Where the Lost Wander: A Novel(55)

I am in the saddle before Winifred May reaches her wagon.



Naomi descends the bluff before I can reach her, but she sees me coming. She turns the sorrel at the bottom of the hill and veers west around it, making me race to catch up with her. She is a sight, racing across the expanse with her hair streaming out behind her. It’s the same color as the horse beneath her, and I can’t help but think that damn Dakotah chief knew exactly what he was doing. The sorrel’s gait is smooth and long, and Naomi’s skirt hangs over on each side, giving the appearance of royal draping. She’s a decent rider, as comfortable in the saddle as she is in every other area of her life. And maybe that is the root of my problem. Naomi seems to know exactly who she is, and she gives no indication that she is anything but content with herself. I told her she doesn’t think, she just feels, she just does, but maybe it’s because she is confident enough to trust her instinct and move ahead.

She slows when she’s put the bluff behind her, a barrier between us and the train, and then she comes to a stop, her back to me, waiting for me to draw up beside her.

“I want to be alone, John Lowry.” I know she is calling me John Lowry because I’ve told her not to.

“No. You don’t,” I counter. “You wanted me to follow you.”

She glares at me, her color high and her hair tumbling around her, and for a moment I just drink her in, looking my fill.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she snaps after I’ve stared a good minute. “I’m angry with you, and I do want to be alone.”

I slide off the dun and, trusting that Naomi won’t bolt just to spite me, walk to her horse. Without her permission, I put my hands around her waist and lift her down so she is standing in front of me, so close I could bend my head and kiss her tangled hair. Her pulse is drumming in her throat; 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.