Page 49 of Smoke River Bride

Leah shook her head.

“No? Ah, well. I say we are not trapped. We are understood and we are respected by the people who matter most—our bons hommes. Our good men.”

Leah fervently wished that would be true of Teddy, as well. Perhaps that would come in time, but she was losing hope. At times she sensed a hesitant warmth in the boy’s eyes, but mostly, winning his approval felt like a long climb uphill.

Jeanne finished her tea, studied the halfknitted muffler on the settee and folded her hands on the table. “I wish to invite you to join the Ladies’ Knitting Circle. We meet at the dressmaker’s shop, upstairs in her apartment, on Saturday afternoon.”

“You mean Verena Forester’s shop? Oh, I do not think…You see, Verena does not like me.”

“That is possible, yes.” Jeanne took a careful sip. “But more likely she is merely jealous.”

Leah’s cup clattered onto the saucer. “Jealous? I thought she just didn’t like me. Why would—?”

Jeanne cleared her throat. “She is jealous because you have Monsieur MacAllister, and she does not.”

Leah sat without speaking for a full minute while Jeanne poured them both more tea.

“Jeanne, are you sure my husband is the reason?”

“Oui, I am sure. It is simple. Verena wants what you have, but because of you, she cannot have him.”

And then the Frenchwoman said something that made Leah’s breath catch. “Mademoiselle Forester has always wanted Thad. Even when he was married to Hattie.”

Leah suddenly found herself smiling at her guest. “I think the Ladies’ Knitting Circle sounds very nice. I will come.”

Jeanne touched the rim of her teacup to Leah’s. “Bon. My husband would say you have the grit.”

Grit? Leah rolled the word around in her head. Did she really? Did she have enough of “the grit” to carve out a place for herself in Smoke River? A place where she belonged? Where she fit in?

She was used to being an outsider—it had been the same in China. Because of her parents’ mixed marriage, she was not accepted as either Chinese or as white. Instead, she’d been shunned. Leah Cameron was the White Devil’s daughter.

Jeanne took her leave an hour later. Leah punched down her bowls of rising bread with extra vigor, then sat by the fireplace to think. Saturday night’s exclusion at the barn dance had hurt.

In Luzhai the villagers had called her Juk Sing—Miss Nobody. What did the Smoke River townspeople call her behind her back?

Then again, perhaps she did not want to know.

She’d thought it would be different here in America. Did not the Americans have their Bill of Rights? And did not their Declaration of Independence say that all men are created equal?

Her mind buzzing, she automatically washed and dried the tea things and shoved the carefully shaped loaves into the hot oven. By the time the crusty bread was baked and set in the pantry to cool, Leah had steadied her unease and felt a surge of hope.

She also had the beginnings of a plan.

Thad tramped around the perimeter of the three acres of winter wheat he’d watched struggle to life, breathing in air that smelled of green grass. For weeks the field had looked like a huge square of fuzzy green carpet, but over the last few days of early spring sunshine, the seedlings had burst into life and now began stretching tentatively toward the sky.

He leaned one hip on the split-rail fence to admire it. When the light hit it just right, it looked like a luminous patch of golden mist hovering over a still, yellow-green lake. He’d never seen anything more beautiful. Or more promising. Looking at it brought deep-down pleasure. And, he acknowledged, maybe a feeling of invincibility. Might be irrational, but there it was.

It grew harder and harder for him to stay away from this field. Each day it looked different—taller—as the tiny fingers of wheat reached toward the sun. The stalks looked frail, vulnerable, but his gut told him he was doing the right thing. Farmers in Washington Territory to the north were getting rich shipping wheat all over the country. Why not here in Oregon?

He turned away toward the pasture gate and the hard knot of apprehension in his belly returned. He had to admit it wasn’t just about the wheat; it was about Leah.

Hell and damn. He was blundering through the days like a lovesick boy, falling more in love with her with each passing hour. At the same time, his fear of once again having something snatched away from him ate at his gut.

The realization shook him to his bones. He had no idea how to protect himself from loving a woman. If he ever lost Leah, as he had lost Hattie…Heaven help him.

His throat tightened. Somehow he knew he had to keep Leah at a distance.

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