The Tender Vine (Diamond of the Rockies #3)(44)

“Not so far.” She shrugged. “If you consider all the despot rulers.”

Amused, he tucked his arms behind his head and studied her. “I must be wicked, with all my kin against me.”

“Your kin don’t know what they’re missing.” She set the tray on the table beside the bed, then sat again and shook her hair back. Did she know what that hair did to him? “Soon you’ll have more kin than you can stand.”

Carina’s family. And she hadn’t told them about him. He raised her hand and kissed her fingers. “Ever been to Alaska?”

“Alaska!”

“Great salmon fishing.” He stroked her fingers.

She tugged her hand away. “What are you saying?”

“With my wagon I could haul for the canneries. The cost of goods is astounding.”

“You want to go to Alaska?”

Did he? He’d thrown it out as a joke, but just now the thought was mighty appealing. Her face was stricken, though she didn’t say what was obvious to see. She wanted her family, her most important thing.

“Well, maybe we’ll go by way of California.”

She eased. “And maybe we’ll like Sonoma so well, your wandering feet will stop clamoring.”

He smiled. “Well, now. Wandering feet.” He looked down at his gray woolen stockings and curled his toes back.

She settled against him, and he brought his arm down to circle her shoulders. No, wandering was not on his mind.





ELEVEN

What stench is in a tainted soul that righteous men recoil, some fetid, darksome malady which makes their blood to boil.

Why not instead a cleansing balm to wash away the stain, and let men see as God has seen the weariness and pain.

—Quillan

WITH QUILLAN GONE TO get the wagon, Carina took one last look around the lobby. They were leaving Denver after just one night, and she wasn’t sure how to feel. If things had gone well yesterday, they might have stayed awhile and gotten acquainted with the DeMornays—Rose’s parents. Carina felt a keen disappointment. And though Quillan wouldn’t show it, she knew he stung still.

But now they would go to Sonoma. Oh, how she longed to see her home, her own mamma, her dear papa. Everyone, even Divina. She could almost feel their arms around her. Of course they would love Quillan. Why did she doubt it? They were not DeMornays; they were DiGratias!

She turned, and there was Mrs. DeMornay coming through the door with a quick darting step, glancing back once at the door, then proceeding to the counter. She stopped short when she saw Carina. “Oh. Oh, you’re here.”

Carina drew herself up almost to a height with the older woman.

Before she could speak, however, Mrs. DeMornay caught her hand and drew her into the alcove by the front window. “I’ve been forbidden to speak further with your husband, in case he tried to pursue things again. But nothing was said about you.”

Carina was startled. This seemed so out of character from the woman who had sat so prim and stately, offering no word yesterday when Quillan said his piece.

“Please, I have only a moment.”

Carina caught the woman’s hands. “Tell me.”

“Mr. DeMornay needs to believe . . . I’m certain he does believe . . .”

“That Rose lies in that grave?”

Mrs. DeMornay shuddered. “You can’t know how it was. We did what we had to, at first to protect Rose, then all of us. Judge me kindly.”

As they had judged Rose? And Quillan? Carina stayed silent.

Mrs. DeMornay’s liquid eyes were nearly aqua, perhaps paled a little with years, but Carina wondered if Rose’s eyes had been the same. Wolf had painted dark hair on the cave wall. Rose would have been a beauty indeed. The older woman dampened her gathered lips. “The diary . . .”

“It is Rose’s diary.” Carina stooped and drew it from her satchel. She had kept it close this morning, unable to pack it dispassionately into the trunk for the wagon. She pressed it to her heart. “My husband’s mother’s words.”

Mrs. DeMornay nodded slowly. “It was my gift to her on her nineteenth birthday.” Tears wet her eyes. “Your husband . . . was he, is he the product of a certain liaison? One which she fled . . .”

Surprised, Carina shook her head. Mrs. DeMornay knew of Rose’s seduction? “That child miscarried.” The word brought a pang to her heart, recalling Rose’s anguish. “Quillan is Rose’s son by Wolf, her husband.”

“Wolf.” Mrs. DeMornay shook her head. “Wolf?”

“The Sioux named him Cries Like a Wolf.” Carina thought the woman would faint she turned so pale and trembling.

“He was a savage?”

“He was a white captive who left the tribe and made his way to Placerville. A brave and wonderful man. Mrs. DeMornay, Wolf loved your daughter fiercely.” Loved her unto death. Slowly Carina drew the diary from her breast. She held it out. “It’s all in here.”

“No, I can’t.” Mrs. DeMornay shunned it with her hands. “If William saw . . . But here.” She reached into her purse, drew out a locket on a chain. “This is mine, so I can give it.”

It was large and gold, valuable in that alone. But Carina sensed more. Mrs. DeMornay opened it. Carina drew her breath in sharply. A photograph of a girl with dark curls and pale eyes.