A/N: Hi. It's been a while (understatement, I know).
My husband should be the one you thank for this update. He is currently playing in a production of Man of La Mancha, which really has nothing to do with this Chelsie AU, but I referenced Don Quixote way back in like chapter three. So this story barged its way to the front of the line.
Just a refresher – the last chapter ended with Richard and Isobel's engagement (oops, spoiler alert!) and Charles and Elsie getting news that John Bates is coming for a visit. Richard knows he's married, and to whom, but the Carsons do not know.
A reminder that this fic is rated M. IYKWIMAITYD. This is AU, with a young Chelsie. Elsie's action may seem waaaaay out of character here, but...context.
As always, your reviews and comments are most appreciated. To the person who sent me a little review in the last 24 hours, you have spectacular timing.
A few historical notes, in order:
*"I am a stranger here, but this is where I belong." Thanks to ChelsieSouloftheAbbey for helping me with Spanish, since I don't know any except for sketchy translations on the Internet.
*Skirmishes between settlers and the native Yurok and Karok tribes occurred in northern California in early 1855.
*The lines Isobel recites are from "Song of Myself", a famous poem by Walt Whitman. His great work, Leaves of Grass, was first published in Brooklyn in July 1855.
*The violence in Kansas between pro and anti-slavery men began in 1854 and lasted for years. In late November 1855, a man was killed, which led to reprisals on both sides. It escalated into a siege of Lawrence, Kansas by over a thousand pro-slavery men. The defenders were abolitionists, including John Brown. Fortunately a treaty was made before anyone attacked.
March 1855, near Sonoma
Charles and Elsie both agree that between them, he is easier to fluster. She is the steady one, not often surprised.
But when John Bates arrives at their house with his wife, both Carsons are shocked.
Married.
Married.
He's married.
As much as Charles keeps repeating the words in his head, he cannot believe them. And yet as he watches his old friend help his wife, his wife, from their fine carriage and introduce her, he has to believe it.
Vera has black hair, pale skin, and a fine figure. She smiles prettily at Charles and Elsie, but her eyes are cold.
John clears his throat, the silence thick around them. –I see we succeeded in surprising you.
Rousing himself, Charles steps forward and shakes his hand. –You did. But it's wonderful to see you. Both of you. Congratulations. He forces himself to smile at the new Mrs. Bates, hoping neither she nor his friend, see his unease.
Don't think about it now. Manners.
Samuel murmurs, pulling at Elsie's skirt. She is relieved to have to pick him up; to give him some attention, to avert her gaze from Charles talking to John and his…wife.
She does not look like the sort of woman to marry anyone.
A common tart if I ever saw one! What was he thinking!?
You know very well what was on his mind when he met her…
Steady on, girl, don't judge a book by its cover.
It is hard not to. Vera's new boots, and her dress and feathered hat, look misplaced next to Charles and Elsie's plain clothes. They show a regard for finery that seems misplaced compared to John's plainer tastes.
It is not simply dismay Elsie feels, or what she sees in Charles's expression. It is disappointment. He and John Bates share a bond that began years ago, when they traveled the dangerous road together to California. Though the Carsons have not seen John since he moved to San Francisco, Elsie knows Charles has worried about his friend more than he has said. And she has wondered how Mr. Bates had fared in the city alone.
And now John has come to visit with a wife who seems totally unlike the sort of woman they would have thought he would marry.
Maybe we do not know him as well as we thought we did.
Sighing, she sets Samuel on her hip. –Congratulations, Mr. Bates, she says. Somehow her voice and expression sound normal. –And to you, Mrs. Bates. I hope the journey here was pleasant.
-It was, Vera replies, looking from Charles to her. –You're both very kind. I can see why my Batesy spoke of you so often.
The sweet tone of her voice rivals molasses. Elsie's suppressed intuition flares anew, but she manages not to show it.
-Won't you come inside? She asks. –You must be tired after your travels.
-Oh, thank you. Elsie sees Vera scanning the porch, the two-storied house, the vineyard with open greed.
She wants all of this for herself. More.
But does she know the work involved in caring for all of it?
-You go on, John kisses Vera on her cheek. –Mr. Carson and I will tend the horses.
Charles and Elsie both see his pride in his wife, and they exchange a troubled glance. The men lead the horses and carriage to the barn.
-How wonderful that you have your own land! It's rather pretty, for being in the country, I mean, Vera says, lifting her skirt from the dirt. –I would die of boredom here, I'm sure. Johnny promised me that as soon as he can, he'll buy me a house in San Francisco.
Elsie bites her lip as Vera prattles on about their life in the city.
Johnny?
It is not until she is at the foot of the porch steps when she remembers Anna had followed them outside. Their hired girl stands next to the front door holding Maggie.
-Mrs. Bates, this is Anna Smith, Elsie says, letting Vera go in front of her. –Anna, this is John's wife. Mrs. Bates, this is our daughter Margaret. We call her Maggie.
She gestures to the baby, who drools, staring.
-Two little ones. Vera smiles without it reaching her eyes. –Children are a lot of work. You must be very glad to have a servant.
-Anna is like a member of our family. She lives with us and is very dear to Mr. Carson and me. And to our children, Elsie says with a hint of frost. She does not like the tone in the woman's voice.
Or the way she looks right through the girl, like she isn't even there.
Yes, Anna is paid wages, but neither Elsie nor Charles think of the girl as a mere servant.
-How do you do, Mrs. Bates? Anna asks politely. Her blue eyes take in the woman before her. She has none of the surprise the Carsons displayed; only a glimmer of disapproval. Of course, Anna cannot be as shocked as they were, Elsie thinks. She has never met John Bates, let alone guessed at what sort of woman he would marry.
