It was some comfort that the preacher didn’t run on endlessly, however, and Verena was there, too, greeting Jolie with a smile and some cheery words when the sermon was over and the congregation had gathered in the churchyard.

  “I’ll be frying my Southern chicken for Sunday dinner,” Verena told Daniel, making sure her voice carried. “And I’d be pleased if you and Mrs. Beckham would come and share the meal, Dan. I’ll be setting it out at one-thirty.”

  Daniel smiled, probably at the prospect of Verena’s chicken, and touched the brim of his hat. “Thank you kindly,” he responded. “We’ll be there.” Having made that pronouncement, he handed Jolie up into the wagon box and climbed in to take the reins.

  Jolie smoothed her skirts, painfully aware of the women in their severe Sunday clothes, looking pious, some with a hand raised to whisper behind. The future seemed bleak indeed when she thought of having to face these sanctimonious crows every week for the rest of her life, not to mention encountering them in shops and on the street.

  Her shoulders sagged slightly as she and Daniel drove away from the church, under a bright August sun.

  “I’ll never be anything but an outlaw to them,” she murmured, more to herself than to Daniel. If her husband heard her over the clomping of the horses’ hooves, the jingle of the harness fittings, and the incessant whine of the wagon’s springs, he kept any comment he might have made to himself.

  No sooner had they reached the house when Daniel climbed down from the wagon and strode off toward Ilse’s grave, his hat held respectfully in one hand. Jolie felt a twinge of jealous despair, but she quickly repressed that and went into the kitchen.

  There was still plenty of coffee left from breakfast and, because it was so strong, Jolie added cream and a generous spoonful of sugar to her cup before drinking. It was all she could do, the whole time, not to go to the window and find Daniel with her eyes.

  His grief was a private thing, and she wouldn’t intrude.

  Promptly at one-thirty, Daniel and Jolie arrived at Verena’s small white farmhouse, which was the next place down the road. Here, lilacs and tea roses rioted in the yard, and lace curtains fluttered merrily at open windows.

  Verena came smiling onto the porch. Even from the gate, Jolie could smell the tantalizing aroma of fried chicken, and her empty stomach gave an unladylike rumble.

  They ate in Verena’s dining room, with its pleasant clutter of potted plants, figurines, framed daguerreotypes, and books. A large conch shell stood on the crowded mantelpiece, giving silent testimony to the fact that Verena had been to the sea.

  It was an experience Jolie envied.

  “Things have changed between you and Daniel,” Verena announced, her eyes sparkling, when Mr. Beckham had gone out to the barn for a look at her milk cow’s lame foot.

  Color washed beneath the skin of Jolie’s face, and she lowered her head before nodding. “It was—I wouldn’t have expected such—well, it wasn’t like you’d look for it to be, with a man like Daniel.”

  Verena laughed. “I warned you once before not to let his size fool you. Daniel has been on his own since he was seventeen, and he’s worked on ships and ranches, not just that wheat farm.” She fluttered one hand briefly in the direction of Daniel’s land. “And he’s read his share of books, too. Yes, indeed, there’s more to Dan Beckham than meets the eye, and I think you’ll be finding that out in the months to come.”

  Jolie swallowed hard. “He wasn’t pleased with me,” she confided miserably. “He said I—I carried on.”

  Verena’s eyes were still twinkling. “I imagine he was a mite surprised at that. Give him time, Jolie—he’ll come to like having that kind of response.”

  The two women washed the dishes together, and Verena smiled as she saw Daniel approaching the house from the barn. “He’ll be wanting to go straight home now, I reckon,” she said, with a note of mischievous mystery in her voice.

  Sure enough, when Daniel came in, he spared a few words to say there was nothing wrong with Verena’s cow that he could see, then suggested that he and Jolie had best be getting back to their own place. Excitement brushed Jolie’s spirit like a passing wraith, though she brushed the feeling off immediately.

  “What happened to Verena’s husband?” she asked, when she and Daniel were rattling along the dry, dusty road toward home.

  Daniel took so long in answering that Jolie was beginning to wonder if she’d have to repeat the question. “He died out in the field one day. It was probably his heart.”

