when her mother wore it. Maman would be pleased, as would Papa.

  Mason sat on the edge of the narrow bed and waited while she braided her hair. He watched as her hands made quick work of her hair and his hungry gaze told her he wanted to let her hair down. She shivered and looked forward to privacy. Lots of privacy.

  “We can’t live in the tiny shack all winter. It’s smaller than the wagon, plus we had all your belongings to store.” Mason threaded his fingers together and frowned. “There didn’t appear to be an empty house or building anywhere at the fort.”

  Isabelle tied off her hair with a bit of ribbon she had tied to her wrist. “What do you suggest we do?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. What if we sell the wagon and oxen, then use the money to make this shack bigger? In the spring, we can sell it, if you like, and procure horses and a wagon to find your sisters.”

  She longed to forget the winter and the snow and simply find Josephine and Frankie. However, Mason was right. They couldn’t live in this tiny building, not three of them, and it didn’t appear to belong to anyone.

  “It’s a good plan. What about our wedding?” The words tumbled out of her mouth, revealing what else was on her mind.

  He smiled and she was again reminded just how handsome the professor turned western man was. “I have an idea about that too. What if we get married now, here at the fort, as soon as possible? I have no family to speak of and you have Charlie.” He got to his knees in front of her and kissed her quite thoroughly. “What say you, future Mrs. Bennett?”

  Breathless she could barely contain the joy in her heart. “I say let’s find Mr. Johnson and propose our plan.”

  “Did you want to talk to Charlie first?” Mason helped her to her feet, always the gentleman.

  “No, I think it would be better if we had a solid plan in place before we talk to her. She’s been so moody since my parents passed away. Stability is what she needs. This improved house will help.” Isabelle had no idea what Charlie was thinking. Her sister had become close-mouthed about her feelings.

  They donned their coats and stepped out into the snow. Mason made faces that were comical. She laughed and held on to his arm, teaching him how to walk in snow.

  They had made it to Fort John. Isabelle could be proud they had made it to their first goal. Josephine wasn’t here, but perhaps she had escaped to Frankie and John’s ranch. The Malloys wouldn’t be too difficult to find, Isabelle hoped. In the spring, when the weather was less deadly and life-threatening, the three of them would find her sisters.

  She would see Jo and Frankie again, knew it deep in her heart. They were family and nothing was more important than reuniting all four of them.

  Mr. Johnson stared at them with one bushy brow raised. “You want someone to marry the two of you. I thought you was already married.” His expression told Mason they were about to be tossed out on their asses.

  “We are married, but it was by a layperson on the wagon train. You know how that is. A couple gets to the point they need to get hitched, but there isn’t a preacher around. Folks do it all the time.” Mason lied with practiced ease. He hoped it was true or they’d be on their way in two fee
t of snow with little hope to survive the winter.

  “That they do. I’ve had more than a few families come through here that made do on the trail.” Mr. Johnson rubbed his lambchop sideburn while Mason released the breath he’d been holding. “There ain’t a preacher here, but there is a ship’s captain.”

  Isabelle blinked. “We are quite far from any body of water.”

  “Too true. He got sick of the ocean and came west. Made it as far as here and settled in. Said he was done with traveling overland.” Mr. Johnson chuckled as if that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Mason agreed with the captain—he’d had his fill of traveling overland, too.

  “Doesn’t a ship’s captain have to be on a ship to perform marriages?” Isabelle frowned. She was apparently not amused at the situation either.

  “Well, if you get married on the wagon, it’s a prairie schooner, ain’t it?”

  Mason let loose a hoarse laugh and grabbed Isabelle, twirling her around in a circle. “We’ll get married on board the wagon, the one thing that brought us together.”

  She kissed him hard and fast. “Very appropriate.” Her smile was the most beautiful sight he’d ever had the pleasure of seeing.

  “Can you make arrangements with the captain?” Mason set her back on her feet, his arm comfortably around her shoulders. She was the perfect height for him. Hell, she was the perfect everything for him.

  “It’ll cost you.”

  “We can pay.” Mason had no qualms about using the Beckers’ money to pay for their wedding. Camille had taken much from the Chastains. By Mason’s reckoning, the older woman owed them more than a lockbox of coins.

  “Then I will go see him so you folks can get hitched and be on your way.” Mr. Johnson made a move to leave but Mason stopped him.

  “Regarding the, er, cabin, we slept in last night. Who owns it?”