Belonging: Taylor Family Series, #2

By Nancy Minnis Damato

Taylor Broderick has two things that matter in her life--Momma and the dream they share to find the gold-seeking father Taylor has never known. When an opportunity arises for them to continue their search for him, Taylor can barely climb the mountain fast enough to tell Momma. After announcing their fondest wish can be realized, Taylor learns the father, her hopes, trusting mother--everything she believes--is a lie. Taylor's quest to find her own "family" leads her halfway across the continent and into a life of self-destruction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9781590884942

Book preview

One

Mule Gulch Canyon

Bisbee, Arizona 1893

Taylor Broderick stood on the precipice of the dream she had carried for all of her almost thirteen years. Her heart soared above the cliffs of the green streaked mountains surrounding her. She threw her arms around teary-eyed Catherine Pickett. Don’t feel sad. Momma and I can go with you to California, Cat. Taylor’s voice bubbled with such joy even the rank sulfur clouds from the copper mines dotting the canyon seemed to brighten.

The puzzled look from the bony, blonde virginny did not deter Taylor. How could you ever think of going to California without me? You and your outrageous brothers are the only family I have—except for Momma, Taylor said.

Taylor had never told anyone, not even her very best friend, about the family she had left behind in St. Louis, or of her life growing up in the ordinary house with Mrs. Costello, Mandy and the numerous guests.

Your Ma’s made a right proper place for herself here, Cat challenged. The town holds respect, looks up to her. Even Baxter don’t trust nobody with his cash but your Ma and her bank.

You weren’t here when we arrived in Bisbee, Taylor reasoned. Momma was spent, unable to come around, from a ’bout of fever and had no will to go on. We had traveled for two years from St. Louis to the territories in an effort to find Poppa. The last people who saw him said Jacob Broderick left Missouri for California. We only stopped here until Momma got better, and we could pay our way to California.

Taylor’s smile stretched across her face and stayed, she couldn’t stop the effervescent happiness tingling from her head to toe. I’m going to find Poppa. The mysterious Jacob Broderick! The father I have never met.

I have to tell Momma. Taylor darted away in a half-skip and a hop. We’ve barely enough time to pack. I’ll come back later. She sprinted across tufts of wild grass chomped to their roots by a nearby cow, her boots skimming the rocky, brown soil. In seconds, the cramped cabin housing Cat and another six Pickett children and Mr. Pickett, plus his new muleskinner wife and her four offspring, disappeared from sight.

Taylor kicked up dust and pebbles behind her in a most unladylike dash down Main Street. As she neared Hilltop Hotel strains of music created a churchly canopy overhead.

Sunday, thank God. As President of Bisbee Bank and owner of the town’s only assay office, Josie Broderick found few hours to spare, but when she did and the debilitating melancholia kept at bay, Momma played her violin.

Taylor burst through the door of the boarding house and raced up the stairs, three at a time, her gangly legs at ease with the span. Momma, Momma.

On the top landing Taylor threw open the nearest door. Petite Josie Broderick stood at the open window, her hypnotic blue eyes wide in alarm. Platinum curls had broken free of a topknot and hugged an angelic face giving an appearance of softness, submissiveness, obviously a lady of quality. But, Taylor knew the strong will that hid beneath the delicate façade.

Momma, the Pickett’s and four other families are leaving for California in three days. We have to hurry and pack. Get supplies. We can go with them and find Poppa. Oh, Momma, we’ll be a family. Taylor bowed grandly, May I present Mr. and Mrs. Jacob Broderick and their daughter Taylor? Her words flooded out like the rush of water through a cracked dam. We have to buy another wagon. We’ll take our savings in gold. Sew it in our skirts. We don’t want to end up without means like last time."

Stop rambling, child. Whatever are you babbling on about? Josie’s brow puckered, her shoulders stiffened and squared. We are not going anywhere. I have a position, a responsibility. And, whatever possessed you to romp down Main Street with all the refinement of a bee-stung colt? People will think I raised a savage, not a girl hoping to become a lady of consequence. Settle down, I have news of my own.

Taylor ignored the question about her romping, Momma constantly fussed about proper manners showing good breeding. "But, Momma, we have to leave. Everybody’s going."