  Jolie was filled with sympathy for the friendly, good-humored woman who was, so far, her only female friend in the whole community. “How does she manage?”

  “I till and plant and harvest for her,” Daniel answered, gazing straight ahead at the road.

  A peculiar constriction tightened Jolie’s throat momentarily. “That’s kind of you.”

  Daniel gave the reins a seemingly unnecessary snap. “Out here, we stick together.”

  Jolie thought of the women of Prosperity, who hated her without having the first idea what kind of person she really was, but she offered no argument. “Verena says you’ve worked on ships,” she ventured. “Have you been to China?”

  He regarded her somberly for a long moment, then surprised her by laughing. It did something to her, way down deep, to see Daniel’s face light up like that, even though she was stung that he’d found her question so amusing. “No,” he said. “Just around the Horn from Charleston, and up to San Francisco and Seattle.”

  This was a Daniel Jolie didn’t know, couldn’t begin to comprehend. “What an adventure that must have been!”

  The laughter had softened the Sabbath sternness of his face, and he smiled at Jolie with something that resembled fondness. “I never went a day without being seasick, or a night without praying to the good Lord for the sight of land. But I earned my pay and kept my misgivings to myself.”

  It was as though a wonderful stranger had suddenly materialized in Daniel’s place, and Jolie felt something elemental stretch between herself and this man and make a connection. “You must have met some very interesting people,” she said, hoping to maintain the ease between them.

  “A few,” he allowed. His voice was a little gruff, and his sky blue eyes took in the breeze-tossed tendrils of golden hair around her face, moving on to her lips and then to the base of her throat.

  A pulse was hammering there. Jolie knotted her hands together in her lap and turned on the seat, so that she was looking straight down the road. To save her soul, she couldn’t think of a single sensible thing to say.

  “I’d like you to wait for me in our room,” Daniel said, after he brought the wagon to a stop in front of the barn and was lifting her down. “Put on that white gown you were wearing last night.”

  Jolie’s cheeks flared with heat, but she nodded her head and started toward the house.

  Fifteen minutes later, when Daniel joined her in the master bedroom, she’d hung the brown sateen in the wardrobe and put on the cotton gown. She was brushing her hair in front of the mirror, powerfully glad she’d finally been able to set it free from its circumspect knot. A very light breeze lifted the curtains, making them resemble snowy lace ghosts.

  In the looking glass, she saw Daniel’s reflection. He was watching her as though he’d never seen a woman groom herself before, his hands poised to undo the black string tie at his throat. Jolie saw him swallow and suppressed a smile.

  Daniel wanted her, no matter what opinion he might secretly hold of her, and to Jolie it was worth even the pain to feel the delights of his lovemaking again.

  Finally, he managed to break the spell that had possessed him and began removing his tie. After that, he took off his coat and vest, and he was unclasping his cuff links when Jolie went to sit on the side of the bed, her hands calmly folded in her lap.

  “I suppose I’ll probably carry on again,” she said ruefully and again that blinding grin broke over Daniel’s face. He pulled her back to her feet and took her into his arms, and when he touched his lips to hers, Jolie felt as though she’d just tossed back a quart of homemade whiskey.

  When he’d kissed her so thoroughly that Jolie was no longer sure just where the floor and ceiling were, he laid his hands over her cotton-covered breasts, making the nipples press urgently into his palms. It was a relief when he lowered her to the bed, because Jolie was too weak to stand.

  She watched from beneath lowered lashes as Daniel stripped away the rest of his clothes, thinking how magnificent he was. There was a quiet grace about him, unspoiled by the muscular bulk of his body.

  I love you, she thought, but she wasn’t so far gone as to actually say the incredible words out loud. At least, not then.

  Where before Daniel had taken infinite time with Jolie, this time there was an urgency about his movements. He pulled her nightgown off over her head, tossed it aside, and lay between her legs, letting her feel his power.

  Jolie’s hands rushed from Daniel’s shoulders to his back and then to his chest. She splayed her fingers, feeling his masculine nipples harden under her palms. A summer wind, scented with road dust and sunshine and wheat, came through the open window to caress them both.