-Well enough. I am glad to be out of the carriage for a while. The road was nothing but dust and heat! Vera laughs as they go inside. The sound grates on Elsie's ears.
Charles and John unhitch the carriage and brush down the horses, talking of the previous year's harvest.
-I'm sure you are much more grateful for its success than I am, John grins as they walk out of the barn. –You and Elsie have worked so hard. You should be proud.
-Thank you. Charles turns to walk towards the house, but his friend stops him.
-Do you mind if we walk around the vineyard? I do want to join them, but I think it would be nice to let our wives get to know each other without us being there. John looks apologetic. –Vera is a very engaging woman; she doesn't need my help making friends.
The way he said it almost makes Charles cringe. It is clear to him that Mrs. Bates holds more sway in the marriage. That does not bode well. He knows John, knows his temper.
He guesses that his wife has one, too.
His friend is still in the throes of first love. But what will happen when it cools?
There is more to marriage than passion – though the spark, Charles knows, is important too. It is not the only thing, however.
They walk through the long rows and to the edge of the vineyard, looking at the barley field beyond.
-I missed it here, John breaks the silence once. –More than I realized. I love San Francisco too, but this place has a beauty all its own. Vera wants to stay in the city…I don't mind it, but I think she'll change her mind once we have children. I want a home like you and Elsie have one day.
His eyes are wistful.
Elsie leads Vera through the house. She sets Sam down, letting him toddle along with them. Anna follows with Maggie.
-A stove! How wonderful! Vera laughs in the kitchen. –I thought farmers' wives had to cook over an open hearth!
Sometimes Elsie does when she cannot get the stove to cooperate. But she is not about to tell Vera this. –It is useful. Mr. Carson is a vintner, not a farmer, she says lightly as her guest sits down. –We have a large garden, and the barley field, but the vineyard is our pride.
She kisses Sam and lifts him onto a chair. He stands on it, playing with a chink of wood at the end of the table. He shoves it towards Vera, wanting to play, but she ignores him. Anna moves it back so he doesn't have to reach for it.
-Johnny said you had a good harvest, Vera takes the offered teacup from Elsie without comment. –I should like to try some of the wine.
-I'm sure Mr. Carson will be delighted to share it with both of you.
Elsie is happy she can say something that does not feel like an outright lie. She goes back to making the meal that had been interrupted when their guests arrived. While she is very thankful her chicken pie is not burned, she wonders if Vera will like it. Mr. Bates always ate everything she made without complaint.
She wants to at least get along with John's wife, for his sake. There is something about the woman that nags her. It is not just Vera's appearance, or her endless talking about herself (Elsie nods, and drops a word or two when necessary). It is something she cannot trace. She smiles when Vera tells Samuel how big he is.
She does not see the stony look on Mrs. Bates' face.
Maggie frets in Anna's arms, and Elsie hurries to set out the bread and butter.
-She's hungry. She takes her daughter from Anna. –I'll only be a little while, she tells Vera. –We set out a table on the west side of the house. We thought we could eat there. I hope you don't mind.
-No, Vera says.
Anna gets up. –I'll put another chair out, Mrs. Carson.
-Thank you, Anna. Elsie goes to the bedroom. She sighs, leaning back against the rocking chair, as Maggie nurses.
They had known John would visit. Charlie had suspected his friend was in love. But she is sure neither one thought that he would be married. She feels a pang of hurt for her husband.
Surely Mr. Bates could have written and told him. They are old friends.
Maggie snuffles at her breast. Elsie runs a gentle finger through her baby girl's auburn curls. –Aye, you only need your belly full to be content, she murmurs, smiling. –That, and Da to make you laugh.
No sound of voices comes from the kitchen, but she hears the clatter of plates. Elsie hums. Maybe Vera went outside to find her husband.
Elsie is buttoning her dress when Samuel screams. The sound is like a knife in her heart. She snatches Maggie up and runs down the hall.
Her nearly two-year-old son is in Anna's arms. His face is red, tears pour down his cheeks, and his voice is piercing.
-What happened? Elsie takes him. He wails, burying his face in her neck. Maggie stares at her brother.
-He dropped that bit of wood on his hand. I think it scared him, Vera says. She awkwardly pats his head. –Children are easily startled, especially young ones.
-Well, there doesn't seem to be much harm done. Elsie lets out a breath. There are no marks on Sam's little hands or on his arms. Or anywhere. –Let's go outside and find your Da and Mr. Bates, my lad.
He has calmed down by the time they meet the men sitting in the sun.
-Hello, Samuel, John reaches for the boy. –Do you remember me? Elsie hesitates, but gives her son to their friend. To her relief, Sam is quiet, watching the dark-haired man. Charles takes Maggie and bounces her on his knee. His eyebrows are furrowed.
-Is he hurt? We heard him out here.
-No, Elsie says, her hands on her hips. –Not that I can see. We think he frightened himself.
I've never heard him scream like that.
The sound had made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
Vera sits down next to her husband. –This is a lovely view, she looks across the hills at the vineyard and the fields beyond. She curves her fingers into John's hair. He turns his attention from Samuel and grins at her, winning him a bright smile from his wife.
Elsie goes back into the kitchen. –I'll carry the pie, if you can get the bread and butter, she tells Anna.
-That woman is evil.
There is a hardness in the girl's voice, and steel in her blue eyes, that Elsie has never seen before.
-What do you mean? She asks.