Is Mrs. Wentworth deserting this fine hotel and her dry goods store to go? Is Mr. Sullivan giving up his smithy shop? Sit, here on the bed, hands quiet, and tell me what has you so excited you embarrass your poor mother.

Cat’s new stepmother bought land in California before she came here, and she wants to go see it. So, Mr. Pickett said they’re all going. Except Abel, he wrote he’s doing very well at his law school in Chicago. Taylor stopped to take a breath.

That’s fine to hear, about the eldest Pickett. I am pleased you managed to keep his friendship after declining his proposal. Josie gave a sigh. Not yet thirteen, you were much too young to be approached about marriage. Wherever did that young man get the notion you would agree to be promised? He is still a boy—

In Virginia they marry at twelve, thirteen—

Well, not in this household. But, I, too, have had someone ask for my help. Josie walked toward Taylor.

Josie’s announcement sailed over Taylor’s head. Momma, we have to leave now. All my life we talked about how when we found Poppa he would see what a fine daughter I’m turning out to be, and you wouldn’t have to live alone anymore. Now we can do all that. We’ll travel with the nearest people we have to family. They’ll look out for us. We won’t be alone like when we left Costello House. With our two years experience driving mules and oxen from St. Louis to Arizona, we have lots to offer. Besides, they want us to come with them.

Josie’s scowl deepened, her lips pinched. More than thirteen years have passed without a word from Jacob. He had to have met with a tragic accident; otherwise he would certainly have come back for me, and to see you. It’s no use. As much as you want it to be true, Jacob is lost to us forever.

That’s not so. Tears welled up in Taylor’s eyes, and she blinked repeatedly. You thought Poppa was dead before you were chased out of St. Louis, but then in Carthage we met his friends. Taylor reached across the bed, grabbed a charcoal sketch off the wall and thrust it toward her mother. The proof. He left this and others behind when he started for California. The drawing caught the likeness of Josie.

And none of those people ever heard from him again. All these years without one word. Be reasonable, Josie appealed.

We have to find him, Taylor insisted. Maybe he caught brain fever and his memory faded. Or his letters to us got lost, and he thinks we died when he didn’t hear back from us. Or maybe, Taylor’s voice grumbled, he feared he hadn’t found enough gold to please you.

Shame on you. Josie’s voice bruised.

Well, you worry and carry on so about money, and gold, and land—from sunrise to sunset. You think of nothing else.

I am paid to do that, paid very well. I handle matters at the bank without reproach, and I enjoy my position. Hundreds of banks have failed in the last few months, while mine is still prospering. Josie reached up and laid her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. You know the satisfaction of accomplishment, of solving a difficult problem. I will have no more of your sass and sarcasm. We cannot leave and that is final. Her voice emphasized her implacable decision.

Taylor shrugged the hand off her shoulder. Then, I will go without you. I know Poppa will be happy to see me. I’ll tell him you were too busy at your bank to leave here.

Josie’s milk-white face turned livid. Taylor didn’t care. Momma had no right making such a miserable decision. And, after everybody left for California, if Momma suffered heartache every day, it would serve her right.

The damning thought barely claimed Taylor’s mind when she wanted to erase her meanness. All my life, Taylor pleaded, you told me how proud Poppa would be to have us with him. How we would finally be where we belonged. Please, Momma, we have to go find Jacob now. I want to be a family, where I belong with people who care about me.

Josie’s rage-flushed face paled, then withered to a mottled gray. My lie has led us here. The daughter I have given my life for pitted against me. Josie propped her body against the yellow washed wall that had aged to melon from the layers of copper dust. Tears trickled down her cheeks in shimmering threads.

I’m sorry, Momma, forgive me. Taylor’s lower lip trembled. She ached to take back her churlishness. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just want, with all my heart, to meet my father.

Josie choked on a sob that distorted her words. Jacob is not your father.

Taylor stiffened. I’m sorry, Momma. I didn’t hear right what you said.

Yes, you heard me. Jacob Broderick is not your father. The words snapped with the slam of an iron trap cutting off life.

Taylor stared at her. Why are you telling me such a lie?

