Page 13 of Rough Hands on the Prairie
She smirks.
"Not at all," she assures me, and she steals another kiss. "So, what exactly are you going to do today to put me to work?”
"Oh, I have a few ideas..."
"Come on, be serious," she protests. "You’re right, I can’t lie in bed all day, I need to get out there and do something...Looks like it takes a lot of effort to keep things goings out here."
I sigh. Looks like she’s not going to let me get away with whiling away the day in bed with her, as much as I’d like to.
"I have some furs to sell down in town," I reply, nodding to the trails beyond the house. "An hour or so walk, but I need to pick up some provisions. Could use the help, if you feel up to it."
"Are you kidding?" she replies. "I’d love to. Show me what I should take, I’ll get myself ready-"
"You look ready to me," I remark, looking her up and down. She pauses for a moment then shakes her head, like she has just realized I am right.
"Yeah, of course, if you can find me some shoes," she murmurs, quickly replacing the smile on her face. "So when do we get out of here...?”
CHAPTER 6
Elias
"Oh my God, there it is!”
She clasps her hands to her chest, her eyes shining, as soon as the town comes into view. We got lucky enough to grab a ride on the back of a horse-drawn trailer driven by Mr. O’Leary, one of the Irish who came here a few years back.
I notice him wincing at the sound of her taking the Lord’s name in vain, and a hand flies to her mouth as though she has just realized what she’s done.
"Gosh, I’m sorry," she whispers. "I – I'll be more careful, I promise..."
I can’t help but grin.
"Don’t be," I reply, as the cart pulls to a halt and I jump down from amongst the vegetables and various hunting goods that O’Leary carries with him. I offer her a hand as I sling the leather satchel full of my furs over one shoulder, and she takes it, a small spark passing from her fingertips to mine as she joins me on the soft ground and glances around like she can hardly believe what she is seeing.
"Woah," she breathes as she takes in town. "This is..."
"It’s not much, I know," I remark, as I steer her towards the main thoroughfare that leads through the center of the town. On either side of the street, a handful of businesses operate – a saloon, a drugstore, a couple of grocers when they can keep the produce regular enough to sell. Each of the buildings, hewn from wood, seems to lean up against the next for support, unable to keep their foundations without a little help.
"No, it’s awesome," she gushes, and I chuckle again. She looks to me in surprise.
I have never heard that word before — awesome. Everything about her feels different. In a good way.
“What is it...?” she asks.
"Nothing," I assure her. "Just not used to hearing people talk like that. Come on, I have to meet with John McCallum, he’s waiting to buy some furs for his daughters for the winter..."
She allows me to lead the way, glancing this way and that, as if trying to commit it all to memory. A couple of times, she trips over her skirts, eventually hitching them up into one hand so she can pick her way through the rain-soaked ground without restraint. I lent her a pair of my shoes, the only ones in the cabin for her to wear, and I notice a couple of people giving her strange looks as she passes through, this girl with a dress hiked up to her knees in a pair of men’s shoes.
Even if she wasn’t dressed so strangely, I know that we’d be attracting attention. Any new arrival in this place does. Jacobson Township is about as tiny as they come, basically self-sufficient.
Nobody comes or goes without someone knowing something about it, and just how she has dropped out of the clear blue sky and into this place is still a mystery, even to me.
I head to the bar, where I know John will be waiting for me. Sure enough, when I throw open the door – a little uneven and warped from the winters and summers reaching through to thewood – he tosses aside the glass he was cleaning and raises a hand to greet me.
"Elias, there you are," he begins, but then, his eyes slide towards the woman standing next to me. He cocks an eyebrow.
"And who might this be?” he continues, making his way out from behind the bar. I tense. John gets away with being a flirt because this is the only bar for miles around, even if it does smell of damp this time of year and the stools barely reach the counter. His moonshine is lethal, and that seems to be enough to justify his presence here, even when he can’t keep his hands off any of the town wives.
June glances to me, clearly seeking some kind of guidance in this.