  Daniel moaned, as though the breeze had broken some restraint inside him, and bent his head to lay light kisses along the length of Jolie’s collarbone. Then he found her portal with the shaft of his manhood and thrust inside her, deeply and suddenly.

  Jolie had expected more pain, but there was only a momentary soreness, followed by a thrill so keen that it made her eyes roll back in her head. Her breathing became shallow and quick.

  “I haven’t even started to move yet,” Daniel reminded her, but Jolie could barely hear him for the hum of her body and soul as they sought that magical harmony her husband had taught her to want. She went wild beneath Daniel, thrashing and flinging herself at him, a primitive sound like the night cry of a she-wolf coming from the very depths of her.

  Slowly, steadily, Daniel began to move upon Jolie, and each time he retreated, she begged for his conquering. She was still grappling with the explosive releases racking her body when Daniel gasped and emptied himself into her.

  After the lovemaking, Daniel and Jolie slept, and it was after sundown when they awakened. Jolie made a soft crooning sound when Daniel immediately spread her legs and mounted her, and soon the sweet battle had resumed. Not until they were both slick with perspiration and their throats were raspy from crying out was a truce reached.

  A long time later, Jolie got up, washed with water Daniel had brought from downstairs, and put on her calico dress. She was putting together a light supper of sandwiches and fruit when her husband joined her, wearing regular clothes and looking as cool and distant as ever.

  A casual observer would never have guessed he’d been saying and doing such intimate things only a little while before.

  Jolie shrugged to herself as she turned back to preparing the meal. Maybe her luck was finally turning after all. Maybe she was going to have all she had ever really wanted: a home, a husband, and a baby.

  Jolie’s hopes for a child were dashed in the morning when she woke to find blood on her nightgown and the sheets of Daniel’s bed. She was instantly mortified, even though good sense told her the process was a natural one, and hurried to strip the mattress and roll the stained gown into the bundle of laundry. She’d put a supply of clean rags away in the spare room, and she went there to wash and put on her riding skirt and the old shirt she’d been wearing the day she married Daniel.

  By the time she reached the kitchen, the coffee was already simmering on the back of the stove and her abdomen was tight with cramps. She took another jar of canned sausage from the pantry and cooked that up, along with eggs and potatoes and toast. When Daniel and Deuter came in from doing the morning chores, Daniel looked at her with a thoughtful frown.

  “You feeling poorly?” he asked, when Deuter had finished eating and gone out to hitch up the wagon for the trip to Spokane. Jolie hadn’t been able to swallow anything except for coffee, though she normally ate a large breakfast.

  She averted her eyes, wondering why it was so hard to talk about such a natural woman-thing with a man who had explored her body in the most intimate ways. “I’ll be all right tomorrow,” she said, clearing the table. “How long will you be in Spokane?”

  “Two, three days, probably,” Daniel answered, still pondering her. “Ilse used to take a dose of laudanum sometimes, when the curse came.” He went into the pantry and brought out a brown bottle.

  So he’d guessed, or he’d seen the stain on the sheets when he arose that morning. Jolie was painfully embarrassed, and she knew she could take no relief from the medicine. Laudanum always put her straight to sleep, and she had dresses to sew and a week’s wash to do. “I’ll be fine,” she insisted, a little shortly.

  Daniel did not kiss her good-bye, nor did he take her into his arms. He simply said, “Don’t forget to send for Joe Culley if something goes wrong. He’ll be over to do the milking and take care of the livestock.”

  Jolie nodded, hoping Daniel couldn’t see that she was already missing him, already feeling the old, aching loneliness of the days before she’d become Mrs. Daniel Beckham. “You take care,” she said, making her tone as indifferent as possible.

  Her husband hesitated for a moment, then turned and strode off to the wagon, where Deuter was waiting.

  It was Deuter who smiled and waved a farewell. “I’d be beholden to you if you’d give old Leviticus a saucer of cream now and again,” he called.