I am telling the truth. I rued the day I would have to tell you. Please understand, I was alone and barely sixteen, banished from the only home I knew, then threatened by my family. We needed to be protected, so I pretended to be Mrs. Jacob Broderick. As a wife left behind, like many others during the gold rush. I gained respectability. Which would have been impossible for an unwed mother without family or fortune. As an out-of-wedlock child you had no standing. But, as the daughter of an adventurous businessman exploring the West, you enjoyed acceptance and sympathy. Others admired us for our resolve, our loyalty. Josie sighed, I had no choice.

You lied about my father? All these years lying to me about who I was? Taylor’s voice stumbled from the crippling of her mother’s words. Who is Jacob Broderick? Taylor shrieked with the squeal of an abused kitten, And who is my father?

Taylor thought about the covey of women who sat in broken chairs in the heat and the cold along Brewery Lane. Their secrets, enhanced by colorful gossip, served up curious tales about the history of some children of Bisbee. She had listened to her fair share and suddenly felt dirty in the knowing. Do you even know who my father is?

Mind your tongue. I am your mother, not some street Jezebel. Josie turned away. His name does not matter. Only that your Poppa is not Jacob, and you need not waste anymore time over the situation.

You will tell me now or never! Taylor yanked Josie’s sleeve, almost knocking the petite woman over in the effort to bring her face-to-face.

Someone who needed an heir to protect his claim to property. He promised a stipend that would allow me to live in luxury the remainder of my life, and I agreed.

Taylor gasped, No better than the women we shame along Brewery Lane. Her voice faded. He abandoned you?

I believe he never intended to keep his part of the contract. He planned all along to punish my father and bring dishonor on my family. He needed the Dutch Apostolic Church Elders and the community to shun my father, break him. Doing so would have delivered my mother into his care. I am sure that was his aim. My poor mother died believing I had behaved like a wanton woman.

And you hadn’t? Taylor meant for her disbelief to sting. You agreed to sell your child? After all, its value was only as a financial holding. Taylor choked on her sarcasm. I am that child you bargained with. Me, look at me. Taylor gripped her mother’s shoulder and forced her to look.

You might have come into something someday, Josie’s voice softened, but I cut us off. I learned he and others planned to harm us. Hear me out, Taylor, please? I have loved you since the moment I held you in my arms. My brother, Stuart, would have sent you to a workhouse, or worse. I protected you with my life.

Wild-eyed, Taylor lashed out, "You kept me for that ‘someday’. In case I might fall into money. And, besides that, you gave me Jacob Broderick’s name."

Jacob Broderick wanted to marry me. We cared deeply for each other. Josie’s features twisted and froze in a mask of hate, her blue eyes dark with puzzling. The man who planted your seed separated us. Somehow he arranged for Jacob to vanish. Josie sobbed. But you are what I live for, my life is yours. Someday I will wreak my revenge and reclaim the life we are entitled to. All those people think us dead, leave it alone for now.

The name, just tell me my father’s name. I deserve to know.

No, the matter is closed.

My father, my family, my heritage, a matter closed to me? A sob strangled Taylor’s effort to talk. Well, Momma, go ahead, find your revenge, but I will not be at your side.

Tears flooded down Taylor’s chin and neck. Her green eyes narrowed, icy and barbed. I hate you. The harsh words snaked between clenched teeth. I hate your lies. All my life you prodded me to follow in your footsteps, ‘be a lady of consequence’. Hah! Taylor pushed her mother aside. Don’t come near me, not ever.

Taylor grabbed her sleeping mat off the floor and began tossing her personal belongings into its center.

Josie forced her small frame between Taylor and the bed, grabbed at her daughter’s wrists, struggling to stop her. Everything I did was for you. You cannot abandon me.

Taylor knotted the corners of the blanket together. Towering over her mother, grim faced, she ordered, Out of my way.

The door slammed like a gunshot behind her as Taylor scrambled down the stairs.

The sun blazed with the blistering heat of a smelter when Taylor took her last step off Hilltop’s porch. Her waterfall of tears dried against her cheeks as she ran, sobbing, to the only family she had left.