Anna's fists are clenched. –I saw her pinch Samuel! On his earlobe, with her fingernails! If I had been closer, I would have stopped her. She was trying to hurt him, the girl seethes. –And then she lied to your face and pretended she had nothing to do with it!
Elsie's breath comes short. She clutches the back of a chair.
No, no, it can't be true. She must be mistaken.
Why would a stranger hurt my son? He's a baby!
But she meets Anna's eyes. The girl is no liar; far from it. And she loves Samuel and Maggie, and would willingly put herself in harm's way before letting them get hurt.
I knew there was something wrong with Vera.
She hates to think her misgivings were justified. But instincts serve a purpose, as Mam says. We ignore them at our peril.
-I've seen her type before, the hired girl continues. –Back on the ship when my family sailed from England, there was a woman with her husband and little girl. She never took any notice of her daughter, except when the girl had her father's attention. Then she wanted it for herself. Women like her, she snorts, -they don't care about anyone but themselves.
Elsie digs her own fingernails into her palms. She believes Anna. But there is nothing to do except carry on as normal. Charles and John are ignorant, and if she and Anna keep their eyes on Vera, nothing more should happen. Anna believes the woman only acted when she thought no one saw her.
Both watches Vera during dinner. The woman is smooth. She laughs with the men, and turns the conversation to herself with a skill Elsie envies. She ignores Anna entirely.
Every time Vera reaches in Sam or Maggie's direction, Elsie sucks in her breath. Though she knows there is nothing the woman would dare to do with everyone sitting right there.
By the time dinner is over, she wonders if she is simply imagining things. Maybe Anna only thought she saw something.
When she comes outside with the blackberry pie, Charles stands with Sam on his shoulders. Father and son face the other direction, looking out at the hills and the road to Sonoma. Maggie sucks on her fingers contentedly in John's arms.
Anna is talking to John about California.
-It's beautiful, she says with a small smile. –I love the sunshine and the warmth. The rain is lovely too…I suppose only a Yorkshire girl would say that.
-Or a man who grew up in dark, foggy London, he jokes, squinting up at the sky. –I'm not used to the sun either, even after all these years. As you can see.
The skin on his neck and arms is reddish-pink, and peeling in places.
-No one should ever mistake you for a Californio, that's certain. Unless you speak Spanish, she leans her elbow on the table.
Elsie is a little surprised to see the hired girl so at ease with someone she just met. And the same goes for John Bates.
-Soy extranjero, pero este es mi hogar*, he says. His eyes twinkle when she raises her eyebrows. Maggie coos, and he and Anna look down at her.
-Her first words will probably be in Spanish, not English! Anna says.
They laugh.
Behind him, Vera glowers at Anna. She slips her hand around the crook of John's elbow quick as a wink and pinches the top of Maggie's tiny ear. Hard.
John does not see it. Neither does Anna.
Everything happens at once.
Maggie shrieks; Elsie drops the pie, splattering it on the ground; John leaps up in confusion, not knowing why the baby screams. He bangs his knee under the table, and Charles and Samuel spin around, wide-eyed at the commotion.
Elsie runs to John and takes Maggie from him.
John runs a hand through his hair as she comforts the crying Maggie. -She…she was fine. I don't know why she screamed.
-Why do children scream for no reason? Vera asks. –First the boy, and now his sister. It must be in the blood.
Her voice is sweet, like nectar.
-What do you mean by that? Charles snaps in her direction. He wants to say more, especially because John's wife is smirking at him, but he's holding Samuel.
Elsie's own blood boils.
Years before in Scotland, her father had warned her about her temper.
Do not let it master you, lass, or it will master you.
His words are drowned out by the red rage that floods through her.
-Anna, she says, handing Maggie quickly to her.
She storms over to Vera, grabs her by the ear and drags her out of her chair and onto the ground. Her fury makes her strong.
The woman yells in pain, trying to grab Elsie's arm.
-Bitch! Are you mad!?
-You hurt my daughter, Elsie grits through her teeth. Her eyes blaze. –I saw you!
For good measure, she yanks Vera's ear again. She is so angry she doesn't care when the woman tears her sleeve and scratches her forearm.
-Crazy bitch! Vera yells. –Johnny, stop her!
Elsie hangs onto her. -Liar! She shouts. –Anna saw you pinch Samuel, and I saw you just now. Don't try to deny it!
With a roar, Vera breaks her grip and scrambles to her feet. She tries to slap Elsie, but the young mother eludes her.
Charles and Anna watch with open mouths. Charles wants desperately to jump in between the two, but he is not about to let go of his son, or leave Anna and his daughter's side.
He feels something else as well. But he quashes it.
This is no time to think such things.
John is frozen in place, as shocked as the other two are. –What on earth-
Growling, Vera backhands Elsie hard on the cheek, sending her sprawling. –If you are going to start a fight, you had better be prepared to end it, she snarls under her breath.
Elsie wobbles unbalanced, kneeling on the ground. Some of her hair has come undone, and her cheek stings. Her fingers dab the corner of her lip. She tastes blood.
Before Vera can step back, she stands up and punches her in the nose with all the force she can muster. It feels like her hand is broken, but it is worth it just to watch her fall.
John runs forward and pulls his wife into his arms. –Are you all right!? He traces the outline of her face. She blinks rather woozily.
-I…I…oh God, Johnny, I don't want her to hit you too, she mumbles.
She seems smaller. Diminished. Frail, even.
John glares up at Elsie, fire in his eyes. –If you weren't a woman, I'd hit you myself, he fumes. –Why in the hell would you attack Vera and call her a liar? You don't know her!