  Again, Jolie nodded. She stood on the back steps, watching as the team and wagon made a wide turn in the barnyard and then headed toward the front gate. Daniel didn’t once look back.

  Determinedly, she went inside the house and put the kitchen to rights. Then she laid a fire in the dooryard with dry wood garnered from the shed and lugged the laundry tub outside. While the blaze was gaining momentum, she worked the pump to fill the wash kettle and added soap. She filled another, smaller tub with cold water for rinsing, then went upstairs to fetch the soiled sheets and nightgown.

  Only when those had been scrubbed clean and hung on the clothesline to dry did Jolie begin washing the pile of stockings and trousers and shirts that had accumulated behind the changing screen in Daniel’s room. Despite the pain in her lower belly, the relentless glare of a summer sun, and the fact that the work was brutally hard, Jolie took a certain satisfaction in doing this wifely task.

  When every garment was clean and there wasn’t an inch of space left on the clothesline, Jolie went inside and sat down at the table, forcing herself to eat a slice of cheese and some buttered bread. The laudanum was still sitting on the cupboard, silently beckoning, but Jolie ignored it. God knew, she hated pain as much as anybody did, but she didn’t subscribe to the theory that every discomfort should be immediately alleviated. Some types of suffering were just a part of being human, and there was a certain integrity in enduring them.

  Over the course of that day, Jolie managed to cut out another dress from the fabric Daniel had bought for her, and when the cooling twilight finally came, she went outside to take the wash down and bring it in. In the morning, before it got too hot, she would press everything, and when her husband returned from his travels, he’d find his bureau drawers and his wardrobe full of clean clothes.

  She was bringing in the last of the laundry when a buckboard jostled into the yard, carrying a man and a woman. The woman wore a bonnet, so Jolie couldn’t tell if she was old or young or in-between. The man was about Daniel’s age, but slender and wiry, with straight brown hair and a sun-weathered face.

  This, Jolie thought, would be Joe Culley, come to do the chores. She braced herself inwardly, even as she forced a welcoming smile to her face, expecting nothing but censure from the wife of a God-fearing farmer. At least, she supposed the Culleys were God-fearing— she hadn’t seen them at church. And she didn’t remember them from the trial or the hanging.

  “I’m Nan Culley,” the woman announced eagerly, and Jolie was struck by her bright smile even before she made out the eager brown eyes and white, heavily freckled skin.

  Joe went off toward the barn, sparing just a nod for Jolie.

  In the next instant, she remembered her manners. “Won’t you come in?”

  “I’d dearly love to take off this bonnet,” Nan replied, following Jolie into the house and sitting down at the table with a lack of hesitation that said she’d often been a guest here. With a sigh, she untied her bonnet strings and pulled it off, revealing a magnificent head of cinnamon-colored hair.

  Jolie had no refreshment to offer but cold water, because it was still too hot for coffee. She filled two glasses from the bucket beside the sink and joined her visitor, wincing a little as she sat because of her cramps.

  “You know who I am, don’t you?” she asked, after gnawing at her lower lip for a moment. She was used to having people look down their noses at her, but she hadn’t learned to like it.

  “Certainly,” chimed Nan, after relishing a sip of water from the glass Jolie had brought her. “You’re Mrs. Daniel Beckham—the most interesting person to set foot in this county in five years. Did they really mean to hang you?”

  Jolie swallowed, though she hadn’t yet touched her water. “Yes,” she said, at length. “I do believe they would have.”

  “Isn’t it romantic that Daniel came along when he did and rescued you? Why, it reminds me of Robin Hood and Maid Marion … ”

  Doubting that anyone who had ever felt the weight of a rope around their neck would find the experience romantic, Jolie allowed the remark to pass. “I expected you to be, well, like the women in town.”

  “Mercy,” Nan huffed, waving her bonnet in front of her face for a fan. “It’s hot today.” Her eyes smiled at Jolie. “Verena told me you were in need of a few friends, and I’m here to volunteer.”

  “But what about—aren’t you worried that I might be a—a bad element?”

  Nan dismissed the thought with another flick of her bonnet. “Dan would never have married you if you weren’t a nice person.”