Two

Taylor stumbled several times in her flight from Hilltop House, raking her knees in the grit and shale of the mountain’s arid soil. Mule’s hooves and wagon wheels had scored Chihuahua Mountain in snaked layers above the canyon, pounding Bisbee’s rovings into rock hard streets. Footpaths forged by miner’s thick soles then tamped by children’s play plunged in perilous descent, intersected by steep staircases bound together with vines, hide, and scraps of mining debris. Nails came too precious to waste over injury from collapsing stairs. Besides, deadly floods every three to four years washed the steps away.

The neglect barred Taylor’s attempt at a rapid descent. Scrunching her skirt in her arms, unmindful of the unladylike appearance, she half-slid in a blind race down the mountainside.

The sky had turned pink, casting deceptive purple and lavender shadows across her path. Within minutes the mountain eclipsed the sun and dusk surrounded her. Two years here and Taylor still had not grown accustomed to the swift wink-of-an-eye nightfall. She hurdled the low fence surrounding the Pickett’s cabin, tripped onto the stoop, and collapsed at the open doorway.

Strong arms lifted her from the threshold. Baxter swooped up her legs. She pushed her face into the space between his chin and shoulder, sobbing.

Put her down, Cat ordered.

I will not, and when I catch the varmint that hurt her, he’ll not be walking a straight line ever again.

Taylor, are you all right? Cat’s question penetrated Taylor’s clouded mind, but she couldn’t answer. Please, say something.

You stupid or somethin’? Baxter’s deep voice snarled. "You never seen this girl cry ’afore. You actin’ like this’s some kinda’ trickery."

Taylor mumbled, I’m not hurt.

See, I tol’ ya so. Cat tugged at her brother’s arm, not moving it an inch. Now put her down.

I’m goina’ set down right c’here with her, ’til she stops blubberin.’ Baxter flopped down on the stoop.

His body did not even quiver from the effort. Taylor felt only the steadiness of his legs and power of his arms while he cradled her on his lap.

Cat swiped her apron at Taylor’s tear-streaked face. What happened? How can I help?

Taylor only mewed, then began sobbing anew.

Jeez, just let her be, Baxter snapped. Don’t be pushin’ no girlie talk.

I’m going with you, Taylor said, her voice breaking. Alone. Momma has no need to come along. A half-shrieking moan escaped her. Oh, dear God, her weeping erupted into heart-wrenching cries, I have no reason to go either.

Cat began cooing and murmuring with the mothering skill she had acquired from tending five younger brothers. Quiet, sister. Listen. Hear the cattle lowing, the song of the crickets, be still. See if you can tell which of the boys is scaring the others with a ghost story.

Taylor’s crying slowed. Listening to a voice coming from indoors, her mind flitted through the alphabet, Abel gone, Baxter here with Catherine, David, Edward, Franklin, George, Henry. Of course, the sound of her favorite, David, although she tried to be impartial.

Baxter eased his hold on her, leaning against the cabin, his features obscure in the deepening darkness.

Promise not to start in again, Cat said. When Taylor nodded assurance, Cat poked her brother’s ribs. Shoo, go on, she demanded. Wanta tell me what happened? She faced Baxter. Set her down and git.

Ain’t goin’. Got as much a right as you.

Taylor reached over and squeezed Cat’s hand. He can stay. She told her story from a fog of pain and confusion born anew. Hiccupping sobs punctuated her words. I won’t stay here, not with her.

Come with us, without your Ma. Cat stroked Taylor’s shoulder.

But, I don’t want to go to California either. The idea is too painful. After a lifetime of believing I would find my father there, setting foot on the soil would bring more heartbreak.

Baxter vied for attention. I ain’t gonna go to California. You can stay here with me.

What? Cat fired the question.

Told Pa this mornin’. Staying here, taking over the house. Startin’ a business, lumber and stuff. Town’s growin’. Gonna make me a name. When Abel comes back, we’ll build our own town together, somewhere in the territory. In time his learnin’ and my back oughta git him the governor’s chair.

But, what about me? The boys? Cat’s resentment exploded in a badgering tally of Baxter’s offenses and his selfishness.

Pa’s got ’nother woman, sis. Seven months now she’s shared Pa’s bed. See no reason to stick around. Might be time for you to step aside, too.

And if she dies from the comin’ baby? Like Ma? Leave Pa carin’ for another little one?