-I know her as much as I ever wish to, Elsie fires back hotly. Her blood rushes through her veins. –I call her a liar because she is one, and I hit her because she hurt my children.
She looks at Charles, trying to convey what she feels through her eyes. –Anyone who hurts my children will be punished. I would do it again in a moment. You should ask your wife why she hit me.
-To protect herself, of course! John gently gets Vera to sit up.
Elsie is not convinced the woman is as fragile as she appears. The way Vera struck her made it plain she can dish it out, so she can bloody well take it.
Charles's jaw is set and his face is red. –Anna, would you please take the children inside? Thank you.
-Of course, Mr. Carson. Anna takes Samuel's hand after his father sets him down and hurries into the house, Maggie on her hip.
John helps Vera stand, his arm around her shoulders. She sags against him. –I don't know why she says I hurt the children, really I don't, she tells him. -Why would anyone do that?
-For your own amusement. Or to get the attention away from someone else, Elsie snaps.
-Vera wouldn't do that, John argues. –She doesn't need to divert anyone to her; most people just naturally take to her.
He raises an eyebrow. –Are you jealous?
Elsie's mouth falls open. –Jealous? Why would I be?
Of her, especially!
-She's got plenty of friends in San Francisco. And you live here, away from most folks. You're not used to keeping company with other young women. I think you're jealous of her.
As much as Elsie hates to admit it, John has a point. About company, that is. She has few friends. Her day-to-day life rarely takes her away from the house and their land.
He is completely wrong about her being jealous.
-You said Anna saw Vera pinch Samuel. And you saw her pinch Maggie. Charles breaks in, coming over to stand next to Elsie. He glowers at Vera. –What do you say to that?
-I don't know what the girl or Mrs. Carson saw, but I never hurt them. Vera is defiant. –Never.
-You are lying, Elsie cries. Charles blocks her from striking Mrs. Bates again.
-Why would Miss Smith say such a thing about you? John asks Vera. Elsie lets out a breath. Maybe he will see sense.
-I don't know. Vera hangs her head. –Maybe she has an active imagination. There's not much amusement around here…and you know as well as I do that servants can't be trusted. The scullery maid at our boardinghouse is a rotten liar, she tells the Carsons.
-That may be so, but Anna doesn't lie, Charles frowns. –We've never known her to be dishonest in any way.
Now John glares at his old friend. –You believe the word of a hired girl over my wife? I thought I knew you better.
-So did I. Charles's voice is soft.
The two men glare at each other.
-Mr. Bates, Elsie takes a short breath, trying to control her temper. Her corset feels like it is squeezing the life out of her. Her face throbs, and her lip is swollen. –Neither Mr. Carson nor I would ever deceive you. I am telling the truth, and I believe Anna is as well.
She cannot bring herself to apologize for striking Vera. It is unbelievable how brazen the woman is, lying like that to their faces.
-Whatever they say, I would never lie to you, Vera squeezes John's arm. –I love you. Who are you going to believe – me or your so-called friends?
She throws a contemptuous look in Elsie's direction.
Charles watches doubt flicker over John's face as he looks from his wife to the Carsons, and back again. He holds his breath.
You are a decent man. An honest man. You know Elsie wouldn't lie, and you know you can trust me with your life.
You have before.
An ugly gleam appears in John's eyes. –Apologize to my wife, Mrs. Carson.
-What? Elsie whispers, not believing her ears.
-Apologize to Vera. She's done nothing wrong. Your hired girl is exaggerating. At best you didn't see what you thought you saw, and at worst, you're going along with her lies.
-You b-believe her? Charles stutters, stunned.
-Of course I do. John marches in the direction of the barn, holding Vera's arm in his. –She's my wife! If I'm not on her side when she's attacked, I'm not worth much as a husband.
The shock is so great Charles staggers a little sideways. Elsie's hand is warm on his back. Steady. Charles is thankful beyond words that she is there.
My friend's honor is misplaced.
What can I say to change his mind?
He goes after them. After a moment's hesitation, Elsie follows him. John leads his horses from the barn and begins hitching them to his carriage. Vera leans against the barn wall. Her nose looks crooked, Charles thinks, or perhaps it's just the sunlight and shadows.
-Are you leaving? Charles asks, trying to get his mind to catch up to what is happening in front of him.
-Yes. We can't stay here, not when you and your wife think mine is a liar and I'm a fool, John snorts.
Charles lays a hand on the front wheel. –Please don't go. Not like this.
He doesn't know how to fix the situation, but he knows he cannot let his closest friend leave angry.
-Make your wife apologize.
-I can't do that, Charles says. –I won't. I trust her, and I would be the last person to scold her for defending our children.
His anger, which has been tempered by his shock, is growing again. What on earth is the matter with John? Why can't he see what Vera is really like? Why does he insist Elsie and Anna are in the wrong?
-Then you had better let us go.
John finishes with the horses. He helps Vera into the carriage. –Where's your hat?
-Inside, she says, nodding at the house. –Where I left it. But it's no matter; I don't want to set foot on their land again. Not after they've treated me so badly.
Good, Elsie thinks. I do not ever want to see you here again.
She saves herself from saying it aloud by biting her lower lip, forgetting its painful condition. She whimpers.
Her heart twinges more at the sight of Charles's open anger and dismay.
-Is this goodbye then? He asks as John climbs up next to Vera.
The dark-haired man nods, barely looking at him. –It is.
He flicks the reins and they ride off down the road. The sunlight glimmers on the vineyard, and the wind rustles the leaves of the tree next to the barley field.
Elsie carries a cup of water down the hall. A candle flickers in Anna's room. She hovers in the doorway.
