She slipped on her flannel nightgown and then opened the door. Before Noah could enter, she slid between the sheets, to the far side of the bed. Waiting.
A long while later Noah entered and without a word undressed in the shadows beyond the flickering candlelight.
Sunny’s heart thrummed in her temples. Harsh images from her past bombarded her mind but she tried to shut them out.
Noah blew out the candle in the wall sconce.
She closed her eyes, waiting for the rope bed to dip as Noah slid in beside her.
“Sunny, I don’t feel right about sharing a bed with you tonight. We’re nearly strangers.”
I used to lie down with strangers all the time. She clamped her lips tight, holding back the words, afraid that he would realize he’d made a terrible mistake in marrying her.
“I’ll bunk here on the floor. Just go to sleep. We’ve a long day tomorrow. Good night, Sunny.” He lifted off the top quilt and rolled up in it on the floor.
“Wh-why did you marry me?” she asked as confusion overwhelmed her.
He turned to face her, scant moonlight etching his outline. “It was time to take a wife.”
“You know what I was.”
“Yes, I know. You lay with men who paid you. Did you ever kill anyone?”
The question shocked her. “No. Of course not.”
“Well, I have. Which is worse—lying with a stranger for money, or shooting a man and leaving him to bleed to death?”
Stunned at his bleak tone, she fell silent for a long moment, not knowing what to say.
In the dark she moved to the edge of the bed and slipped to the floor. In the dim light she reached for his hand but stopped just short of taking it. “That was war. You were supposed to kill the enemy.”
He made a gruff sound, and rolled away from her. “Good night, Sunny.”
Her heart hurt for him. She longed to comfort him, but he’d turned his back to her.
Late into the night she stared at the ceiling, thinking about his question, about how he’d sounded when he’d spoken of war. Would they ever be truly close, or had too much happened to both of them? Was it her past that had made him sleep on the floor? Or was it...him? Oh, Lord, can I be the wife he so clearly needs?
* * *
“It’s not much farther!” Noah called out, walking beside the Conestoga wagon, leading his horse.
Sunny, who was taking her turn at driving the wagon behind the oxen, waved to show him she had heard his first words to her in hours. Dawn crawled by her feet under the bench. Boards blocked the opening to the side and rear. She hoped her idea of “not much farther” matched his.
Beyond the line of trees with spring-green leaves the wide Mississippi River meandered along beside them, sunlight glinting on the rushing water, high with spring rain and snowmelt. Frogs croaked incessantly. After several weeks of traveling all she wanted was to stop living out of a wagon and arrive home, wherever that was.
The unusually warm April sun, now past noon, beat down on Sunny’s bonnet. She’d unbuttoned her top two collar buttons to cool. The air along the river hung languid, humid, making perspiration trickle down her back. A large ungainly gray bird lifted from the water, squawking, raucous.
“I’m eager for you to see our homestead,” Noah said, riding closer to her.
“I am, too.” And scared silly.
Too late to draw back now.
Several weeks had passed since they’d wakened the morning after their wedding and set off by horseback to the Ohio River to travel west by riverboat. In Cairo, Illinois, Noah had purchased their wagon, oxen and supplies. Then they’d headed north, following the trail on the east side of the Mississippi. Noah pointed out that the trail was well-worn by many other travelers, and told her that French fur trappers had been the first, over two hundred years ago. She’d tried to appear interested in this since it seemed important to him. She’d known trappers herself. They weren’t very special.
“It will take work to make our claim into a home,” Noah said.
She gave him a heartening smile and ignored her misgivings. This was her husband, this was her fresh new start—she would have to make it work no matter her own failings. “I’ll do my best.”
He nodded. “I know that.”
Sunny blotted her forehead with the back of her hand. Then she saw a town appear around the bend, a street of rough buildings perched on the river’s edge.
“That’s Pepin,” Noah called out.
“Thank Heaven,” Sunny responded, her spirit lifting.
Dawn tried to stand and fell, crying out. Sunny kept one hand on the reins and with the other helped Dawn crawl up onto her lap.
“Is she all right?” Noah asked.
“Fine. Just trying to stand up.”
“She’s a quick one.”
Usually silent Noah was almost chatting with her. He must be happy, too.
Noah always slept in the wagon bed at the end near the opening, evidently protecting her but always away from her. But just last night he called out, “Help, help!” She’d nearly crawled to him. But he’d sat up and left the wagon and began pacing. She hadn’t known what to do. Sunny was beginning to believe he slept away because of his nightmares. Because of the war perhaps?
She wondered if his lack of sleep made him silent. Whenever she spoke, he replied readily and courteously. Yet he rarely initiated conversation, so today must be a good day.
Soon she pulled up to a drinking trough along the huddle of rough log buildings facing the river—a general store, a blacksmith, a tiny government land office and a wharf area where a few barges were tethered.
And a saloon at the far end of the one street.
Buttoning her collar buttons, Sunny averted her face from the saloon, deeply grateful she would not be entering its swinging doors. Ever.
A man bustled out of the general store. “Welcome to Pepin!” he shouted. “I’m Ned Ashford, the storekeeper.”
Noah approached the wagon and helped her put the brake on. Then he solicitously assisted her descent. Only then did he turn to the storekeeper. He shook the man’s hand. “Noah Whitmore. This is my wife, Sunny, and our daughter, Dawn.”
He was always careful to show her every courtesy, and every time Noah introduced her and her baby this way, gratitude swamped her. For this she forgave him his tendency to pass a whole day exchanging only a sentence or two with her.
Maybe it wasn’t the sleepless nights. Some men just didn’t talk much—she knew that.
But she could tell that he was keeping a distance between them. Their marriage had yet to be consummated.
She didn’t blame him for not wanting her. Sudden shame over her past suddenly lit Sunny’s face red-hot.
“You just stopping or staying?” the friendly storekeeper in the white apron asked.
“I have our homestead east of here claimed and staked.” Noah sounded proud.
Our homestead—Sunny savored the words, her face cooling.
“I thought you looked familiar. You were here a few months ago. But alone.”
“Right.” Dismissing the man’s curiosity, Noah turned to her. “Sunny, why don’t you go inside and see if there’s