Of the all the family, Taylor knew Cat alone carried the added burden from her mother’s death in childbirth. The Picketts had arrived in Bisbee too near time for the birth. They’d traveled from Virginia in search of a cure for Mr. Pickett’s coal dust cough and a more pressing need to find a means to provide for the family. The two oldest, Abel and Baxter, earned what they could outside the home, but the entire household, including their ma, had depended on Cat’s frugality and unending energy.

You can’t be dwelling’ on ‘what if’s’, sis. Why this wife is younger, a big bit sassier, and tough as a mule. Stay here—with me, and Taylor.

And leave the boys to her care? No, sir! I raised them from babes, Ma being sick all the time with the next one coming. They need me.

Well, they don’t need me, Baxter said. Time I took a man’s seat. His hand found Taylor’s in the darkness. I knowed Abel asked you to wait ’til he come back to git hitched. I know, too, you turned him down. Said you’re too young. Well, I’m askin’ you the same, only I ain’t going away. We can get hitched, live here in the family cabin. I’ll do my scavenging, still lotta fine dumping along the San Pedro. And I’ll fell trees, order in hardware, carpenter. Got lawful dibs from the city fathers to build up Bisbee. I’ll be the only gringo lumberjack between Mexico, Tucson, Las Cruces, and Wilcox. Got me a territory big enough to hide a bear.

Taylor couldn’t see the expression on Baxter’s face, but she heard the care in his voice. Two years had taught her to understand the frugality of a Virginian’s conversation. Baxter had used up half his lifetime of words in his spiel. But, he never said he loved her.

You can take over the books, he said. We’d have no cause to pay your Ma. Save some pennies.

Let me think on it. Taylor answered politely, floored by the possibilities. Could she consider such a thing? Momma would be furious. What did that matter, after a lifetime of lies?

Of the two eldest Pickett boys, Baxter tugged most at her heart. He was always open and honest, and his hard, muscled body was easy on the eyes. Corn-colored hair and twinkling blue eyes shielding mischief separated him from his serious lawyer brother. His practical savvy made her feel safe.

Do it, Cat squealed. We’ll be sisters, for real. Her arms reached around Taylor and squeezed. Only I won’t be here to see how you work this out. Her sadness and indecision showed.

Taylor hugged her back. I’ll write every day. Not a thought will cross my mind without considering what you would do. And I’ll report every misadventure your brother gets into. What had she done? Did he think she had accepted his proposal? Her knotted stomach lurched, her mouth dried to powder.

Baxter jumped up, then pulled Taylor to her feet. Feeble lantern light from the house silhouetted their bodies. I like a girl who thinks fast. Daybreak I’ll hoof over to the judge and sign whatever papers the territory says. We can marry before the others leave for California.

He brushed against Taylor, smelling of pine. Had she really said she would marry him? You’re but fifteen; I’m barely thirteen, she said anxiously. Momma tutored me, and you got half a trade, but neither of us ever earned a real living. What...?

Don’t be frettin’. He fluffed the curls on top of her head, patted her shoulder, That’s my job from now on. We got the house, we can take in a boarder. Between that and my strong back, we’ll do better’n most. He winked at Taylor. You womenfolk better turn in. Long day come sunrise. He hustled them inside as if herding children.

Baxter’s taking charge annoyed Taylor, but she followed Cat, grateful to fall to the sleeping mat on the floor. Questions, confusion, exhaustion muddled Taylor’s mind. Her dreams twisted with the aimlessness of a desert devil wind for most the night.

Three

Three days after being shattered by Momma’s revelation of the lie that had served as gospel for a lifetime, Taylor stood surrounded by a circle of people. Next to her, Baxter fixed his broad shoulder tight against hers, his sweaty palm firm around her hand. The Judge thundered on about God’s will and the blessings available to the youngsters.

Pine branches, blue lupine, and white cactus blooms the size of a turkey platter trimmed an arch of willow saplings. Red and yellow poppies adorned the bodices of Taylor’s and Cat’s dresses. Bisbee had not enjoyed such colorful festivity since the elder Mr. Pickett married his muleskinner wife almost a year earlier.