-I didn't mean to cause any trouble between you, Mr. Carson, and Mr. Bates, she says, worried.
-You never did. That harridan of a wife of his is the cause of all the trouble. Elsie glances at the half-open door to her and Charles's room. –We are both grateful for your help, as always. We know how much the children mean to you.
The girl tugs on her golden braid, still upset. –Mr. Bates is Mr. Carson's best friend, isn't he? I never meant to ruin their friendship.
-Anna. Elsie reaches out and touches her shoulder. –You're very highly valued, both to me and to Mr. Carson. You are like family to us, and we hope you see us the same way. What happened today between Mr. Carson and Mr. Bates is…unfortunate, but that is between them. You should not trouble yourself with it.
Anna gives her a small smile. –I'll try not to. You and Mr. Carson took me in and have treated me like I'm one of your own, she says. –I feel the same way. I am very grateful, truly.
-Good. Elsie squeezes her shoulder, her heart feeling a bit lighter. –Good night, Anna.
-Good night, Mrs. Carson.
Elsie lets out a breath as she shuts Anna's door. There is a lump in her throat. She has come to rely on the younger girl, more than she ever thought she would. And in a way Anna has become both like a sister and a daughter to her. Sort of like how Becky was when she was small.
She wonders if the fever had not changed Becky, if her relationship with Anna would be as strong.
Inside the bedroom, a fire crackles in the fireplace. Maggie is fast asleep in the cradle, and Samuel's arms are flung above his head in the trundle bed.
Thankfully, both are contented after the day's drama, and neither has any lingering pain.
Charles is still wearing his trousers, shirt, and suspenders. He stands by the fire, staring into its depths. His boots lay askew on the floor. That is not like him at all.
"Charlie?"
He turns at the sound of her voice. Tears shimmer in his eyes.
"He was the best friend I have ever had," he rumbles. "We crossed half the continent together, we worked together…and all of it gone. Up in smoke in an instant. How did it happen?"
Her heart sinks at his misery. "I am so sorry, mo ghraidh. I should never have let my temper get the better of me-"
"You were defending the children. I would never begrudge you that," he waves it off. "It is easy to look back and tell yourself how you should have reacted, but you saw what you saw. I just wish…"
He looks back into the fire, one hand on the mantle. She sets down the cup of water and wraps her arms around his broad torso.
"You wish Mr. Bates had believed me."
"Or at least questioned why you and Anna would make such accusations." Frustration mounts in his face, lines appearing on his forehead. "But no – one look from his precious Vera, and he sets aside all reason!"
Elsie caresses his back. His muscles are tense. "Men sometimes lose their heads around women." A smile curves the corner of her mouth. "That has never happened to you, I'm sure."
"Hmph." He doesn't turn, but she feels him relax.
Guilt gnaws at her. Though she has just given Anna advice, she feels the same.
"You should write to him. The last thing I want is for you to lose such a good friend because of me."
"Elsie," he turns and takes her hands, resting them beneath his big ones on his chest. "Had I been alone when they arrived today, I doubt the afternoon would have ended well. I had serious doubts about Vera as soon as I saw her, too. And," he takes a deep breath, "As difficult as it to admit it, Mr. Bates is not the same man he was when we became friends during our travels and when we owned the store together. He is not the same man he was before he left Petaluma. This is not your fault; not yours, not Anna's, certainly not the children's. I should have done more to sustain our friendship. Perhaps if I had been closer to him, he never would have been seduced by someone like Vera."
"You should not blame yourself for that," she murmurs, seeing his own guilt flicker in his eyes. "He is your friend, yes, but he is also a man who makes his own choices. I think deep down he knows he's made the wrong choice, but that is something he will have to struggle with."
And God save him. He's married to her now.
"I hope you're right," Charles says. "I agree with you. I think he has doubts, but he's not likely to express them anytime soon. Certainly not to me."
"Will you write to him? Just to try?"
He nods. "Yes. I will. I must…I don't want to lose him, not like this. As far as I know, he doesn't have another friend as close as I've been. Except for Beryl, of course." He closes his eyes. "I can only imagine what she's going to think when she finds out he's married, and to whom."
"I think Richard knew," she says. "Part of me wonders why he didn't come out and tell us, but then, maybe he did not think it was his news to tell."
Though it would have been very useful to have been prepared.
She does not blame her brother if he did know about John. What could he have done that would have changed anything?
"He has his own life to look forward to," Charles smiles down at her. "Perhaps he preferred to dwell on happier things."
"Very likely," she whispers as he brushes his lips against hers. She hums a little at the gentle contact.
"Does it still hurt?" He ghosts his thumb beneath her lower lip. "Had your lip split, Richard would have had to sew it back together."
"Just a dull ache, really. I think her ring caught the corner of my lip. It should be fine in a day or two."
"And your cheek?" He raises his eyebrows. There is a definite bruise that has formed.
"I will live," she smiles a little, saying nothing about the pain when the skins stretches at the motion. "Not to worry."
"Our neighbors will think I've hit you," he frets. "The bruise definitely has a finger mark."
"A finger much smaller than yours," Elsie reminds him. She raises herself onto her toes and kisses him again. "I'm going to bed."
She climbs in, grateful it is warm beneath the quilt. This late winter evening carries a chill. It would be warmer if her husband joined her, but after he slips on his nightshirt he sits on the edge of the bed, facing away from her. Still lost in thought.
"What is it?" She leans on her elbow. "Even your silence is loud," she teases.
He shrugs, the outline of his ears sharp against the glow of the fire. "It's nothing."
Sliding across the bed, she touches his back. "Tell me. Is it more about Mr. Bates?"
