Where the Lost Wander_ A Novel - Amy Harmon Page 0,74
a cluster of golden freckles dances around it. I brush my fingers across them as she raises her face to me, challenge in her grass-green eyes.
“I thought you weren’t going to kiss me again,” she whispers.
“I wasn’t,” I say.
And then I do.
I can tell she wants to punish me; she doesn’t respond like she did before. Her hands don’t rise to curl against me; her lips don’t open in welcome. But I can feel her heart, and it thunders against my ribs, countering the rhythm of my own.
Then she sighs, an almost imperceptible flutter of air, and her hands rise to my face, holding me to her, and I am forgiven.
I kiss her deeply. I kiss her well, taking my time and testing my restraint. The breeze ruffles her skirt and tickles my nape, and I am conscious of the horses grazing a few feet away, unimpressed by my need or the soft sounds of my mouth against hers. We are wrapped in a warm silence—no wagon wheels or bouncing box springs, no toil or climb, no sadness or fear. And I am at peace.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me,” Naomi whispers after a time, and I brush my lips across hers once more before I make myself stop.
“I missed you.”
Her eyes search mine. “I didn’t go anywhere.”
“You haven’t even looked at me for the last ninety miles.”
“When Ma walked by the graves of the little ones . . . especially in the beginning . . . she wouldn’t look at them. She said it hurt, and she didn’t want to carry that pain.” She swallows and looks at my mouth. “These last days, it’s hurt me to look at you too. So I tried not to.”
“She’s a smart woman, your mother.”
“The smartest.”
“She and I had a visit. She told me you were out here, and she told me I needed to go after you.”
Naomi steps back from me, far enough that I can’t extend my arm and pull her back. Her jaw is hard and her eyes are cool, and I realize I’ve said something wrong.
“I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah. I know you can. But she sent me after you anyway.”
“Is that why you’re here? To make sure I don’t do something rash? To make sure I use my head?”
I knew we would circle back to that.
“No. That’s not why I’m here.”
She takes a deep breath, and it shudders a little as she lets it go.
“You embarrassed me, John.”
“I know. That wasn’t my intention.”
She nods, as if accepting my apology. And I can see her struggling with an apology of her own.
“I guess I got ahead of myself. I know it’s not been that long since we met. But every day is a lifetime out here. These days we’re living, they’re hard. And they’re heavy. And it doesn’t take long to just start throwing everything that doesn’t matter by the roadside . . . and knowing what you can’t live without.”
“Your ma said something real similar to that.”
“She told me to be patient,” Naomi whispers. “And I’m going to try.”
I nod, stroking the side of my face. I’m nervous, but I know what to do.
“It’s another nine, ten days to Fort Bridger,” I say.
“It’s another eight hundred miles to California.” She sounds glum.
“Yeah, well . . . I can’t wait that long.”
Her eyes search mine, confused. “What?” The word is breathy, like she doesn’t dare hope.
“At Fort Bridger we can get you a new dress.”
“You already bought me a new dress.”
“Lydia Clarke wore it, and I don’t want you to have to share your wedding dress.”
She starts to smile but bites her lip to hold it back. “I’m done making assumptions. So if you’re saying what I think you’re saying, I need you to ask me, John. And I need you to be real clear. Otherwise, I won’t be able to look at you again for a while, because my heart can’t take it.”
“Will you be my wife, Naomi?” I say the words slowly, and I hold her gaze.
“When we get to Fort Bridger?” she asks, her eyes gleaming.
“When we get to Fort Bridger,” I repeat. “I won’t spend my first night with you with everyone listening. And we’ll have our own wagon and our own supplies for the rest of the journey. I have some money, and if I have to sell every one of my mules, I will. But we will have our own home. Even if it’s on wheels.”