Taylor’s favorite flower, white jasmine, woven in her hair and trailing from her hands, scented the air with its fragile sweetness. Trestles topped with planks held lemon and carrot cakes, nut breads, blueberries, and a fancy tin of Mrs. Wentworth’s most expensive chocolates.

Outside the fence, wagons waited at the ready, every niche crammed with goods. The mules and oxen tied behind lowed, restless with anticipation. Beyond the tight circle a sow roasted over a pit, the tantalizing smell of charring grease prompting stomachs to rumble.

Taylor had no appetite. She dwelt on what the Judge said, her throat dry and threatening to close while she repeated the words required. I promise to love, honor, and obey.

Why am I doing this? Because I have no other choice. But how well did she know the boy beside her? They had been a quartet, she, Cat, Abel, and this person who was now her husband. She wanted the others to stand beside her, too.

Baxter wrapped his arms around her in a long bear hug, mashing her lips against her teeth in a kiss, then stepped away to the hearty backslapping of the men. Taylor remained rooted under the arch, unable to think. Women swarmed to her, squeezing her shoulders, pecking her check, bleating well wishes she didn’t comprehend. Baxter watched from a few steps away, the same proud look she remembered when he came home from hunting with a deer over his shoulder.

Across the street, in the shade of an oak tree, Taylor spied her mother, back rod straight, hands clasped in a lady’s fashion. The bride of just minutes couldn’t see if tears marred her mother’s beautiful face, but the jutting, up thrust chin in the shadows reminded her it made no difference. That life was over.

NIGHT FELL. FIRED UP lanterns dotted the yard, and people stayed, their conversations humming like the swarming of a mosquito marsh. The men sat around the rack of bones draped over red coals. An occasional tossed log forced an orange flame. The women stirred in the shadows, calming whimpering babies while reviewing their cache among themselves.

Inside the cottage, Taylor sat on the edge of a straw mattress. Cat, this bed and this room belong to your father, Taylor pointed out. A cornucopia of fragrances from the petals scattered about the room seemed to be making her lightheaded.

Not anymore, Cat said, leaning into her. "The house is yours. Pa will grab a wink on the ground if he sleeps at all. The boys are too busy with mischief, and she’s busy gossiping."

Holding out a nightgown, Cat beamed with delight and looked long at Taylor. We all made this. Each one of us added a bit of embroidery or lace so it would be special just for you tonight.

Taylor held the lawn nightshirt at arm’s length. Her jaws tightened. Pale blue, the color reserved for Momma. Rosettes, ribbons, and lace tacked along cuffs and neckline met on a meticulously tucked bodice. Neither Cat nor her other friends could afford such expense. Taylor tried to force a smile. Instead a single tear trickled alongside her nose. Her friends wanted her pretty for her new husband.

The idea of sharing a bed with Baxter did not displease Taylor, but all that accompanied that closeness frightened her. She jumped, shivering in the warm night, when she felt Cat’s fingers untie her sash and then flick buttons undone. Taylor clasped her friend’s hands, staying the busy fingers. We have so much more to talk about before you leave.

Not now, Cat said. Baxter is on his way. You’d best be ready. She helped pull off Taylor’s dress and dropped the new nightgown over her head. I wish you well. We’ll talk in the morning, before the wagons pull out. Cat leaned over and hastily kissed Taylor’s forehead. Take care of my brother, don’t hurt him. He’s wild, no book learnin’, but he’ll be faithful to you forever and protect you with his life.

After the waiflike girl disappeared, Taylor lay in the guardianship of the moonlight, waiting. She would not weep over her loneliness; she would not wish for Momma, she would not wonder about her father.

The two of us, alone, Baxter and me, she thought. Now, we are a family, and I must get on with our lives. It was September, 1893, five months after her thirteenth birthday and Taylor was a married woman, but not yet a woman of consequence.

Four

Subdued chatter sprinkled with giggles drifted in through the window. The youngsters slept in clusters on the ground while the older children engaged in horseplay. No one sound overrode any other.

Taylor lay still on the bed. The coarseness of the sack holding the straw chaffed her arms and legs. Jutting nubs poked her shoulders and back. She thought of Momma lying on soft horsehair covered with spotless ticking, a plump pillow beneath her head. Taylor felt annoyed at her own covetousness. Dwelling on the luxuries of Josie Broderick’s life served no purpose.