"No."
"The children? Richard and Isobel? The Indians in Klamath County*?"
He shook his head, trying to smile. "No."
"I won't be able to sleep until you tell me," she says. She is only partly joking. If it is something serious, it is far better for him to speak now than to hold it inside.
He sighs and lays down, pulling her across his chest. Her head rests beneath his chin.
Sometimes he wishes she was not so perceptive. Or persistent.
He hardly knows how to start.
What if she is appalled that I would think such things?
You will never know if you say nothing.
She will find it out eventually.
"This afternoon-" he began, and halted awkwardly. "During what happened, I was…shocked. And angry about what had happened to Samuel and Maggie. But when you dragged Vera from her chair and hit her, I-"
The image floods through his mind again. His Elsie, defending their children. Her eyes blazing. Red spots appearing on her face, displaying her anger.
Breathing hard, her chest rising and falling in indignation.
"What?" She asks, lifting her head a little.
He swallows and licks his lips. "I…you were beautiful. Frightening, but beautiful," he admits. He forces himself to look her in the face. There is a line between her eyebrows. "You…you were marvelous." He tries to say what he feels with some dignity, but gives up. He must be honest. "I wanted nothing more than to carry you in here, and tear your dress off you."
Color rushes into her face. "You thought so when I was angry? I would never have thought you would want…want that when I'm in a raging temper!"
She tries to think what it felt like in that moment, what he could have seen. Thoughts of defending the children and her own integrity aside, she felt strong. Powerful.
"Elsie Carson," he rumbles. His breath on her hair makes her shiver. "There is never a day that goes by when I don't want you. When you're happy, yes. Even when you are sad, or frustrated…I would never want to make you angry on purpose," he hastens to add. "But do you have any idea what you look like when you are?"
"Like an ugly storm cloud?"
"Ravishing," he whispers.
She is used to him speaking to her like this when they are alone; both have become freer as time has worn on. The thought of him wanting her when she is enraged is somewhat embarrassing to her. She cannot explain why, except that it does not seem proper at all.
Oh.
That IS the point.
She presses her lips together. He has taken a risk, and been honest with her. Bold.
I can be like that, too.
Turning over, she kisses him, feeling his mouth open. The tip of her tongue slips inside.
She adores the feel of his body, his heat seeping through his nightshirt and through her shift. Their kisses grow more passionate. Hums and murmurs are interspersed between gasps and soft moans.
"I love you." Charles struggles to sit up.
Elsie pushes him gently back down. "I love you." His head flops against the pillow. Together, they shed his nightshirt and hers.
"Take down your hair," he whispers. "Please." As usual, she is already ahead of him, undoing the braid she normally wears at night, and running her fingers through her hair to loosen it.
But when he goes to turn her over onto her back, she grabs his hands, linking her fingers through his. "No."
"No?"
"No," she smiles a little at his confusion. Giving him another deep kiss, she follows it with another on his chin, down his throat, over his heart.
Then she climbs on top of him, straddling his wide, muscular torso.
He gazes up at her. Her eyes are lowered, but there is a smile on her face. He loves how she has gotten bolder. That she knows how beautiful she is to him.
She lets go of his hands, letting him explore her. She rests her hands on his chest. His palms caress her breasts, slide across her belly. His fingers dance over her hips and sink into the soft flesh of her thighs. When she moves forward to let him reach farther, they both gasp. His manhood pokes her beneath her bum near her sex.
Not close enough.
Charles reaches behind him and grabs her pillow, setting it behind his head to let him sit up higher. Elsie's breath comes quicker. She holds the sides of his face between her hands and kisses him fully on the mouth.
She loves, she loves when they are like this. Skin on skin, nothing between them. She feels a wicked delight in being on top for once; she is used to his weight driving her down into the bed.
He likes it, too. "You feel…so good," he grunts out between kisses. "What you do to me…"
She moves her head a little, and his breath warms her neck.
He is always warm.
A moan breaks from her mouth.
The touch of his lips sets her on fire.
He kisses me anywhere, and I am gone.
His hands slip down her back, up between her thighs.
So wet, he thinks, his mind hazy as she cries out. God in heaven, this woman is amazing.
And she is mine.
His fingers part her folds and he rubs her slowly, increasing the friction between them. His need is growing painful.
But he loves to make her come undone.
Her hips thrust forward, her body aching, craving him. His fingers inside her are what she needs. "Oh god," she gasps, frantic for release.
Yes my love YESSSSSS
A high-pitched sigh, a moan, the sound she only makes for him, echoes in their room an instant before she buries her face in his neck. Even now, in her ecstasy, she is aware their children are close by.
Somehow they have managed to never wake the little ones.
He removes his fingers from her sex, caressing her back as she shakes. She kisses him, tracing the stubble along his jawline. Kisses him on his perfect mouth again, harder, with more urgency.
The glory of their love is that she wants more after he has pleasured her.
And not too late.
He is desperate for his own release.
Instead of moving off of him, however, and laying on her back, she leans back and takes him in hand.
"Damnation, Elsie," he swears, her nimble fingers making him hard enough to burst, "God almighty, I need you now-"
"I need you, mo ghraidh," she breathes. She spreads her legs a bit wider. They both cry out when she guides him into her wet, waiting warmth.
She slides up and down along his length, controlling the rhythm. His hands rest on her hips. Leaning forward, she bends to kiss him, and the angle brings him deeper inside her.
He yells once, thrusting hard. His wife moans, her hands clutching his shoulders, her body molded to his.
Or mine to hers.