Taylor jumped up, ran to the kitchen and pumped a pitcher full of cool water. After filling the washbasin, she began with her face, scrubbing away any of Momma’s touches that had lingered over the past few days. She scoured her whole body, down to each toe. The cleansing done, she felt new, reborn, a Pickett now, no longer tied to Momma, no longer a Broderick. But the truth remained, beneath Momma’s lies, neither of them ever had been a Broderick.

In the bedroom, Taylor rubbed jasmine across her pinked skin, then she combed crushed snips of the petals through her hair before lying across the narrow rope bed. She would have liked to drag the patchwork coverlet up to her chin, but the night was too warm. Her nightgown would have to suffice. Her toes tied knots, making a playful game of tag with each other while she nervously awaited Baxter’s knock.

From early childhood she had witnessed animals mating. And, she had heard grunting and the sounds of slapping flesh through the thin walls at Hilltop House. So, she thought the act held trivial secrets, but Mrs. Wentworth’s advice to be brave, the pain grows less over time cast frightening warning on the mystery of what was to come.

The rasp of the door opening interrupted Taylor’s thoughts. There’d been no knock. Her body assumed an unnatural stiffness when Baxter entered the room. Hey, Freckles, look what I brought. He untied a bandana, revealing two hunks of homemade bread cradling thin slices of pork and a hunk of cake. Casually, he asked, Want’a eat now or later?

Taylor snapped, I can’t eat. Save it for later. Too late she realized she could have postponed what was about to happen by stalling with the sandwich. She shrank into the pillow when Baxter untied the strings lacing his shirt then pulled it over his head. That was some celebration, she volunteered, hoping to distract him. I think everyone we know came, probably half the town.

She had seen bare chested men on the streets washing in horse troughs, but never one stripped within the confines of her room. There was a peculiar man smell about him she had never noticed before now. Salty, pungent, almost animal. She wondered if she should keep babbling or just lie there. She felt too nervous to be quiet.

Of course, they showed up mostly for those leaving. But, the thought was nice, anyway. The words caught in her throat when he removed his flannelettes, exposing pale, sun lined skin. Wasn’t he leaving anything on?

Growing up at Costello House, living in tight quarters there, and the last two years at Hilltop, she’d accidentally encountered males in their buff. The male physique was not unknown to her, but this particular specimen was about to mount her. She felt a commanding aversion to seeing his whole body naked, particularly that tool he intended thrusting between her legs. She turned her head and rolled onto her side, facing away from him, eyes shut. Dear God, what have I done?

Five

Baxter knelt on the bed and reached for his bride. The warm air caressed his naked body as he turned her face toward him. He leaned over, kissing her long and hard, pushing her head into the bedding, burying the noise of his moans in her softness. He slid his legs along the length of her body, fumbling to find the hem of her gown with one hand while he balanced with the other, trying not to squash her beneath his manly weight.

Breaking the kiss, he wrestled the gown up her body. When the cloth broke free of her breasts he stopped, soaking up the glory of her, the fullness topped by pink dimpled nipples. At an early age, he and Abel had peeked through knotholes and wide slates to glean what a woman’s body looked like. Still, he was amazed that his girl-bride boasted such womanliness. With powerful hands he kneaded her plumpness.

Oblivious of his self-satisfied grin and the wolfish gleam filling his eyes, he addressed the hardness banging against his loins and the heat spreading through his body. The realization he was about to fulfill the demands his body sought transformed him into a wild bull. Without completely removing Taylor’s gown, he straddled her, using both hands to force apart her clamped legs. Fumbling, his fingers searched out the private opening waiting to receive him and he probed ruthlessly.

In his eagerness, he didn’t hear Taylor’s pleas. Using his knee as a wedge he forced her legs apart and drove his manhood into her softness. A barrier stopped his plunge. The unexpected resistance wakened his sensibilities and cued him to sobs and the thud of fists pounding the bed alongside them.

He rolled off her body, the seed of his lust puddling around his collapsed manhood. All the bragging of the older boys, his tentative groping in dark rooms, his fumbling