There is nothing but him, him inside her, his seed pouring into her. Her sex feels alive – pulsing, giving, receiving.
All the while he continues to buck his hips, meeting her.
It is different to be beneath her. He feels the motion of her hips, her knees pressed on either side of his torso.
Like riding, he thinks wildly. Only I am the one being ridden.
She is close. Her movements are erratic, her words a blurred tangle of her mother tongue and English. He wants to flip over. Have her beneath him. Have gravity work for him, so he can pound into her the way he wants to.
This is about what SHE wants. What she needs.
An inarticulate cry rips from her throat. Her sex tightens around his manhood, and on instinct he pulls her down, her breasts against his chest. Thrusting faster, he feels her come apart.
Before he does as well.
The orange glow of the fire reflects on the contours of her face. Her open mouth as she gasps for air. Her dark eyes.
He drowns in them. In her.
Her muffled cries, her hair brushing his chest, the way her body moves with his is a marvel. They have grown closer since their marriage; at times they can communicate without words.
This dance of passion they share is like a rich wine, saved for last.
When he is finally spent, she rests her head against his. Their breathing is labored. Tears have formed in her eyes, and they drip onto his face.
"Are you-are you hurt?" He gasps, stroking her jaw. He dares not touch her cheek.
She shakes her head. Her lips are swollen, especially the bruised bottom one, and he hopes he did not accidently bite her.
"Your poor lip," he murmurs. She laughs, and the tremors vibrate through his body. Sweat beads on his chest, in his hair, but she does not move off of him just yet, never mind how warm they both are.
"You are forever worried about my lip," she blows a breath through her nose. "Your kisses make it better, not worse, my love."
He is very glad to hear it. "But you're not hurt?" He needs to be sure.
"Not at all." She kisses him once more and climbs off of him, running a hand across his chest. He rests his own over it. "You never hurt me. I hope I didn't hurt you."
"No," he mumbles sleepily. Smiling, he squeezes her hand. "Quite the opposite."
They cuddle together without words. Basking in each other.
His mind is still flooded in the aftermath of their lovemaking; like a hangover without the headache.
I am the happiest and the luckiest man alive.
After a while, thoughts of John intrude on the edge of his consciousness.
As before, the silence is loud.
Elsie senses her husband's thoughts. "Today is not the end. You both have been friends for a long time…before any women were involved."
"You did not come in between us. Had he never met that…woman, everything would be as it was." He shifts a little to look at her. "He was always friendly with you before."
She holds Charles until he falls asleep, before getting up, cleaning herself, and pulling her shift back on. Tucking herself back into her husband's arms, she hopes she has not given him false hope.
God, please let them be friends again.
March-December, 1855
As expected, Beryl is perplexed and furious when she is told about John Bates.
-I would not have punched his wife in the face! She tells Elsie. –I would have hit her with the frying pan. With the hot grease still left in it.
She tickles Samuel, who giggles on her lap.
-Who could ever hurt you and your sister? She asks him, ruffling his curls. –A rotten…witch of a woman, that's who.
Elsie raises an eyebrow, grateful her friend has chosen her words with care. Samuel is talking more and more, and he often repeats words he hears.
Several days after John and Vera have been there, he says "bitch" plain as day. Both his parents are very keen for him to not pick up any more bad words.
There is little time for the Carsons to dwell on it. Richard goes to San Francisco just long enough to settle his affairs and to bring his few belongings north. Isobel and Matthew move out of their old home and into a different one.
April brings fine weather, the Clarksons, and the Hughes families to Sonoma. It is the first time Malcolm has brought his entire family. Both Charles and Elsie are delighted, though the extra guests make their house seem entirely too small.
Sofia Hughes loves to hold her cousin Maggie. Malcolm laughs, and asks Elsie if he and Josefina can bring her daughter south with them.
-We told Sofia she will have to wait a while before she can see her new brother or sister, he tousles Sofia's dark hair. –But she is impatient and wants to know why she can't see the baby now. At least she's quiet with Maggie.
Josefina expects her third child to arrive in September. Her and Malcolm's son Jamie is a year older than Samuel. The two tiny boys are inseparable. They shriek with laughter, and fight each other – often within five minutes. They both follow Matthew everywhere when he is at the Carson's home.
-I can see William's house from my bedroom window now, Matthew confides to Anna two days before his mother's wedding. –We're going to signal each other with our candles.
-I'm sure that's fine, as long as you remember to blow them out before you go to sleep, she tells him.
Richard Clarkson and Isobel Crawley are married on a slightly chilly morning. Rain has passed the night before, and the clouds linger. But when the newlyweds emerge from the church, the sun peeks out.
Elsie dabs at her eyes. She has never seen Richard look so happy, and Isobel is radiant.
May there be few clouds in your life together.
Malcolm, Josefina, and the children leave the day after the wedding. Becky goes to stay with Beryl, who has been wanting Elsie's sister to visit for some time. Patrick and Abigail stay for another week, the latter to visit with her married daughter and grandchildren, and the former to get to know Matthew better. The boy stays with the Carsons while his mother and new stepfather share a few days alone.
-He's a good lad, Patrick tells Charles one morning as they walk in the vineyard. –Very bright, and gentle with the younger children. He asked what he should call me. As I'm not his grandfather by blood, I wondered myself. I asked him if he liked abuelito.
-Grandpa or granddad, Charles says, trimming a vine. –What did he say?
Patrick tugs on his grey mustache. –He said he'd try it. Richard told me the two of them aren't sure yet what Matthew's going to call him. They have time to decide. But my son does not want to be referred to as Dr. Clarkson at home, that's certain. Too formal.
When the Clarksons go home to Mission San Jose and Matthew leaves, Elsie feels like the house is empty. It does not stay like it for long. Beryl brings Becky back to Sonoma in June, in time to celebrate Samuel's birthday. Elsie's fourteen-year-old sister stays until the end of September.
-It was good of you to have Becky visit for so long, Richard says one rainy Sunday afternoon in December. He and Isobel are visiting, as they often do. –Da and your mother love her dearly, but she can be a handful.
-Malcolm and I talked about it for a long time, Elsie sighs. –Our parents will only get older as the years go by, and Becky will always be a child in her mind, if not in her body. Malcolm and Josefina are determined to care for her permanently when the time comes, but I want to do my part. She's my sister, too.
Her eyes glisten. –And I miss her, as much as she can test my patience!
"For not being able to say many words, she communicates well enough," Charles smiles at his wife. "And whatever she may have lost to the fever, she has not forgotten that you are her older sister. She does enjoy tormenting you at times."
Elsie laughs. –She was helping me bake Maggie's birthday cake. She knocked over the flour, she explains to Richard. -She knew it needed to be cleaned up, but instead she emptied the rest of it over my head! Anna found us covered in white!
-She told me you laughed until you cried. Isobel tilts her head, her brown eyes sparkling. –I am so glad you have a good memory with Becky. You'll treasure it always.
-I will indeed. Richard said you received a letter from your brother Edward last week. What news does he have? Elsie asks. Isobel's brother is a doctor in New York City.
-He sent hearty congratulations about our marriage. Isobel squeezes Richard's hand. Her wedding band glints in the sun. –Marriage is nowhere on the horizon for him. I'm not surprised. He says he is far too busy, which is true enough in the summer. Though he did have time to read a book of poetry. He didn't tell me who wrote it, only that the words stayed with him.
She closes her eyes, remembering. –He copied several lines down...
'I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you…'*
Charles frowns. –That does not sound like poetry to me.
-You are not a poet, dear, Elsie teases him.
Isobel and Richard talk about Matthew, as he is visiting the Masons again.
-Those boys are inseparable, Richard shakes his head. If Matthew isn't at the farm, the two of them are laughing in our sitting room, dreaming up one scheme after another.
-I was out visiting Mrs. Wheeler last month, Isobel says. –I came home to find the two of them frantically trying to peel some kind of sludge off the kitchen wall. They had mixed some concoction together on the stove, but it went wrong. There's still spots. You can see them at Christmas.
She smiles, tucking a stray hair back. Elsie knows she was furious the day it happened.
-Some spots are hard to wash off, Elsie smiles at Samuel and Maggie, who are playing with a wooden horse on the floor. –I suppose we have those kinds of adventures to look forward to.
-I got a letter from Henry Reece, Richard says as Charles refills their wine. –Your vintage was extremely popular at Thanksgiving, apparently.
-Yes. He was effusive in his praise. I was more relieved he received his barrel intact.
Charles sits down, a frown on his face. The name of the San Francisco judge has reminded him of more unpleasant business.
Richard notices. –I take it he has not seen John Bates recently.
Pressing his lips together, Charles studies his wine. –No. He wrote that the last he had heard of either of them was October. When he inquired at their boardinghouse, he was told they had left a few days previously. Without paying all the rent.
Elsie winces. She has heard the details already, but it does not make the re-telling any less painful.
-You wrote to him yourself, didn't you? Isobel asks gently. Charles nods.
-Several times. Five letters in all.
He has received no replies to any of them. The last letter had been sent after he had asked Mr. Reece to look into it, so he could perhaps blame that on his letter never having reached John.
But the others?
He can only assume John had no wish to write back. There is no way of knowing whether his friend has read anything he sent.
Despite what happened in the spring, he is unwilling to think of the man as anything other than a friend.
He is certainly not an enemy.
-I wrote back to Mr. Reece, he shakes himself from his reverie. –Thanking him for his trouble.
-He found it no trouble. He said as much to me, Richard reassures him. –These days, I think we should reserve the word 'trouble' for what is going on in Kansas. If you ask me.
Everyone nods in silent agreement. The escalating violence between free soil settlers in that territory and pro-slavery is well known. Massive electoral fraud, rival territorial legislatures, and the large numbers of abolitionists and pro-slavery men pouring into the area have combined to make a bad situation worse.
- I read over a thousand men went to invade Lawrence*, Charles sips his wine. –They were fortunate only a few were killed before they agreed to a peace treaty.
-Small comfort to the families of the dead, Elsie murmurs. She feels an icy chill down her back. Though they are well away from the threat of violence, the newspapers bring the truth into their home.
Politics inspiring violence! Is any of it really worth fighting for?
You know some things are worth fighting for.
The sound of her children's laughter eases her heart. As does the feel of Charles's hand in hers.
Turning the conversation, Isobel tells her of the warm letter she received from Abigail. –I am not sure I will ever get used to your mother being, for all intents and purposes, my mother-in-law, she grins. –But I could not ask for a better one.
Elsie raises an eyebrow. –Are you saying that because she is my mother, or are you simply trying to get along with your husband? He's very fond of his father's wife, too.
-Both, Isobel says with her characteristic certainty.
-We should send you to wherever there's trouble, Charles says. –You would find a suitable answer to please everyone in no time.
-Or offend everyone, Richard laughs. –As you know, she is not afraid to share her opinion.
He kisses his wife on the cheek when she gives him a look. –And I love you for them.
-Flatterer, she snorts under her breath.
When Anna comes in, her cheeks red from the cold, she finds them all laughing together.
It warms the house.